Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Yellow Roses ❯ Guilty Pleasure [Part I] ( Chapter 6 )

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

The cheap liquor stung his throat, spreading like a crazed wildfire, burning his guts to a crisp until nothing remained but the sinister cloud of regret he was so desperately attempting to vaporize.

If only he could disappear.

If only he could vanish forevermore, hiding away like the filthy coward that he was in some bottomless, recondite pit of the Universe where no one would ever find him, not even himself.

He knew.

He knew just what a pathetically solitary picture he must have been painting to the outside world, slouching on a decrepit old chair, sitting all by himself in the corner of some shithole tavern in the middle of nowhere. In the back of his half-drunken mind, he knew how stupidly dangerous this disgraceful display of vulnerability was, how open it left him to others, how frighteningly easy it would be for any of the losers hanging out around him to realize that he’d lost it, that Vegeta, the Mighty Prince of all Saiyans, had finally lost his wretched mind.

It was already happening.

Despite his harebrained, booze-induced stupor, he couldn’t avoid picking up on the meddling side glances and blabbing whispers of the idiots surrounding him, and the most terrifying part was that he didn’t care. The cold-blooded warrior who’d spent his entire existence hedged by danger and playing by the ‘eat or get eaten’ rule, the man who knew that strength of character and a carefully constructed deceiving façade could be, at times, more impressive than physical power itself, had finally given up on perfecting his ominous masquerade, choosing to lay his sorrows to rest in a glass of lousy alcohol instead.

And all because of her.

Guilty pleasure.

That’s what she was supposed to be.

A goddamned guilty pleasure.

Just a tight little pussy, a warm body to use for the night, a beautiful garden of pleasure to drown and get lost into for a few hours at a time, discarding it with utter disregard once morning arrived and the time came for the both of them to return to an inhumane reality made out of chaos and destruction.

He shouldn’t have done it.

He shouldn’t have walked into her blasted room in the middle of the night, that cursed, ill-fated night in which he’d been arrogant enough to fool himself into believing that all he’d get out of her would be a taste, a deliciously single taste, and that he’d possess a will strong enough to leave her without looking back once he was done with her. The signals had always been there, that enlightened premonition floating within his deranged soul, like a looming echo imploring, urging him to walk away before it was too late. But, in the end, it’d been his pride, his most-prized possession, the one responsible for his deplorable downfall.

The woman had taken a hold on him, slowly but implacably, crawling under his skin with the smoothness of a harmless, mellow kitten, and clinging to his rotten heart with her stubborn little fingers until nothing existed but her.

A part of him wanted nothing more than for things to go back to the way they used to be, to his coolly collected life, that mundane cycle of murder and destruction that he knew oh so well. But then there was this side of him, this shamefully forbidden nook in his spirit, that was grateful for her existence, and for the extraordinary moments, however fleeting, that he’d had the underserving privilege of sharing with her.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it felt as if the exotic creature had sliced him to the core, splitting his heart in two and taking a piece of him with her the last time she’d abandoned him.

Vegeta groaned drunkenly, finishing off every last drop of the intoxicating nectar and carelessly dropping the glass on top of the cluttered table, realizing with inebriated dread that he’d just consumed the last bottle of the generous round of drinks that Nappa had ordered mere minutes ago. He blinked disconnectedly, looking around with blurry vision in search of the stupid giant, who’d gone outside to gather the details for their next mission as soon as he’d set the beverages right in front of him, only to discover that the idiot still hadn’t returned.

He rubbed his broken eyes with gloved hands, entirely unperturbed by how unusually dirty his uniform was as he inwardly cursed his speedy Saiyan metabolism for making it so darn hard for him to get blind drunk and to fall into the blissful oblivion he was so frantically chasing.

If only he couldn’t see her anymore…

If only he could erase the turbulent image of her as he’d last seen her, standing stoically, cross-armed, in front of the large windows of the luxurious hotel suite in which they’d both shared the best night of their lives. But every time he closed his eyes, there she was, fully dressed in her dirty overalls, bouncy blue curls charmingly swept up into that ruffled, glossy bun that he so loved to loosen as soon as he had her all to himself, during those sacred times of intimacy spent together.   

