Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Not for your ears ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

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

“I wish for a pair-”

The stout pig’s perverse desires were cut short as a fiery blue-head tackled him from behind, pinning him to the ground and muffling his words with a strategically placed veil.

“Mphhmmmhhhhh,” Oolong squealed in desperation, struggling frantically beneath the inspired teen, desperate to make his wish.

“I don’t think so, Buddy!” Bulma barked in triumph. “I didn’t come all this way, endure all the perverted peep-shows, groping and outfits, just to come up empty handed.”

She grinned furiously up at the furling emerald serpent encompassing the sky. The heavens shook as the omnipotent being waited impatiently for her command. She shivered in anticipation and genuine delight. Now, finally, after all the fighting and tears she would get what she’d been searching all this long journey, indeed her entire life, for.

“Dragon,” she whispered with bated breath, her tone as soft and smooth as a lover’s caress. “I wish… for my Prince.”

“Wish granted,” the monstrous serpent roared, vanishing instantly into the nothingness from whence it had come.  In its place stood a boy on the cusp of manhood, surely only years older than Bulma herself. He had a tall flame of onyx hair, cold black eyes and hard features. His face was set in a mirthless scowl. His body, clad in a tight-fitting spandex suit of royal blue and white, enhanced his finally chiseled muscles. Everything about him screamed strength, power… and danger. Later, Bulma would convince herself that she had seen in him all the terrible, unearthly things that were to come, that her initial sense of trepidation was the result of future sight and not of instant attraction. Later, so much later, she would deny furiously the fierce passion he instilled within her from the very moment their eyes met. Because the truth was at that moment, during that small corridor of time as he stood rock hard and gorgeous only inches away from her, Bulma was the happiest she’d ever been.

Cheeks red, lashes fluttering, innocence and naivety still intact, she approached him.

“Hi, I’m-”

Her words were silenced as a vice grip, impossibly strong and lightning fast, surrounded her thorax. The boy, revealing the strength his chiseled form belayed, raised her from the ground carelessly. Unable to speak, barely able to breath, Bulma lashed out at her assailant, clawing in vein at the hand that asphyxiated her. The boy’s skin, like his expression, was as hard and cold as steel.

“What magic is this?” he seethed, his voice matching the iciness of his gaze.

Bulma choked, unable to answer. Black dots were swimming in her vision and her attempts to break free were waning. Realizing her inability to reply the cold boy released his choke hold. Bulma fell to the warm desert floor, coughing and wheezing.

“Where am I?” he asked, his cold stare boring into her. “Why did you bring me here?”

She was not given time to answer. Goku appeared before her suddenly, entirely off-kilter. Everything about him – the way he stood, the absence of his usual carefree demeanor and his completely out of character scowl – felt wrong. In the space of minutes it seemed he’d become an entirely different person. It was then, at that very moment, that Bulma began to feel truly afraid.

“Leave my friend alone,” he muttered, but there was none of his usual carefree vindication, or his a-typical, sometimes infuriating confidence. In point of fact Goku sounded as scared as Bulma felt. The foreign boy’s eyes widened as he stared unabashedly at the brown appendage swaying back and forth behind Goku’s taut form.

“You’re Saiyan,” he muttered. It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Goku replied, defiantly.

“You remember nothing?” the boy continued, his intense gaze boring into Goku’s own. “Nothing of your mission here or the reason you were sent? You were clearly meant for an infant purge and yet the fact this disgusting mud ball remains seething with life, if, indeed, you can call it that, is testament to your failure.”

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting or what you think you know but this is my home, these are my friends and I will protect it and them at all costs.”

By now the rest of Bulma’s friends and companions had arrived on the side lines and, from the looks of shock and bewilderment of their faces, it was clear that this new Goku, so concise and distant, had thrown them, too, for a loop. In fact, this was the first time in their acquaintance that Bulma could actually believe that Goku was the age he claimed to be and, despite wishing, sometimes quite loudly, that he’d grow up, she didn’t like this new Goku, not one bit. Or more, she didn’t like what the appearance of this uncharacteristic maturity signified.

The boy laughed at Goku’s passionate assurance; a cold, mirthless sound that sent an unconscious shudder down Bulma’s spine.

“You will do no such thing. I am your prince, boy, and if you know what’s good for you then you will help me finish the job you were sent here to do.”

Goku stood his ground, shaking his head lightly in defiance.

“No, I won’t.”

“A pity, when the time comes you could have been quite useful,” the cold Prince raised a single finger, forming an orb of intense white light. “But then how much help could a single brain damaged, lower class brat really be?”

Goku wasn’t given time to respond.

“GALIK GUN!” the Prince screamed, sending the now significant stream of energy on a collision course towards the child-like warrior. Goku balked, his defense stance pitiable against the sheer power of the Prince’s assault. He was thrown against the side of a nearby cliff face and landed in a heap at the bottom, still and bloodied. Operating on autopilot Bulma ran to his side. His body was awash with deep cuts and broken limbs. As she propped him up against the rocks he coughed, a steady stream of blood trickling down his chin.

“Oh my God, Goku,” she whispered tightening her grip on him, scared to let go, willing him to live despite the evidence screaming that his body was broken beyond repair. It was all happening so fast; her world turned upside down in an instant. “What do we do? What do I do? I’m so scared.”

Goku grinned and suddenly he was, again, the boy she knew and loved, her best friend and comrade in adventure. And that made it so much worse. Because despite the fact that this boy, this innocent, cheerful child, had saved her countless times he was dying and there was nothing she could do. But it was worse, so much worse, because she had no one to blame but herself. She was the one who had made the wish. She had summoned this hostile demon. It was all her fault.

Her vision grew cloudy as her tears fell unchecked upon the desert sand. Despite his injuries Goku pushed himself weakly to his feet, leaning heavily against the rock wall. He winced in pain, his atypical grin still in place; the very definition of a brave face. Bulma reached for him but he gently shoved her aside, smiling all the while.

“Run,” he muttered, shoving her towards Pilaf’s castle, towards relative safety and the chance of escape.

“No I won’t leave you,” she gasped. “You’re hurt. I can’t leave you! I won’t-“

“Bulma,” the gravel in his voice startled her to silence. Once again the old Goku had disappeared and in his place stood this doppelganger, his face a cold, unreadable mask of dark emotion. “Bulma, I can’t beat him. I can’t win. His power… It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. It’s unfathomable. With one hit he decimated my strength. I don’t think he was even trying. You need to go. You need to leave this place at once. I can give you time to escape. Please, just leave. Now!”

“…But, Goku…”

“Please, Bulma,” he smiled, the old Goku again, her friend, her best friend, making the ultimate sacrifice so that she, the weakling, the coward, the selfish, stupid, girl, would live. With tears streaming down her face, her heart throbbing from loss, she ran. Not once did she turn back.

She never saw Goku again.

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