Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Kingdom Come ❯ Chapter 12: War Zone ( Chapter 12 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

WARNING: See Chapter 1

Kingdom Come
~ Chapter 12"All hail Lord Kakarrot!"

The sound of the gong reverberated throughout the arena, reflecting off every available surface. With his tail curling high behind him, Lord Kakarrot strode arrogantly onto the veranda, which served as his and the royal family's private seat for the tournament. His lips were painfully drawn into a smile that was mostly contemptuous and forced. 'Yes, yes. I hate you all, ' he thought as he waved civilly to the masses. 'If I didn't have to have someone over whom to rule, I'd have you all beaten and killed. '

He took his seat to the right of Mistress Bulma and, after several minutes, noticed the two empty seats to his right. The one to the far right was expectedly empty, belonging to Prince Goten who was already down near the platform awaiting his match against Jeice. But the seat nearest to him... "Zarbon," Lord Kakarrot addressed the blue-skinned guardian of his mistress. "Has Prince Gohan not yet arrived?"

"No, milord," answered Zarbon.

"And how long until the first match?"

"Approximately ten minutes, sire."

The emperor's eyebrows drew dramatically downward. "Find him. -Now-."

"Of course, milord." With a whip of emerald hair, the statuesque warrior disappeared down the adjacent corridor. He returned to his post five minutes later, a bleary-eyed Prince Gohan in tow.

Gohan fell like dead weight into his chair, rubbing his eyes behind the scouter. His black spikes had no sense of direction as they jutted out at all angles. Yawning, the demi-saiyajin completely missed the look of massive exasperation in his father's eyes. "Good morning, father," he finally mumbled.

"You're late, Gohan," returned Lord Kakarrot. He eyed his elder son's sloppy apparel and demeanor. "Where the hell have you been? Your brother's bout is practically upon us. Less than five minutes!" he hissed, cuffing Gohan discreetly on the back of his head.

Assuaging the area, the demi-saiyajin gritted his teeth. "What's the big deal anyway? Goten always beats Jeice. I don't see what difference me -almost- being late to his match makes."

"Speak to me in that tone again, and I will send you on a planet surveying mission. -Alone-," the emperor spat in tones low enough for only the prince to hear. "We must always convey a united, unbreakable front to all of these gutless lowlifes. You -know- this. If even one tiny semblance of a crack is visible, they will find a way to attack, and we'll have a needless war on our hands. We saiyajins cherish battle, but not insanity. The whole empire would crumble under such a war, and I will -not- jeopardize my position so you can get a few extra minutes of sleep! Do you understand?"

"I understand, father," Gohan nodded. Running his hands through his unruly hair, he straightened up in his seat. "All this fuss because I overslept," he muttered to himself.

"Get an alarm," remarked Lord Kakarrot, focusing his attention down onto the fighting platform.

Feeling it best to switch to a more pleasant topic, the prince inquired, "So, who do you favor today, milord?"

Kakarrot grinned smugly. "You were correct. Goten has never had a problem defeating Jeice before, so I do not see why he would now. He will win. Vegeta's and Recoom's match should be interesting, though I have no favorite there. And somehow, I'll wager that Demon Lord Piccolo shall be victorious over Burter. The way he handled that last imbecile was far quicker than I'd imagined it would be. And you, of course, are always my favorite in the tournament."

The prince returned the smirk. "Of course I'll win. I've never lost."

"Speaking of your match, my son," the royal began, "after you put on your little show for this moronic mass of rejects, you have my permission to dispose of the nobody you're fighting."

"I get to kill him?" Gohan asked, glee glinting fiercely in his eyes.

"Yes," his father replied. "The uselessness of his kind has grown tiresome. They need to be shaken up some by losing their very best warrior. Besides, the Grand Duke of Harethan has made an offer for their planet, a very lucrative offer. One I'd rather not decline. In fact, I may be traversing in a few months to purge the planet myself. So. Kill him."

"With pleasure, milord." The demi-saiyajin grinned, his mood far better than it had been a mere minute previously.

"Speaking of killing," Kakarrot continued, "we must decide on a new name for the Ginyu Force soon. We can't very well keep calling them that since you executed Captain Ginyu." Thinking back on how he'd first heard of the incident including Ginyu's death, a genuine smile came to his lips. Lord Kakarrot had never liked Captain Ginyu. The taller male was too strong and too stupid for his own good. Unfortunately, he was also ambitious. Strong, stupid, and ambitious did not sit well with the saiyajin. Upon hearing Gohan explain the circumstances surrounding Ginyu's downfall, the emperor's only response was, 'Okay.' Kakarrot still liked to reflect on the death, as it was an enjoyable memory. "Heh. Good riddance, eh? He always was such an idiot. I wish I could've been here to see the look on his face just before you killed him."

"Well, he did lose control of his bladder before he tried to escape," Gohan noted, "if that's any consolation."

The emperor's grin turned sour as he made a face of revulsion. "I hope you had the main hall completely sanitized thereafter."

"Of course," his son reassured him.

"Good." Lord Kakarrot shuddered a bit. "That's disgusting. Now, I'm even more pleased Ginyu's dead. What a waste of molecules. Ugh."

Gohan simply nodded, turning his eyes to the platform on which Goten and Jeice had just stepped. He still couldn't fathom that his father would dare question his loyalty to his younger brother. The idea was absolutely absurd!

When Lord Kakarrot was having Goten 'trained' to become the next Royal Inquisitor, hadn't Gohan been the one to tend the wounds left on his brother's body when he was a child? Hadn't it been Gohan who would cease the torture sessions because his baby brother was too stubborn to cry out? Wasn't it Gohan who was the most proud when the younger demi-saiyajin was eleven and killed the previous Inquisitor to succeed him? Wasn't it Gohan who taught Goten everything he knew? They shared the same blood. They shared the same loyalty. That was important. Nothing was more sacred than loyalty.