It was the first time, ever since they’d embarked into their secret affair, that his woman had awakened long before him, the very first time in which their roles had been reversed and he’d been the one staring at her in confusion, mesmerized by the petite figure looking at the horizon as the coral glow of sunrise breezed in. He’d known, as soon as his dazed eyes had fallen on her, that a storm was verging upon, hiding underneath her deceitfully serene stance.

“Hey…” She whispered softly, turning towards him as soon as she heard the faint sounds of his bare feet touch the ground. “You’re up…”

Vegeta’s only response to her obvious statement was to quietly approach her, taking in the unsettling tightness present in her eyes, her strangely defensive posture as she kept her slender arms firmly crossed in front of her chest, and the heartbreaking sadness suffocating a pained smile that never touched her eyes.

His concern never waned when he encircled her waist with a muscular arm and he pressed her selfishly against his naked body, reaching out for her chignon with his free hand and burying his thick fingers into the unkempt updo. Vegeta licked his lips with self-indulgence when her wistful smile faded away and her eyes closed, tilting her head back in submission as she awaited the famished kiss that she knew was coming. In spite of his fierce dominance, his kiss was achingly tender and tentative at first, his mouth brushing lightly against hers once, then twice, gliding the tip of his tongue across her quivery lower lip until she sighed in need, opening her mouth just for him and gently inviting him in.

Even though Bulma gladly surrendered to him, gradually relaxing in his embrace and wrapping her arms around his neck, he could taste the anguish overflowing in her kiss, an anguish he’d proudly vanished during their previous night together, but which had seemingly come back in full force when morning had cruelly sneaked in. The moment their lips separated and she offered him another one of those melancholic smiles, he knew that something was troubling his little genius’ mind, and his worst suspicions were proven right when she took a deep breath, letting go of him far too soon and turning her sights onto one of her pockets, carefully unzipping it and taking a minuscule object out of it.

“I forgot to give you this, last night…” The earthling muttered with clear nervousness in her voice, her eyes still fixated on the tiny item as she held it with slightly trembling fingers. “I made this for you…” She finally explained, placing her hand in front of him and opening it, generously offering her meticulously crafted present to him.

The warrior stiffened for a moment, eyeing the mysterious gadget with patent interest. Not only due to the fact that he’d never come across anything of the kind, but because his brilliant female claimed to have made it especially for him.

“It’s a capsule,” Bulma clarified, knowing that her lover’s ego always made it hard for him to admit that there were things he still knew nothing about.

“What…?” The Prince enquired at last, his fingers tightening around her hips, still refusing to loosen his grip on her but never taking his eyes off the small device. “What is it?”

Bulma’s sad smile widened, her pride in her father’s most groundbreaking brainchild shining through despite her growing anxiety.

“Remember…? Remember how I told you my father was a scientist?” She asked in a subdued tone. “This was his greatest invention. He built his entire business upon it.”             

The Saiyan’s scowl deepened, finally extending his hand and holding the alien invention between his sturdy fingers. “What does it do?” He openly questioned.

“It’s a storage device. I made it in my spare time at work,” she said. “You see this button over here? You press it and throw the capsule at a safe distance and it will reveal the object stored inside…”

“So, you…? You built this…? This capsule for me?”     

“I… I made the capsule… And what’s inside of it...” Bulma confessed at last, her long fingers enfolding his mildly clenched fist and the capsule hiding inside of it. “It’s a gift, Vegeta…” She whispered lovingly, laying a velvety kiss on his flushed cheek.

He could almost feel his heart shutting down in his chest, his blood running cold at such an inconceivable thought.  

A gift.

The woman had made a gift.

For him.

Bulma hugged him boldly once again, knowing just how much Vegeta hated to feel as powerless as he did whenever she evoked a foreign emotion within his soul, and wanting to make things easier for him by choosing to be the weepy, sentimental one instead.

