Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Weak ❯ 300, the Catalyst ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

really, do we have to go see 300?" Bulma's voice came in almost a whine, as she, Vegeta, and Bra approached the movie theater. "First of all, it's full of violence and gore that Bra doesn't need to be seeing, and second of all, I can make a much better suggestion--why don't we go see I Think I Love My Wife?"

"Because what you really want her to see is a man questioning his fidelity to his wife," Vegeta grumbled, rolling his eyes and introducing, as usual, his own brand of logic to the situation. "...while you would far rather her not see a movie about a true event, a story--it's fiction in some senses but the story itself is true--about fierce warriors who would sooner die than bend their knee to an opposing king. Immoral versus moral, I'm sure you can find an argument in your favor if we stand here long enough...." The usual rambling response was one he procured whenever Bulma's incessant nagging about anything to do with Bra came into play.

Bulma could find no real words to combat this argument, though she really would rather her precious daughter (though she was all of nineteen today) not be exposed to such bloody horrors as the movie contained. She had always been rather protective of her daughter, though Vegeta, mainly, would be the one to take care of such matters. As a result, Bra was rather a sheltered girl, and rarely went anywhere besides school, though she was far past the age for social interaction to begin.

"Mother, please," Bra said, "This movie is likely the closest I'm going to get in trying to figure out what the other saiyans were like before they all died, since neither of you will tell me very much beyond how tough they were. I seriously doubt that it's going to scar me for life or some nonsense like that--I've seen daddy do far worse things than what a movie will be showing in reference to a death scene..."

After this convincing argument, Bulma had reluctantly allowed her to come into the theater with them.

Bra had been fascinated from the moment she saw the movie trailers, though Bulma would greatly have preferred not exposing her to such violence, even in such a small way. But as anyone will tell you, the devil's in the details; everyone knows it's the little things that matter. Small things--someone else's tights down the back of the chair, a fiber under a dead girl's nails, a ticket stub from a movie.

As the lights darkened in the theater, and the film began to play, Bra shifted her weight slightly, getting comfortable for the film.

Such a small thing. That one small moment hung in the air, a palpable excitement in the stillness. A small moment, yes, but one bordering on the edge of the momentous. A simple movie crafted in a way to appeal to men, appealed to the heart of a young girl in a way that resonated with her like nothing ever had. How tough, the men were, born and bred to be warriors, to live and die on the battlefield, which was where most of their living seemed to occur.

How could she get in on that, she wondered? All her life she had been a sheltered girl, the daughter of a man who had spent most of his life fighting and conquering. And what did she have to show for this life? Nothing of any tangible value.

She remained in awe of the fighting spirit of the Spartans, of the willingness to die in a heap of blood with the odds stacked heavily against you. The fear of death? It wouldn't be present, because death was honorable on the field of battle. If you sacrificed yourself for the good of your brothers, then you died for a good reason.

When the movie was over she had an odd look on her face. Vegeta saw it, as did Bulma, and both seemed to interpret it differently. Bulma thought that her daughter might need a little sit-down explaining that such warfare was unnecessary, and would most likely lay out tedious unpleasant lectures about the bloody movie not in any way being something she should imitate.

Vegeta wanted to tell her the movie was something that she should pay attention to, that dying on the field of honor was something indeed that one should remember as a warrior. However, because he didn't want her fighting (what princess, he reasoned to himself, was ever meant to fight? Telling them of such things would only ever encourage fighting...) he would say nothing.

Not the first mistake the man had ever made but certainly one that would be high on his list of major upsets.

Bra dreamt all night of battles and blood, of the glory of a battle won, of the shame of a battle lost, and most of all, the life a warrior led. It was not a pleasant one, but she noticed that those who won were always the happy ones. They had conquered another enemy; they had fulfilled another mission's objectives, they had repelled a foreign invader! What else was there to life than the field of battle? What other than the defeat, the death, the complete erasing of an enemy's life, was there to live and breathe and die for?

As a result of such warlike dreams, when Bra finally did wake up, she was feeling particularly fierce. She headed out very quickly after getting ready for the day--thinking she'd just take the car for a spin and do a little shopping.