Soon, the fight between Goten and Jeice began, and Lord Kakarrot noticed for the second time in two days that Krillin and Yamcha cheered for the young prince. "Strange, isn't it," he noted aloud to his elder son, "how our human guests cheer for your brother."

"Not really," Gohan replied nonchalantly, his eyes trained on the match. He more or less did not care that it was a rather meaningless fight, as he knew that Jeice was severely outmatched. But, the prince knew that as long as he was here, he might as well watch his brother, try to learn his moves. Their last match had left him winded, and he wanted to keep on his toes for their fight at the end of the tournament. "I'm sure they just root for the seemingly stronger warrior."

"That isn't true," countered the emperor. "They've cheered only for your brother, Vegeta, and their own Demon Lord Piccolo. They give their support to no one else, including you."

The prince tore his eyes from the bout to glare at his father in irritation. "Why wouldn't they support me? I've won this tournament every year for the last two decades!"

"Perhaps they do not know," smirked the older man. "Either way, they are singular, are they not? Favoring your brother as they do. These other sycophants only cheer for him because he is a prince. I wonder what makes the humans favor him."

"Who knows? Who cares?" Gohan spat. Despite his words, he still steamed from the fact that the humans did not root for him. Who did they think they were?! And what did it matter, really? Insignificant humans didn't matter to him. What they thought was irrelevant. Nevertheless, it bothered him somewhat. How could -anyone- favor Goten over -him-? It was simply ludicrous.

Before returning to watching the match once more, Gohan caught a glimpse of his father unconsciously taking a hold of Mistress Bulma's hand. Scowling, he turned back to his brother's bout in a huff. 'Ridiculous humans! ' he shouted in his head. 'Father destroyed nearly her entire race, and yet look at how he coddles that whore! He'd kill everyone in sight and then some, just so long as his precious jewel was fine. -Disgusting-! And so weak. What a fool she's made of Father. Whore. '

Lord Kakarrot merely smirked again and shrugged, focusing in on the fight once again. 'Gohan is so easy to provoke, ' he thought inwardly. More often than not, the royal tried to rouse his sons into quarrelling, into a greater fighting spirit. It rarely worked on Goten; in fact, -almost never- would've been a more appropriate descriptive term. However, it frequently succeeded with Gohan, the more temperamental of the two demi-saiyajins. Lord Kakarrot liked it when they fought and worked -against- each other. Hopefully, this little instance of the guests favoring Goten over him would help since it attacked Gohan's overdeveloped sense of self-importance, but if not, the emperor knew he'd have to step up measures and find something that was even more of a sore spot for his elder son.

***

He returned to the grand arena at the palace only in time for the second match. The board showed that Prince Goten had won his match as expected, but he remained unconcerned with that. It was the Demon Lord Piccolo's fight that interested the thin, cloaked man. Keeping his hood pulled well over his face allowing only enough space for him to see the match, he sat as still as stone, trying to remain inconspicuous amongst the brash lower-class lemmings surrounding him in the stadium.

His eyes followed every move between the green male and his opponent. Once again, he witnessed Piccolo merely toying with his competition. The punches and kicks that Burter threw seldom landed, and the very few that did simply bounced off without affecting the green fighter. Piccolo was too quick for Burter; that much was obvious. And his sharp attacks were far more damaging. This fight wasn't going to last much longer.

Suddenly, an unconscious Burter was laid out on the ground... outside of the ring. The murmuring of thousands of people became nearly deafening. What had happened? Did anyone see? One moment they were fighting, and the next...? What had Piccolo done? Surely someone must have seen the move that cut the amphibian-like warrior down? Burter didn't move a muscle as he was hoisted onto a stretcher and quickly hauled out of the stadium.

The strange thin man watching was stilled with shock. What kind of power could Piccolo possess? It had to be immense! Far greater than he'd imagined. A power like his was unknown to this world. To defeat one of the best warriors in the galaxy so swiftly, so easily! And moving so quickly that no one even saw what happened. Absolutely unheard of. This was not the man he remembered; this Piccolo was different. He studied the tall green fighter intently. No sweat gleamed off his form. Piccolo wasn't winded. He didn't even look like he'd just fought.

Carefully making sure his cloak fully obscured him from view, the man exited the stadium. He would confront them soon.

It was all a matter of time.

***

Vegeta stepped onto the white tiles of the fighting area amidst the low rumble of the crowd's jeers and cheers. His battle armor was like a second skin to him, yet it felt weighted, as if he were young again and this was his virgin fight. His tail was wrapped securely around his waist, something for which he was eternally grateful, as he wouldn't know where to put it should it not go there. This was not his first fight. He had been a fighter here for a number of years, and a court joke for as long as he could remember. He was used to their taunts and calls. He could ignore them.

However, he could not ignore the cheers from the two humans. Or rather, he could not ignore Yamcha's cheers of encouragement.

He had woken up that morning with an overwhelming sense of belonging. He had been still mostly clothed, pressed up as close as he could to Yamcha. The scarred human had his arms wrapped around him even as he returned the embrace with arms and tail. He hadn't wanted to move, just remain there. Forever. Yet, he knew that he had to fight, and that it was time for him to leave. He tarried for as long as he could before extracting himself. As he left, he turned to see Yamcha wide awake, silently watching him. Brown eyes stared at him, and Vegeta had nothing to say. So he fled, his tail wrapping securely around him as he ran out. He hadn't known what to do, what to say.

The short male fell into a fighting stance immediately, trying to push away his tumultuous thoughts. He remembered the previous night, much to his chagrin. He remembered his weakness, and how he had wanted nothing more than Yamcha to want him. He knew that Yamcha never would, not now. He was weak. Yamcha wanted someone strong. Someone regal and arrogant. Someone like his own version of Vegeta. A true prince. Not some has-been, washed up, joke of a saiyajin.