And he let her, returning her touching embrace with terrifying ease, as if his body had learnt by now to respond inevitably to her silly human affections. She shivered in his arms, her breath faltering, choked with emotion, a sensitiveness he would have attributed to the yearning that his woman always experienced whenever he was about to leave her side, that rare sentiment so new to him, so inexplicable, yet so oddly satisfying. But there was something different in her tight grip this time, something somber, lugubrious, an impending shadow about to jeopardize their frail relationship, shaking it to its very core.

“I have to go…” She breathed in his ear, nuzzling the sensitive skin below his earlobe one last time, smoothing the way for her daring confession.

“Already?” Vegeta blurted out, careless, for once, about looking far too interested in keeping his lover with him for as long as he could. “I could order some breakfast for us before you…”

“It’s okay, Vegeta…” Bulma interrupted tenderly, her glum smile never faltering as her tiny hands encircled his face and she snuck one final, languid kiss on his lips. “I really… I really have to go now…”    

He’d never forget the way her freezing hands had felt on his skin that morning, the way they’d trembled in what he now knew was sheer fear, the fear of a woman who already knew she was about to lose it all. Her thumbs dotingly caressed his cheeks a few more times, those misty blue eyes drinking in his astounded face, as if trying to keep him forever in her girlish imagination, before finally releasing him, turning around and marching leisurely to the exit door.

Vegeta stood frozen in his spot, absolutely flabbergasted, using every ounce of his notorious self-control in trying not to run to his woman and grab her so that she’d set her eyes on him once more, just once more, and he could unveil the secret hiding behind their enigmatic blue glow.

In the end, he didn’t have to, for after having walked just a few strides away from him, Bulma halted her steps, crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest, just as she had when sleep had freed him from its clutches and he’d found her already awake that morning. Only, this time, this time her naturally impeccable posture gave way to that heart-wrenching air of defeat that she’d once displayed before him, on that gloomy night when he’d visited her right after having heard the news of her best friend’s passing. That desolate night that would forever remain engraved in his unfeelingly black heart.

His fists clenched anxiously around the small gift she’d just presented him with when she faced him at last, showing a very different woman than the one he’d had in his arms mere hours ago. The elegant shoulders he’d just lavished with starved kisses were now hunched down in disillusion, thin arms still firmly crossed in a severe, self-protective shield, and her eyes, those lively eyes he so loved to get lost into, dulled by a thick dusk of self-doubt.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you…” She declared in a shy half-whisper, waiting for a response that she knew would never come.

She was right.

The most discouraging silence floated across the room, a dense cloud of dead air suffocating them both while Vegeta kept gawking at her in complete immobility. Her words raced through his dizzy mind, astonishing words that no one, not even his own Mother, had ever pronounced in his presence.

Love.

The woman was insane.

She had to be.

There was no way that someone, anyone, would ever fall in love with a despicable monster like himself, much less a morally uncorrupted creature like Bulma. But there she was, standing in front of him with a goddamned smile of pure misery ruining her lips, and an allegoric knife in her hands, sinking it slowly, dangerously slowly into his heart, awaiting the right moment to inflict her coup de grace and crush his vile spirit once and for all.

“It’s all right, Vegeta… I understand…” She murmured with insufferable compassion, pardoning his inability to handle any kind of emotional demonstration. “I just thought you should know…”

The dagger twirled in her little fingers, burying itself to the hilt as she twisted the sharp blade with kind mercy, letting his hot blood spill at her golden feet. The last thing his warped eyes saw before she turned around without muttering a further word was a single, imprudent tear rolling down her cheek, a glistening gem betraying whatever remnants of dignity she had left in her as she walked out the door, deserting him like the laughable wimp that he truly was.

She never even asked.

She never even asked when he’d come back to her the next time, as if she’d already known, as if she’d now attained the uncanny talent of seeing right through him, right through the cracks of that conceited mask of indifference that, in his bigheaded blindness, he’d always considered indestructible.

 

Two months.

Two months without her.