It was not the most exciting choice she had ever made, but it was a baby step in the road she was soon to take.

After a few hours of hitting the department store sales, she decided to take a walk down the street from the mall to get herself an ice cream...a childish thing, but the shop had been in the same place for forty years, and she had always enjoyed it immensely.

When she passed by an alleyway on the way to the ice cream shop, she thought nothing of the chill running up her spine...until she felt her arm grasped by a cold hand. "Well, well, well, look what we have here...the rich little heiress from Capsule Corp!"

A sinister laugh sounded and she felt herself suddenly thrown against the wall.

"I imagine your mummy will pay a lot to keep her precious baby safe, won't she?" The same voice from a moment before sounded again. "Hey! You! Get over here, we're taking her back--"

"No, you're--" Bra struggled, kneeing the strange man in the groin. He fell, briefly, to his knees, but was back up just as soon as his friend arrived--rope and a long knife in hand. "You'd better get her for that!" the first man growled at the second. "Dumb broad..."

Bra started to kick the second man, but he was taller, broader, and much stronger than the first. He lunged forward with the knife in hand; blade going straight through her shoulder and all but sticking her to the alley way which was largely comprised of wood.

The pain...Bra felt the blood flowing out of the wound and running down her arm...the pain--the two men, she noticed, were laughing, and the second reached out, pushing the blade farther in, as he mocked her completely defenseless state. It hurt, worse than anything she had ever felt before and she felt her world growing dim as the blood continued to flow ever onward...

Is this my end? My fate? To die like this...cornered... Bra thought as she struggled to stay conscious. It was certainly not the death that she had envisioned...

Your fate is what you accept!

The sharp voice cut through her muddled mind like a machete through half-melted butter, giving her something to grasp hold of while the knife wreaked utter havoc with the muscle and tissue in her shoulder. It was a harsh voice, one that was so cruel in tone that her anger at being spoken to in such a way roused her briefly from what surely would be death.

I am dying...what changing of that can there be? Even as she had these thoughts, the darkness seemed to grow...it was going to take her...

If you accept death then you deserve it! Weakling mortal! Do you not know the strength of your own will?!

Bra grew angry at the voice, but at that moment, she felt the anger fading...and she relaxed. The weakness was taking her, and the darkness...the darkness, it was lovely, calming. It was like no bliss she had ever felt...

"Mortal."

She heard the words, and bleary-eyed, looked up...into what? There seemed to be nothing but total darkness, and yet in that darkness there was a voice, rousing her from the slumber of death...

"Who...are you?"

"Someone who desires to see the lazy punished. And death...death is too good for you! It is that which you accepted out of laziness, not out of injury! This is too great a crime against your blood!"

"What business...what business of yours is my blood?" She asked, trying to open her eyes, but it was as if the lids were being held shut, and so she could not open them to view her apparent captor. What, she wondered, was going on here?

"It is my business that the blood of warriors does not go to waste!"

"But I am no warrior...I am--"

"You are more a warrior in your heart than in your body, but this can be fixed, and it will be. Your trials await."

Bra would then find herself able to open her eyes. There was a pleasant breeze coming off the water...

Wait.

WATER?!

She rushed to the edge of the platform she appeared to be standing on. "What..is going on...here..." Looking out, she noticed four enormous stone horses standing in water...beyond them she saw only more water.

This sight, of course, only served to scare the hell out of her, and make her afraid.

However, something about the air; about the atmosphere of the crumbling ruins, told her that there was something here for her. But what? It was ruined, and there surely was no one there alive. What purpose was there in staying?

Noting that it was beginning to rain...Bra headed into the crumbling ruins to look for some shelter...and a weapon. No way, she thought, would such a place be completely abandoned...all buildings existed to house something, whether it be treasure or enemy horde.

"Rather hard to find your way back...when you don't know how you got here..." she mumbled to herself. Remembering, dryly, all the adventure novels she had read over the course of her life, she realized that she wasn't the first to be pushed into something like this.

Something grand, bold, exciting.

Something that could change everything for her. Something that could empower her; improve her strength, and make sure that what happened to her in the alley would never happen again.