Across from the erstwhile prince, Recoom stepped onto the white tiles. The crowd's noise was falling away. Vegeta relaxed from his position. Together, they walked a few paces towards the middle of the arena and bowed to each other, though it was in reality a mere mockery of the show of respect. They then turned to bow to their liege.

A dog-like man came to the edge of the stage, which was a cue for the two fighters to fall into their stances. And then the bell. The fight was on!

Recoom grinned as he faced off against the shorter warrior, glad for the opportunity to show the runt what kind of trouble he was in. How dare the scum get his illustrious leader, Captain Ginyu, killed! Granted, it was really the human's fault, but he couldn't very well attack the low-class vermin. First, it was against Lord Kakarrot's rules. Second, it was rather beneath him to fight someone who wouldn't offer him at least a little bit of fun. Captain Ginyu had been the best of them, and he had been killed because that stupid Yamcha guy had decided he wanted to visit the scrawny little twerp!

Just as Vegeta was falling into his first fighting stance, Recoom attacked. The larger fighter grinned as the shorter male was nearly thrown out of the ring. Dark eyes met enraged ones. Recoom snorted at the shorter male's stupidity. It would have been smarter had Vegeta simply allowed himself to fall out of the ring. Of course, this allowed for the once prince to enjoy more pain than of which he ever conceived. Recoom's grinned to a mere baring of teeth as he charged forward again.

Vegeta had been thrown off balance by the sudden attack, though there was no reason he should have been. He had known long ago that Recoom and the rest of the Ginyu Force were a pack of rabid, mongrel cheaters, and this just proved the point. Vegeta snarled as he caught himself from tumbling over the edge of the arena. He raced upward to evade Recoom's forward charge, landing behind the ogre and managing to deliver a swift mule-kick to the kidney area. Well, it would have been the kidney area should Recoom have been built humanoid on the inside as well as outside. Unfortunately for Vegeta, he wasn't.

Recoom didn't even bother grunting from the meaningless hit. He spun around, using his elbow to smash Vegeta in the face. The shorter fighter stumbled back, the world spinning. Usually, Recoom would hold a bit back when fighting him. That wasn't the case this time around. Spinning away as he was, he noticed that the white tiles on the arena floor were splattered with blood. It wasn't until the substance fell into his eyes that Vegeta realized that the he was bleeding.

First blood went to Recoom.

Vegeta managed to get his feet under him long enough to clear his vision. That allowed him to see Recoom coming after him, though only just. Recoom was moving fast, as if he were planet purging. He was going so fast that when he passed Vegeta, the short male felt the wind before he felt the pain of the strike aimed at the back of his ribs. It hurt, but that was like saying that space was big. Vegeta fell forward a step, his eyes blazing wide from the power behind the strike. He knew that at least one rib was broken, probably three.

As Recoom allowed the pain to set in, he reached out with one hand and mercilessly grabbed the brown tail that was still wrapped around the saiyajin's waist. Spinning Vegeta like a dance partner, he flung the shorter man away and then began to spin him around, laughing as he did so.

Vegeta retaliated with a desperate chi-blast aimed at the larger fighter's face. It was enough to singe the ogre's eyebrows, but not enough to actually get the psycho to release his hold. Gritting his teeth in vexation and pain, Vegeta called upon all one of his most lethal attacks and aimed it at Recoom's left eye.

The audience was put to silence by the painful scream that echoed and then re-echoed against the high walls.

Vegeta bounced off the tiles before flipping over and landing on his feet, still inside the boundaries. His brow was furrowed from the pain in his tail and the pain caused by every breath the took, but he watched in morbid glee as the mongrel warrior in front of him clutched at his eye in pain. He didn't utter any form of communication, though. He knew it would be useless. With a smirk of contempt that hid the pain from his injuries, Vegeta flew forward, his hands glowing with energy.

Roaring with pain, Recoom let loose his own chi attack, though with the loss of his eye, it lacked a certain accuracy. Vegeta was hit hard on the shoulder, spinning him away from the rest of the attack. The audience behind the shorter fighter suffered because of Recoom's lack of marksmanship.

The air sang with the sound battle cries, cries of pain, defiant screams, and of flesh hitting flesh, as Vegeta threw punch after punch at the seemingly indestructible behemoth before him. Recoom simply took the punches as if they were nothing, as they were worth nothing against him. Yet, he was not as effective in his own offensive tactics, the pain of his injury hampering his ability. Though, what he lacked in grace, he more than made up for in power and force.

Above the arena, in his booth, Lord Kakarrot began to scowl. Granted, he had no favorites in this game, but he could tell that Recoom was inflicting more damage on Vegeta than was needed. Or wanted. 'We can't have this. Vegeta gets stronger every year. I don't want him thinking that he has the chance to become a Super Saiyajin. It's why he's not allowed away from the Palace. And that's why his mongrel son is … treated as he is. I don't want -either- of them getting the idea that they have a chance of opposing us, ' the ruler thought. Frowning as he sat back, he considered how Recoom was on the verge of breaking the tournament rules. 'Does he even realize how close he is to killing Vegeta? If not, that's just one more reason he should die. '

Vegeta grunted with pain as he hit the tiled floor, skidding to the edge. If he fell out of the ring, he would be out of bounds, and therefore the loser of the fight. But he wasn't going to lose. Not this time. Not with Yamcha there. He had already made a fool of himself twice in front of the human; he would not do so again. Unfortunately, it was not the saiyajin's fighting skills that stopped his rapid, yet very painful movements. Instead, it was Recoom's booted foot delivering a rib shattering kick that changed Vegeta's momentum to a different direction.

In the stands, the three guests were cringing from sympathy. Yamcha was looking at the fight with naked worry in his eyes. Krillin had seen Vegeta and Recoom fight in their home dimension and knew what kind of chances the prince had, meaning not many. Their cheers began to die down as Vegeta continued to get beaten, each time taking more and more time to rise up off the bloody platform. Until, finally, Vegeta could take no more.

