Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Stolen Breath ❯ Souless ( Chapter 1 )

(Author's Note: I will repeat the warning in every single chapter, just to make certain that people actually understand.

WARNING. THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC YAOI. YAOI IS MALE/MALE
SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS. LONG AND SHORT, THERE WILL BE GAY GUYS
KISSING IN THIS STORY. AND MAYBE MORE, DEPENDING ON THE WAY THE
STORY GOES. AKA, THERE MAY BE SEX IN THIS STORY, GUY/GUY.

IF YOU DO NOT ENJOY READING YAOI STORIES, OR IT IS AGAINST YOUR
RELIGION, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY. THANK YOU FOR
LISTENING. REMEMBER: YAOI IS MALE/MALE SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS.

Also, if there is a signal that says, oh, let's say:
)) GOKU ((
That means that it has changed to Goku's POV. Understood? When it does:
)) ... ((
it has changed back to the "mystery man."

Thank you for your time, good bye, and please enjoy!)


Stolen Breath

Chapter One: Soulless

Another day, another moment of ecstasy for me as I spy Him in the crowd of students that flee the high school on this warm, lovely Friday morning. The light blue jacket He wears matches His eyes perfectly, making their sapphire orbs even lovelier as they shine with happiness.

Once more, as it often is, my breath escapes me in one swift exhale as I watch Him.

The boy I dare not approach. The boy who was all that I was not. The boy of my dreams.

And of my nightmares.

I take in a new lungful of air, and watch Him until he leaves once more, escaping from the humid afternoon's heat back into the air conditioned building that He learns at. I sigh as He disappears from my view, and wish my sigh didn't sound so forlorn and needy.

I can't have Him, ever. I'm merely here to protect Him. One such as He should never feel pain.

And that's why I was created.

My own words seem to slap my cheek, and the memories surge, blinding me. I slump to the ground, barely aware of the hot brick against my back, or the concerned looks passerby are giving me.

Created, but by whom?

A twisted old man bent on destroying the world because a little boy had defeated him many, many years before.

Created by a madman.

Who was to say I even have a soul? When I had been absorbed- how long has it been? - Fifteen, sixteen years? - I had been in utter, complete darkness, unable to get out.

Trapped in my own private hell forever.

Then the wish upon the Dragon Balls had been made, I was back on Earth, back to the colors and sights and sounds of living. Back to a place where I could dream of the hell I had barely escaped from.

And now it is almost twenty years later, and I am still trapped in my own little hell.

But at least now I have an angel to look at. His beauty will keep me going, and when I do die, I will be able to conjure His face for my eternity in Hell.

At least I would have His memory, forever.

And Hell I would go, for those without souls always went there.

And I have no soul.

The memories of the hell I had spent so many days, but what seemed thousands of years, in, overwhelm me at the same time my revelation does, and my skull nearly explodes from the images of utter, complete darkness.

I clutch with trembling hands at my forehead, feeling my ice-cold fingers dig painfully into my skin, trying to divert my mind from memories to thoughts of pain.

Anything but the memories.

But they keep coming, taunting me with my own past despair. The shame of having no soul, no promise of heaven after death, only Hell, engulfs me, and I shudder, my lips forming a silent plea, speaking for the first time in ages.

Stop.

I am surprised at how hoarse my voice is now. So unlike the loud, tenor, arrogant voice I had those many years before.

Before my death taught me differently.

My grip on my skull tightens until I feel the sharp pain of fingernails slashing through flesh. I focus on the pain, almost an offering to my mind, which torments me still.

Why have a mind when you have no soul? Why be tortured some more? Isn't an eternity in Hell good enough suffering?

Apparently not.

I feel something warm trickling down my forehead, and am faintly aware that it is most likely blood.

Another torment, for why have blood if you are not truly of flesh and spirit?

Vampires have no souls, and they don't bleed.

So why should I?

Gradually I become aware of someone's shouts for an ambulance, a police car, anything. I ignore the cries, and focus on the main.

Pain.

Soulless.

Pain.

Soulless.
Pain.

Soulless-

As if annoyed with my mind ongoing argument, the pain in my head increases to agony. My head is exploding, my body is burning, the blood is trickling down my forehead, I am going to crush my own skull in by accident, and prove to myself completely that I have no soul-

Weak, but determined hands wrench my hands from my temple. My grip resists slowly, gouging as my fingers are pried from my flesh, drawing extra blood and adding more wounds as they are lifted from my brow.

"It's okay!" The person who holds my hands tightly is saying all the while he or she is
doing this. "You're ill. Just take it easy and don't speak. Someone's gone to get you some water, sir."

It was then I am aware that I am crying out names that I haven't spoken in years. Names that burn my tongue with the sorrow they carry as they flow from my lips.

Juhachi.
Marron.
Krillin.
Juroku.

My sister.
My niece.
My brother-in-law.
My friend.

For I, the only one of the three of Dr. Gero's final creations who was without a soul, was once called Juunana.

Seventeen.

Despite my captor's reassurances, I bow my head and weep as an ambulance's siren begins to keen in the distance.

)) TRUNKS ((

I step out of the white piled hallway that leads to the stone walkway of my school just in time to see and hear a wailing ambulance speed away.

"Who was hurt?" The words flow unchecked from my lips. Marron and Goten glance at each other uneasily, and they both shrug.

"Some wacko who was trying to claw his brains out or something. He kept screaming
something that I couldn't quite catch," Goten says to me, his eyes dark with the horrible memory. "They took him to the hospital." I shrug also, but a strange unease presses down on my chest, making me have to catch my breath.

"Did you hear what he was yelling?" Marron shook her head, sending golden curls
everywhere.

"Some police officer had to pry his hands loose. He was bleeding all over the place," was
her soft reply, her face ashen from recalling the fact. Goten noticed the pale tone to his
friend's face, and quickly motions for me to get the car.

I obey, fairly flying over the burning black pavement. For some reason I feel a strange panic clawing its way up from my chest to my brain, coursing through my very veins. Trying to ignore the sensation, I turn on my car, and drive it to where Goten and Marron are waiting, arm in arm.

I smile as I park next to them, thinking not for the first time that I really should get those
two together. Their colorings are opposite as night and day, meaning they look perfect together.

Which leaves only me to figure out.

I leap from the car to help Goten as he leads a still pallid Marron to the car. As Marron buckles up in the backseat, I notice concerned looks her way, and smile reassuringly. She just needs to get home, away from the scene where some maniac just tried to kill himself.

Maniac.

The sudden rage that I feel at the word catches me by surprise, and I stumble while heading towards the front seat. My hands shoot out to catch me, but miss the door handle, instead gouging deep scratches down my beautiful crimson Jaguar. I freeze, unable to protect my face as I continue to fall. My car.

The car is colored crimson, the same color as blood.

"Trunks!" Goten cries in warning, but it was too late. My eyes focus on the black pavement a mere second before my head connects with it, accompanied by a loud crack.

A brief flash of agony pierces me through, and then there was only darkness and painlessness.