Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Not for your ears ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

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

One day. Twenty four hours. One thousand four hundred and forty minutes. Eighty six thousand four hundred seconds. Not much in the space of a lifetime and Nappa was usually a patient man. In fact it was his patience, along with his other un-Saiyanlike characteristics, which had kept him living for more than four decades when so many others, friends and enemies alike, had not. His ability to think outside the square and ignore the ruling conventions of the status quo were his defining features. But the Briefs girl, all five foot three inches of her, was pushing him to the limit of his considerable endurance.

She rapped obnoxiously, for what must have been the hundredth time, on the tank window, bubbles sprouting as she furtively pawed the oxygen mask at her face and thrashed against the sides of her watery prison. The dull sound of her muffled threats echoed hollowly throughout the ship. Not for the first time Nappa wished they had thought to bring a tank equipped with the sleeper function.

He fiddled with the scouter atop his head, again receiving only static in reply. Both Radditz and Vegeta remained incommunicado. Radditz, demonstrating his customary rebellious indifference, had gone on a bender, no doubt sampling the remaining buxom wares of this dying planet. The Prince, on the other hand, had intentionally requested radio silence two days hence to mask the meaning and purpose of his latest search. As it so happened Earth was perhaps not as inconsequential as they’d initially thought.

And to think, only fourteen days ago Nappa had seriously been considering the consequences, or lack thereof, of his own demise.


*Two weeks earlier*


When, six hours into a routine purge mission, Vegeta had suddenly, unexplainably vanished Nappa had lost his customary composure. Both he and Radditz had watched as their Prince vanished into thin air. Both he and Radditz had assumed the worst.

As the full impact of what they had witnessed hit them full force Radditz began laughing hysterically. Nappa, enraged beyond thought and feeling, had beaten the lesser man to within an inch of his life. The tall, mustachioed Saiyan, an upper-class through and through, had then had proceeded to utterly annihilate each and every one of the fitful aliens who, through some act of incomprehensible science or magic, had destroyed not only his liege but his one and only reason for living. He slaughtered without thought or feeling, ignoring the screams and pleas of men, woman and children alike. His blood pumped with anger, pain and a hollow aching terror that encompassed his very soul.

And then, when there was no one or nothing left to kill, when he had set the entire world ablaze, Nappa fell to the ground and, for the first time in a long time, he cried; the thick pearly tears falling like crystalized pieces of his shattered soul upon the ashes of the now dead world. Everything he had struggled so hard to repress, the dark shadows constantly hovering just beyond the edges of his conscious mind, began their descent.  

At twenty five, battling his way, bloody and bruised, through ninety nine other elites of similar birth, Nappa had won the prestiged position of bodyguard to the newly born Prince, future King and prophesized legendary.  The moment the child, wrapped in swaddling cloths, had been placed in his bloody and grizzled arms, Nappa was instantly transformed from an relatively obscure and unknown soldier into one of the most important men alive, at least as far as the Saiyan populace was concerned. He was now bodyguard to royalty, the single greatest position a non-royal could achieve. But to Nappa it was just that; a title. He had entered the contest because his honour and standing demanded it; he had won because he was strong and had a reason, a good one as far as he was concerned, to live. That night, however, returning to his sprawling rural home, set like a rare jewel amongst the vast and relatively untouched mountain ranges just North of the capital, he kissed his sleeping wife and child and recognized, not for the first time, that though he had won the ultimate honour he neither deserved nor desired it. Earlier that day, aloud and to the entire court, he had declared his dedication to the child’s protection and rearing. And yet, if forced to choose between this life – making love to his wife beneath the stars, telling his fascinated son stories of the heroes of old, training simply for the mere thrill of it – and his new, higher duty, he would choose the former each and every time. He believed, as most did, in the fundamental Saiyan principles but in an entirely uncharacteristically way. He sought strength, but only so that he might protect his family, he sought honor, but only so that it might bring his loved ones comfort and joy. Lying beside his wife, as the first few rays of the dawn sun begin to infiltrate his darkened bedroom, he wondered vaguely how long his luck would hold. How long until someone, anyone, discovered how very un-Saiyan he truly was? How long before they realized that all the things that meant everything to them meant so little to him? As it so happened it was longer, and yet so very much shorter, than he ever thought possible.

On the day his planet, heart and life were destroyed Nappa and a five year old Vegeta were two days into their purge of the planet Yemmy. He did not find out, however, until almost a week later, when Vegeta, grown cold by the callousness and hate that constantly accosted him, thought it fit to inform him.

Nappa had at first been unbelieving. When he had radioed Frieza’s base ship, and his worst thoughts had been confirmed, his disbelief turned quickly to rage. He had gone so far as to raise his substantially fist intending to strike the child who had so callously delayed his grief. But then, as swift and striking as his former anger, had come the realization that he was to blame; not for the planet’s destruction but for the monster Vegeta had become. A child who was his responsibility. A child who was now all that Nappa had left.

Vegeta’s life had been placed in his hands at birth when Nappa had been given the role of protector and guardian: both tasks he had failed at utterly and completely. So much of what Vegeta had become was because of Nappa. Thoughts of his own son, still so young but growing every day, had stayed his hand as the boy’s father savagely instigated another of his brutal ‘lessons’. The pull of his family had kept him from spending time with the child who, even from the first, Nappa recognized as desperately unhappy and lonely. It had been easier just to ignore Vegeta’s fitful requests, sometimes pleas, of salvation, rather than fighting the King’s forced policy of isolation and horror. Nappa had done the bare minimum, failed in each and every plea he had promised to uphold on the advent of the child’s birth. And now he was suffering the consequences. The Prince hadn’t told him straight away because he didn’t care… and because he wanted Nappa to suffer; Nappa who had promised the world and delivered only absence and pain. Really, all things considered, could he blame him?! No. Nappa had no one to blame but himself.