He wasn't the only one.

"Oh, Kami! He's gonna kill 'im!" Krillin whispered in horror. This was so blatantly against the rules that it was a wonder that Recoom was going to go through with it.

Vegeta fell to the arena floor, bouncing as he landed. He lay there, defenseless, as above him, in the air, Recoom powered up his sure-kill attack. He couldn't even hear whatever the larger warrior was shouting; the blood in his ears muting everything. Vegeta tried to pick himself up, but the effort was in vain as he simply collapsed back to the ground. Dark eyes stared upward tiredly. He was so tired of it all. Tired of being worthless. Tired of being a mockery of what he could have been. Tired of screwing everything up. Tired of being him.

Eyes that had seen the destruction of countless civilizations, had seen wonders of which many couldn't even dream, had seen empires die and empires born, closed in defeat.

Recoom grinned in malicious glee before releasing his parting gift to the once proud saiyajin. The crowd was struck silent by the power. Lord Kakarrot stood up from his throne, irate that the soldier was breaking the rules with such a lethal blast. Vegeta simply waited for his death.

The blast never landed.

It was deflected away from the arena by a much smaller energy attack, though no less powerful. Whereas the crowd before was silent, waiting for the death of one of the better-known fighters, they were now silent from sheer shock. Vegeta managed to open his eyes to see his benefactor standing over him.

"Stop," Yamcha stated calmly. "This match is over. Leave him alone."

"What?!" Recoom shouted. He fell lightly to the ground. "Who do you think you are, scum?"

"What difference does that make?" Yamcha snapped. He knew he was losing his temper, and that wasn't the smartest move to make, but he couldn't help it. He hated bullies who picked on the people about whom he cared. "You should just quit now. Walk away."

"Walk away from a puny human?! Never!"

"Do it," spat the dark-haired male, "or I'll be forced to hurt you. I don't like to be forced."

"You? Hurt -me-? You and what army?!" Recoom sneered.

"No army. Just me," Yamcha replied, falling into his most familiar fighting stance. "Now, I'm giving you one more chance. Lay off, or I'm gonna hurt you."

"You're gonna hafta -kill- me, human -ass-!" Recoom laughed derisively, confident that he would be more than able to handle both Vegeta -and- the scarred fighter standing before him.

Up in the royal box, Goten clenched his fists tightly. Recoom was clearly about to break the rules of the tournament, and now, a human not even participating in the event was down on the platform about to engage in combat instead of the nearly-dead Vegeta. "-Father-," Goten growled from his seat near the emperor. "You have to stop this. Call the match! This is madness!"

"Surely you jest," smirked Lord Kakarrot. With a wave of his hand toward the ring, he went on. "Have you seen this kind of entertainment in the second round of -any- tournament before this? I think not! Besides, if the human doesn't kill Recoom, I intend to do so. He should know better than to defy me by ignoring the system. Let them fight!"

With a large, wicked smile, Lord Kakarrot stood and moved to the railing at the edge of the veranda. "Fellow spectators, what shall be done?" The gathered audience pried their eyes away from the battlefield, and toward their liege, but Yamcha and Recoom remained staring each other down. "Should I call the match, or should I let them fight?"

An overwhelming clamor rose up from the crowd, chanting one single word. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Well," laughed the emperor. "It seems the crowd wishes for a fight, as I do. This is a fight to the death. May the best warrior survive!"

Another gong was sounded, one a bit darker, more morbid.

The masses roared their approval of this interesting turn of events. It was egregiously raucous, but Yamcha could still pick out two distinctive voices above the din.

"Kill the bastard, Yamcha!" shouted Krillin from his seat in the Ginyu box.

"And make it quick!" added Piccolo, leaning against the railing near the box. The green male turned his head and glanced up at Goten, who nodded imperceptibly then made a quick gesture to the medics by the ring to take Vegeta to the labs. Lord Kakarrot and Gohan, so enthralled with the impending impromptu fight, didn't even notice the exchange. However, it did not go completely overlooked.

Bulma witnessed the short scene but said nothing. The day before, while she'd begged off the tournament due to not feeling well, Trunks had visited her, informing her very excitedly about something he'd just seen. She could scarcely believe him when he told her that Prince Goten had kissed Piccolo. It was too unfathomable to be true! But now... The one small moment she'd just observed was a firsthand sign that the Demon Lord and the prince were progressing as Trunks had said. The faintest of smiles appeared on her rosy lips. Things were just starting to get interesting.

On the battlefield, Yamcha gave a curt nod of his head before skyrocketing upwards. Even though he hated this kind of fighting, the kind where it was life or death where there was always the chance that -he'd- wind up dead, he was angry. Angry at Vegeta for not simply falling out of the fight, for thinking he had something to prove to the mongrel masses out there who were even now cheering on for more bloodshed and death. Angry at Recoom for not knowing when enough was enough, or if he did know, then simply not caring. Angry at Lord Kakarrot for not calling the match quits sooner. Angry at the entire world in general, but at the monster in front of him the most. Recoom's grinning face, sans one eye, became his target as he called up for his first volley of attacks. He knew that they had to be his last. There was not going to be any kind of second chance.

The pink lens of Recoom's scouter was alight with power readings that fluctuated madly. His grin faltered as he tried to figure out what was wrong with it. His confusion granted Yamcha the opportunity he needed. The large Ginyu member was struck by a small, yet powerful attack. He stumbled backwards from the force, set off-balance and unprepared. Yamcha followed up with rapid hits and kicks, so forceful that they snapped the larger man's head back.

It was Recoom's turn to land on the ground, yet the ogre bounced once before regaining his feet. In doing so, he positioned himself to catch Yamcha's next energy attack square in the chest. That one pushed him back to the very edge of the arena. When the smoke cleared around him, Recoom was ready to charge forward, enjoying the pain that thrummed through his body. He remained in place, though, as he caught sight of Yamcha.

The human had his feet planted firmly, one arm upraised with his palm flattened, and his eyes narrowed to slits. Behind him, he could hear Vegeta's labored breathing, even over the uproar of the crowd. This was an unprecedented display! Yamcha's wicked grin mirrored the one Recoom had worn earlier, because he knew that the show was almost over. Recoom was done for.

The energy disc sliced through the air and through Recoom's neck effortless, dissipating as soon as its task was done.

The crowd was silent, allowing the distant sounds of the revelry of the street party to be heard inside the arena, as Recoom's head fell to the ground outside the arena. The large muscled body of the beheaded warrior was soon to follow.The crowd was silent, allowing the distant sounds of the revelry of the street party to be heard inside the arena, and allowing Yamcha to hear Krillin's muttered, "Thief."

Yamcha didn't wait around to watch the collapse of his opponent. Already, he was running towards the medics. He wanted to know how Vegeta was. He realized as he jumped to the ground that the shorter male was already gone, taken to the infirmary. He skidded to a halt as the guards at the many entrances and exits blocked his path. It was only then that he became conscious of the thunderous sound of applause.

Up in the royal box, Bulma clapped at the sight of the dead Ginyu member. Lord Kakarrot grinned at her display, something so rare, he wasn't even sure it had ever occurred before then.

"Now, -that-... was a show-stopping number," remarked Prince Gohan to his father, grinning broadly.

"Indeed," agreed the emperor. "I don't think it could've been any better than if I'd killed Recoom myself. Who would've thought a human could display such power? But still. Nothing compared to our own. I don't think we should worry about him, do you?" With a few shouted words and a wave of his hand to the guards, they parted and allowed Yamcha to exit the arena.

Yamcha looked at the gathered masses, cheering wildly for the carnage that had just occurred. He shook his head as the announcer's voice was drowned out because of it. He caught the word "dismissed" though, so he took it to mean that he was dismissed. Without further consideration, he jetted out of the arena to where he knew Vegeta was going to be treated for his injuries.

Lord Kakarrot saw out of the corner of his eye that his mistress was still applauding and even smiling. Leaning towards Gohan, he commented, "See there? -That- is how an emperor's wife should act. She is a true lady, unlike your wretched mother. Ah, but if only she were my wife instead."

Gohan made no reply, simply acknowledging the statement despite his firm mindset against it. 'She is no lady, ' he thought. 'She's a whore. And you're a fool, Father. ' He stood, then, and stretched his arms high over his head. "Well," he said, "I suppose I should get down to the arena floor. My fight is scheduled to start soon."

"Yes, yes," nodded Kakarrot. "Don't forget what I told you earlier."

"Of course, Father," the elder prince smirked as he left the box. Walking down the long hall to the lift, he spoke aloud quietly, to no one but himself. "I always keep the family's best interests in mind."

***

The medics, when satisfied that Vegeta was out of any kind of danger, popped him out of the tank, gave him some medication, and then told him to leave the infirmary. He blinked bleary eyes as he took in the scenery. Hundreds of people were in the infirmary, collateral damage from fights, from the street party, or contestants whose fights were the previous day. He saw Jeice, standing beside Burter's tank, waiting for the large amphibian to get out. Turning around slowly, trying not to cause himself any more pain than was absolutely necessary, he came face to chest with Yamcha.

"Hi," Yamcha said cheerfully. He had been waiting for a few hours, mostly because there wasn't a free tank to put the saiyajin into when he arrived. "How do you feel?"

"Like hell," Vegeta replied. He blinked his eyes at the human, wondering if he was actually there. Wondering if they were both actually there. He may have gotten out of the tank, but the drugs they use to calm the submerged wasn't out of his system. He felt as if his head was stuffed with cotton. Yet at the same time, he knew that if it weren't for the fact that his entire body hurt and his sudden sense of caution, he'd wrap his arms, and tail, around the human in a tight hug right in front of everyone and their mother. But, he was left wondering why Yamcha had saved him. And how strong the human really was. He seemed to have defeated Recoom quickly. And without a mark to prove he had been in a battle. "What are you doing here?"

"I was waiting for you to get out of the tank," Yamcha answered. He moved so that Vegeta could walk with him, or past him, to get out of the infirmary. "You weren't in there long."

"I'm usually not," Vegeta spat, irritated. Yamcha was used to such brisk manners, but the shorter male surprised him a moment later by elaborating. "I'm usually only in there around tournament time, and that's when the tanks are in high demand. Only our most serious wounds are healed, the rest are left up to time to mend."

"Oh. Is that why you seem to still be in a lot of pain?"

"Yes," Vegeta said. He hissed in pain as he wrapped his tail around his waist. The rest of the trip to his room was made in silence, though he made sure to go to -HIS- room this time. When he was outside his door, he turned to the scarred human and looked at the ground. "Thank you. For waiting for me to get out of the tank."

"It was no problem," Yamcha responded quietly. He tilted his head to the side before resting one hand on Vegeta's shoulder. He was about to say something more, but found that no words were willing to come out of his mouth.

"As soon as I take these drugs, I will be asleep until the day after tomorrow," Vegeta stated as he looked up. "My body is healed for the most part, but due to the rapid healing, my muscles are going to be going into constant spasms. It is… not a pleasant thing."

"Eh. No. No, I don't think it would be," Yamcha said, his hand falling away. "So, I guess I won't see you tomorrow."

"Heh. Not unless you want to come by and watch me sleep. I prefer to be unconscious through it. As do most of the warriors who suffer through this particular ordeal," Vegeta elucidated with a mocking grin.

"Hey. You never know. I might just do that," Yamcha replied. Vegeta shook his head, and turned to enter his room. Yamcha watched the tailed warrior's staggered movements. "After all, I do know how to get in."