He lowered his fist and vowed never to raise a hand to the child ever again and to fight every attacker who threatened to do so. He would show the boy care, love even, so that he might grow and change because of it. Afterall, Vegeta was it. His family, friends, comrades and enemies were scattered to the four winds. Vegeta was all he had left.

To keep himself sane Nappa pushed the thought of his loved ones to the back of his mind. He did not grieve. Even now, so many years later, he recognized that such a thing, acceptance of all the horror that had befallen him, might drive him mad. In his mind, and there alone, his family remained untouchable but alive and well. He knew he would never see them again. He just refused to admit that they were dead. He could almost picture his son’s smiling face, chiseled with age and hardened by his father’s absence, but hope-filled nonetheless and beautiful. To stave of grief-fuelled insanity Nappa embraced madness of a different form. But it kept him going. That, along with the recognition that the disaster had shown him the error of his ways: he still had someone, however small and cold, to grasp onto. And that was precisely what he did: as a drowning man would a life preserver. Vegeta’s salvation would be Nappa’s redemption. Little did Nappa know, then, that the damage was done. Five years, to an abused child, is a lifetime.

But there was more to it. So much more. The Saiyan populace had been robbed of both their lives and their dignity in one fell move and Nappa was smart enough, calculating enough, to realize it had been no comet that had destroyed his world. It had been, rather, the sadistic and vicious hand of a pink and purple monstrosity. And so his sole purpose, his one reason for living, became the fledgling Prince not just because he wanted to save the child but because he wanted revenge. And Vegeta, boasting so much potential, legendary potential, even at the tender age of five, was the destined conduit through which he would achieve it.

But that was the past, the life he had fooled himself into living. Now, standing in the ashes of both his victory and defeat, it was plain to see that, once again, everything that he had strived so hard to achieve had been mercilessly robbed from his grasp. He had not been able to make Vegeta into a better man, nor achieve his bloody ambition. His family was dead. His planet was gone. His people remained a shadow of their former glory; a dying race. There was nothing and no one left for him now.

It was in this state of abject despair that Radditz found him hours later as he stumbled across the wasteland of Nappa’s grief. Through a mouthful of broken teeth, knowing better than to comment on his comrade’s dejected form, Radditz reached out his bloodied hand, offering up his scouter.

“Take this,” he managed to grind out.

Nappa ignored him. In his rage he had lost his scoter, along with most of his clothes. It didn’t matter. Such things now seemed entirely immaterial. He had lost his life, his family and now he had lost his one, shining chance at redemption and revenge. Nappa would never be strong enough to defeat Frieza. He might as well end it all and safe himself any more misery or suffering.

Radditz, however, was unrelenting. Again, he pushed his scouter under the taller man’s nose, more insistent than before. Nappa considered snapping his neck. A familiar buzz met his ears, still incomprehensible from that distance. Probably Frieza, he thought. Frieza asking him why he had destroyed what could have been a highly valuable planet. Frieza demanding to know what had possessed him to make such an unwise move. Frieza threatening him with the pain and horror that was sure to follow such a direct and obvious act of mutiny. Dust in the wind.

Growling, Radditz pushed the scouter atop the older, stronger man’s head. The last straw. He really would kill him this time. But then-

“Goddammit, Nappa!” a familiar guttural growl. “Will you fucking respond you useless, bald fool!”

“Vegeta,” Nappa rasped, not liking the weakness in his voice

“Yes it’s me, idiot! Get in the ship and come here right this instant! I’m sending you the coordinates.”

“You’re alive?” he muttered, it was all he could do not to break into tears of relief.

“Oh course I’m alive! As if instant transportation, by whatever means, could destroy me, the Prince of all Saiyans. Now hurry up and get off your ass, it’ll take you three days to get to this vermin-infested mudball as it is and I’m anxious to discover who and what technology transported me half way across in universe in a heartbeat. Dull as you are I’m sure it has not escaped your notice that this planet could offer the advantage we need to finally rid ourselves of that domineering pest we are forced to call Master.”

“Yes sir, of course,” Nappa responded. With renewed gusto he grabbed Radditz by the nape of the neck and shot over to the other side of the planet where, by some grace of Kami, their ship remained whole and intact. He set Radditz inside the sole rejuvenation tank and programmed the destination into the ship’s computer. With renewed purpose and vigor Nappa shot into the sky in pursuit of the man whose existence kept him sane and living.


*Now*


She rapped again and Nappa almost, not quite but almost, shot an energy beam straight into the heart of the one thing keeping her alive. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself that she had one redeeming factor; her eyes, fathomless seas of blue that shone with an all-too-familiar life and vitality, were identical to his wife’s. Like Nappa himself, Attia was extremely un-Saiyanlike, inside as well as out. That was why he married her.

Memories of his wife robbed Nappa of his anger. He hummed quietly to himself and left the room, thinking he might retire for the night. The girl’s healing process still had hours to go and he couldn’t think of anything better to do than get some much needed rest. Except perhaps grab a midnight snack, maybe one of those delectable looking beasts he had seen roaming around, before he turned in. He set off into the night sky for a quick meal before bedtime.

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