When the saiyajin merely grunted and allowed the door to slide shut in Yamcha's face, the joy drained from the scarred male's face. He sighed heavily and began walking the long stretch back to his room. Disappointment clouded his brown eyes. 'He was just trying to get rid of me, ' he pointed out to himself, swallowing hard. Had he been mistaken? Didn't the smaller male practically -beg- him to love him the previous night? He didn't understand. But he did know one thing. He'd have to sleep alone for the first night in months... and just when he'd gotten used to having someone there. Having Vegeta there.

Vegeta was already in his room, the door closed behind him, when Yamcha's last words to him registered. His brow furrowed a moment in confusion, wondering if that was meant as something other than the innocent statement it appeared to be. Sighing, the shorter male simply shrugged it off, "If he wanted to take me, he could have done so at any time. Especially with the ease with which he took out Recoom."

The once prince took his medicines, removed his clothes, and laid down. As an unnatural sleep tried to claim him, he drifted off to thoughts and concerns about Yamcha. And what the human had done to him and for him. After what Vegeta had done to the scared warrior, how could Yamcha save him like he did? The human was unlike anyone else in the universe, literally. Strength, kindness, forgiveness. The capacity for those traits in that man's soul had no bounds. Vegeta's own empty existence had been drawn to it from the start. If only things had been different. If only they could make things right. If only...

'If only he could love me. '

***

Goten paced the length of his room, hands clasped behind his back, brow creased in thought, tail lashing agitatedly through the air after him. He had come to his bedroom a half an hour before to retire for the night and had even changed into just his black sleep pants, though he hadn't yet removed his scouter. But how could he sleep at a time like this? He wasn't sleepy, though somewhat tired. He was more... nervous. Anxious. To say he had a lot on his mind would've been an understatement of epic proportions.

Previously, the tournament had never coerced any sort of real emotional response out of Goten, save for anger towards his older brother. He would fight, and he would win, until the final match against Gohan. Then he would always lose. He came in second every year since he was eleven years old and first entered the tournament. Both his father and his brother never failed to remind him that Gohan had won the tournament when he was the same age. This year would be different, though. This year, Goten would come in third.

Or would he? He didn't know what to expect from Piccolo, which was part of why he was so jittery. The green warrior was obviously his superior in strength, speed, and fighting skills; Goten was certain Piccolo would defeat him. But would that change things between them? They seemed to take things to a new level the night before in the garden, and the young prince had felt sensations he never really knew existed. Just recalling the memory of Piccolo pressed hard against him caused waves of arousal to pulse through his system.

Thinking of going to go visit with the taller warrior, Goten turned to look at a full-length mirror. He hissed in a breath as he took notice of all his bare skin. He also noticed his scouter and yanked it off so that it flopped uselessly onto a nearby chair. "Well, if I go, I -WON'T- wear that."

Walking back and forth across the floor, Goten listened to his logical side argue with his emotional side. Sensibly, he should just stop worrying about Piccolo and go to bed since he would need all the rest he could get to at least try to win against the taller fighter. But that's not what he wanted to do. In an act of absolute mutiny, his heart, body, and soul turned their backs on his mind, desiring nothing more than to track down Piccolo and spend as much time with him as possible, regardless of the tournament and his good senses.

But then he was confused all over again. Should he go? Should he stay? Should he change clothes? Should he go to sleep? What should he do? 'When did I turn into this? I used to be so calm. So level-headed. So rational. Now... Now, I'm overly concerned with what I'm wearing, how I look, what he thinks, what I'm doing. I'm more self-conscious now than I was when I was a teenager. I need to see him, though. I need to talk with him. Need to find out what the hell is supposed to be going on. Between us. And what's to happen tomorrow when we fight. '

"Here are my options," the prince rationalized with himself out loud as he continued to pace. "I could just forget all of this and go to bed and -- and... Fuck." He let out a ragged sigh, determined to argue this out. "Okay, okay. So, let's try this again. On one hand, I could go to bed and try to get as much rest as possible so that I'll be able to have my strongest chances against Piccolo. But on the -other- hand, I could be -with- Piccolo and talk to him or... do whatever else came to mind." Goten paused, a bewildered look evident on his face. "Who am I kidding here? Like I'm going to get any sleep anyway! I'm just going to get into that bed and lie there, staring at the ceiling, and still worrying about tomorrow. There's no contest. That's it. I have to see Piccolo."

Not bothering to concern himself with finding a shirt to cover his bare chest and arms, he went straight for his door, pressing a button to open it. Goten didn't even wait for it to fully slide open before trying to go through it, his haste was so great. Of course, he should've waited because he only ran into a wall of muscles as he got just past the ajar door. Gasping in shock, he hopped back a bit and looked up, his wide brown eyes connecting with a chiseled green face. "Piccolo," he breathed.

The much taller male stood in the hallway outside the opening to the prince's room, his eyebrow ridges raised high. Piccolo and Goten stood opposite each other, waiting for the awkward moment to pass. Briefly letting his obsidian orbs peruse the bare flesh of the younger man, he unconsciously licked his suddenly parched lips. He'd seen the demi-saiyajin naked before, but somehow, seeing him wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting sleep pants made his chest tighten with an odd form of... anticipation. His deep but quiet voice rolled across the short space to Goten's ears. "Going somewhere?"

"I was going to, but, um... heh," Goten began, his mind racing. That contemptuous tail of his was perfectly in control of itself, however, waving contentedly behind him. Nothing he could do short of grabbing it would make the appendage wrap around his waist. "D-do you wanna come in?"

With a sharp nod of his head, Piccolo stepped into the dimly lit bedroom. Goten wandered towards the middle of the room, seemingly unsure of his next move. Following him somewhat, the green male stopped near an ornate chair. He looked back up at the prince who was mostly just fidgeting and obviously trying to come up with something to say. The dark-haired male appeared so casual but nervous, and at that moment, Piccolo felt entirely too formal. Discarding his turban and setting it down on the chair, he pulled on the neck of his cape, intending to remove it as well. His eyes caught Goten's, and he asked, "Do you mind...?"

"Oh, um, no. Not at all," Goten blushed, his eyes finding a point of interest in the disrobing man. The turban had been removed already, which left the green man's antennae free to waver slightly. Then went the cape and shoulder pads. Goten's mouth became overly filled with saliva as Piccolo appeared more like a predator without the extra clothing, yet also more appealing. He knew Piccolo was a better warrior than he was, and his mind began to play images of what it would be like to be his prey.

Having freed himself of the cape and turban, Piccolo was much more at ease. He made his way over to the smaller male, but kept a decent distance between them. Smirking a bit, he passed Goten and seated himself in the middle of the prince's large bed, noticing for the first time that the demi-saiyajin had changed his bedding colors from the night before, but not much; the sheets were now indigo satin while the blanket changed to green. He ran his hand over the soft, smooth material, watching as the light of the room played across his skin and the covers. Piccolo tilted his head to the side and raised one eyebrow ridge in challenge.

Goten swallowed hard, but it did nothing to dislodge the lump in his throat. Piccolo was on his bed. -Again-. When he'd been there the previous night, he'd merely been waiting. And that was long before the incident in the garden had transpired. Now... 'Should I join him? ' he wondered. 'I mean, of course I should, right? That'd be the brave thing to do, the bold thing. He'd know that I could handle it. " An unexpected shred of doubt grew in his mind. "Or what if that's not what he wants? What if it lessens his opinion of me, and he starts thinking that I'm just as much of a whore as my family? No, no. I can't have that. But... Forget it. I can't just stand here and be stupid. He needs to know that I'm -in- this. Because I am. ' He walked to the edge of the bed and climbed onto it carefully, moving across the span of it to sit in front of the pillows near the headboard.

Piccolo pushed himself back on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard, so that he was sitting next to Goten. The prince repositioned himself so that he was more comfortable, with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossing at the ankles. "So, um... What brings you by?"

"The same reason why you were about to run out of your room half-dressed," Piccolo stated. He looked over the other male, making sure to do so in an obvious manner, before smiling slightly in approval. "We need to talk."

"Uh... Yeah," the demi-saiyajin agreed. His insides were twisted from the strange new feelings churning inside of him, but he knew he liked it when Piccolo looked at him like that. He had to focus on the topic at hand though. "I... I wanted to know what was going to happen tomorrow."

"We'll fight," replied the green man. "Like we're supposed to. You'll try your hardest because I won't accept anything less. And if you are -not- trying your hardest to hurt me, I'll hurt you more. It isn't going to hurt a little. It's going to hurt a lot."

"Will you try to kill me?" Goten asked in a small voice.

"No," Piccolo answered, because in all honesty he knew he was more than capable of killing the younger male. That did not mean he was willing to, though. His grin was half frightening, half amused as he continued, "But I won't go easy on you either. You told me you want to be a better fighter. I'll teach you that. And it will start tomorrow."

"I understand." The youth paused, his brow drawn down in deep thought. There were other things he wanted to know, more important things than him being beaten. He didn't know how to say what he was thinking, didn't know how to ask, so he simply blurted them out. "Will it change things? Between... you and me."

"What do you mean?" inquired the other male. He wanted to touch the other male. That was what he wanted, right then, right there. Just... a simple touch. He didn't know from where the desire came, but it had been growing incessantly since his arrival, and it was only then that he truly was able to recognize it for what it was. It was as annoying as a craving, and he thought it might be just as determined.

"I mean... Last night, we... kissed. And... did other stuff." Goten sighed heavily as he looked down at the green of his comforter. Piccolo had been right; this was a much better match to his skin color, yet the green warrior had yet to say anything about it. Were things already changing between them? "I... I want to know if after tomorrow we're not going to ever... be that way... again."

"You may not want me to even come near you after tomorrow," Piccolo remarked in a near whisper. He didn't know why, but the thought that Goten wouldn't want him brought a dull ache to his throat, closing it off so that he wasn't able to get sufficient air.

"Yes, I will," replied the young prince quickly. He looked up through his lashes and then back down again. His wayward tail snaked around him, wrapping around his wrists as if it were seeking some form of comfort. He began to stroke his own tail absently, trying to articulate what he was thinking without making it sound like he was a complete moron. "I like... being near you."

Piccolo smirked, before finally giving a full-fledged smile. He gave in to temptation and actually touched the prince, letting his fingertips brush over the soft skin that usually hid behind the scouter's lens. "Good. I like being around you, as well."

Goten perked up at the delicate touch, even more so by the words. Raising the hand that had been stroking his tail, he briefly touched Piccolo's hand as it caressed his face before moving to touch the green skin of Piccolo's visage.

Piccolo's eyes narrowed to mere slits as slightly shaking hands touched his eyebrow ridge before moving up to brush over his antennae. He breathed deeply, taking in cool air as if that alone would calm his suddenly overly warm body. Those strange sensations from before were back, only this time he understood the reason behind it. Even as the newness of it was wearing off, the deliciousness of it was only intensifying. It was all highly distracting. And intoxicating. It was enough to make even the most noble of angels fall, and he was by far not an angel. He was about to remove his hand from Goten's face, about to ask for the prince to remove his hand as well, when Goten spoke.

"What are these for?"

"Absolutely nothing," Piccolo murmured. He was becoming seriously aroused, and he knew that Goten was clueless about it. He forced himself not to pull the other male closer, not to push things further, and was ashamed to realize that it took more effort than he wanted to admit to. "They are as useful as nipples are on a mammalian male."

"Nipples are useless," Goten commented absently as he tilted his head into Piccolo's faltered touch. "They're highly sensitive areas. Great for inducing pain... or... pleasure. Am I hurting you?"

"No. Not quite," Piccolo said, his eyes completely shut. It was nothing close to pain, or at least no kind of pain with which he was familiar. And he was familiar with a great many different kinds of pain. He let his hand fall to Goten's thigh, which also allowed the prince to lean in towards him.

Goten leaned forward, his breath coasting over the loose appendages. He began to investigate them with single-minded intent, trying to learn as much as he could. "Okay. If I'm not hurting you, do you mind if I take a closer look? I'm very curious. I don't see any kind of pores, openings, or, well, anything. I mean..." Goten trailed off as he caught the look in Piccolo's narrowly opened eyes. He leaned back, removing his hand. "Um, Piccolo?"

Piccolo licked his lips slowly, trying not to do anything more than that. He knew that if he -did- do anything, it would be something rash. And he didn't need that. Not yet at least. Again, he shoved that wayward voice to the back of his head, trying to think of this moment and... how not to unravel. He had worked hard his entire life to master his own body. How someone he had barely known six months was able to reduce him to this state was a mystery he desperately needed to solve. "I think I had best leave you for the night, Prince Goten."

"Oh?" Goten asked, disappointment evident in his voice. "So soon?"

"Trust me, it is for the best," Piccolo said, his voice dropping several octaves till it was more of a rumble than an actual voice.

Swiftly placing his hands on the broad green chest, the young prince applied just enough pressure to get his point across. "Please, don't. Just a little longer. Please."

The larger man stilled as he gazed into the deep brown eyes of the demi-saiyajin. This was moving too fast, and yet, not fast enough. But those eyes... Piccolo was failing to find any logical reason to deny the prince his request, especially with the way Goten was looking at him then. No one had ever looked at him that way. Not even... "I shouldn't."

"Stay," Goten almost pleaded.

And that was what did Piccolo in, finally. The beseeching tone in the dark-haired youth's voice extricated his resolve to leave, to run as far away from him as quickly as possible. He allowed the temptation to overtake him, pulling Goten into his lap. The prince adjusted himself slightly, moving his knees to sit on the bed on either side of Piccolo's hips, straddling him. Their faces were scant centimeters apart, eyes burning into each other's. Chests heaving from the sudden closeness, Piccolo rasped, "Ten. More. Minutes."

Sitting as close as he was, Goten was unable to stop himself from leaning forward. His fingers were still rubbing along the length of Piccolo's antennae, but with a tilt of his head he was able to kiss the larger man as well. He had meant only for a light one, a softer one similar to his first crude attempt. But Piccolo's hands pulled him down further, and the kiss deepened, and it was all he could do not to lose himself in the taste of the other warrior.

Piccolo had both his hands entangled in the short spikes of Goten's dark hair, knowing that if he had them anywhere else, he would likely take longer than the ten minutes to which he had agreed. A lot longer. Of course, having that brown tail pulling at his wrist wasn't helping his resolve. He knew where it wanted him, just as he knew that his control wasn't limitless. He broke the kiss, letting his fangs latch on and gently pull at Goten's lower lip before angling Goten's head to the other side to begin another kiss. He moaned softly as Goten scraped his fingernails over the underside of one of his antennae.

Goten broke off the kiss, his eyes more than slightly glazed and his breathing a bit ragged. "I thought you said it didn't hurt."

"It doesn't," Piccolo replied, letting his head fall back against the headboard.

Goten shifted where he sat, unsure and uncertain. His movements allowed him to discover what exactly such touches did to the larger warrior, and he grinned with pride and pleasure. He had found one of Piccolo's weak spots, and it was a discovery he knew he was going to exploit at a later time. Shifting his hands, he pulled the green warrior close again, demanding another kiss.

The Demon Lord was more than happy to oblige the prince. Goten was the one left moaning as he felt the more dominant male taste him, ravish his mouth, devouring him. He quickly lost all track of time and space, his entire world circling on this one kiss. His moaning turned into a whimpering sound as his reason left him. Piccolo used his fangs and tongue to the best of his ability, learning with each passing moment what the younger male liked and what left him weak and pliant.

Of course, the great Demon Lord himself was not remaining unaffected by the situation. He had to force himself to only allow for the kissing, which was taking a great deal of his will and concentration. So much so that he was unprepared for Goten's shifting form to rub against him, which was nearly the larger male's undoing. Releasing one entangled hand, he dropped it to the prince's thigh, forcing the younger male to stop squirming.

At long last, Piccolo tore himself away from Goten, breaking the kiss. Goten moaned slightly, but knew that it was time to call it quits. He could try to prolong it, but he wasn't going to, and Piccolo knew it. The larger fighter rested his forehead against Goten's as they both tried to get their breathing and bodies back under control. Piccolo was hampered by the feeling of his rubbed-raw antennae brushing through Goten's thick, coarse hair, but in a way, it eased his arousal slowly, lulling it back to normal rather than abruptly cutting it off altogether. When he was finally able to trust himself further, the green warrior raised his head and gently kissed the prince on the forehead. "Good night, Prince Goten."

"Good night," came the breathy response. He climbed off of the larger male, allowing him to leave. The prince watched Piccolo swiftly exit his bedroom then fell back against his pillows. His eyes caught sight of something unfamiliar sitting in the chair near the door, and he realized the green male had left behind his cape and turban. A small smile played on his lips. 'I'll just hang onto those until Piccolo asks for them. -If- he asks for them. '

The demi-saiyajin turned over onto his stomach in his bed and buried his face in the pillows. They smelled like Piccolo. Just from that, he knew then that he'd sleep incredibly well that night. And then there'd be tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'd fight Piccolo. Earlier, that single thought had caused him much grief, but at that moment, he felt no such apprehension. Win or lose, he would still be with Piccolo.

And when it came right down to it, didn't that mean that Goten really won?