Two excruciating months of avoidance, consisting on the ghastliest purging missions and feverishly sleepless nights, seeking comfort at the bottom of the bottle of whatever cheap booze he’d been able to get his bloody hands on, in some poor, pitiable attempt at erasing the best thing that ever happened to him from his deluded recollections.

 

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t possibly forget about her when he was, quite literally, carrying the cursed memory of her with him anywhere he went.

Vegeta didn’t know how long he’d stood all by himself, as naked as the day he was born, at the foot of the massive bed which had been the only witness to his lover’s intimate confessions. All he knew was that, in the end, it was Bulma the one who brought him back to the real world when consciousness gradually crept in and he became sorely aware of the tiny object still hidden within his clasped fist. He opened the palm of his clammy hand, unveiling the secretive invention that his woman’s father had seemingly built a monumental empire upon, and he carefully pushed the button just as the scientist had directed him to, throwing the capsule on the bed and feeling the titanic room spin vertiginously around him at the sight of Bulma’s unexpected gift.

Armor.

Not just any armor, but armor fit for a Saiyan Prince.

The warrior run his shaky fingers all over his lover’s magnificent creation, exploring every ridge and every plane, every single inch of the extraordinary material, so unlike anything he’d encountered before, that he couldn’t help but wonder just how secretly deep the woman’s brilliance truly run. He took in the bright, white breast plate and golden straps, the material both resilient yet unbelievably light, as well as the neatly folded royal blue combat suit and a pair of white, gold-tipped boots with equally white gloves to match.

His mind’s eye run wild, picturing his beautiful genius investing whatever little spare time she had at her disposal in doing such a generous task for him. Not only did Vegeta already know how extremely exhausted Bulma could be after a long day’s work, but he was convinced that this was something she’d done on the side, making use of resources that she most certainly wouldn’t have been allowed to employ for a project of her own and putting her job, and quite possibly her own life, at great risk on the way. A warrior like him, bred and raised amongst war and weaponry, had sampled and tested a wide variety of protective gear, including the most high-tech prototypes developed by Frieza’s top notch researchers, but never had he had the incredible honor of wearing armor such as the one the earthling had crafted expressly for him.

He admired her.

He had to admire such obvious courage and plain idiocy, for a woman had to be both stupidly brave and naïve in order to pour her heart and soul into such an endeavor, knowing, deep down, that the recipient of her foolish efforts would be none other than an ungrateful bastard who’d end up stomping all over her emotions as soon as she gathered the strength to confess her feelings for him.

 

And now she was gone.

Forever.

 

Guilty pleasure.

That’s what she was.

That’s what she’d always been.

Nothing more than a goddamned guilty pleasure…           

 

“…”

“…ta?”

“…geta?”

“Ve-Vegeta?” A hoarse voice asked with utmost respect, forcing him to uncover his fuzzy, reddened eyes and pay some reluctant attention to the exasperating source.

“What?” He brusquely replied, his disgust clear as daylight as he almost spat his drunken words at his subordinate. If it weren’t because he needed Nappa and his darned scouter to get the details of their newest mission, he would have loved nothing more than to blast the fucker already for daring to interrupt him while he was having the time of his life wallowing in self-pity.

The bald man was slightly taken aback by his Prince’s aggressive reaction. Vegeta had never been the warmest of men but, lately, Nappa had found himself having to walk on eggshells around him at all times, due to this new, alarmingly erratic behavior of his. 

“Uh…Um… No-Nothing… I just…” Nappa stuttered with edginess, holding his brand-new scouter right before the younger man’s eyes, trying to pacify him. “I just… I got our new instructions. I thought we could go through all the…”

“Drinks.”

“Uh?”

Vegeta shot him a deadly glare, one of those intimidating black looks, so full of rage and aversion, that it could turn a man’s blood into frost, dropping him to his knees without lifting a finger.

“You heard what I just said,” the Prince muttered icily, his speech slow and tangled, thanks to the copious amount of alcohol he’d already ingested. “If I’m going to have to listen to your stupid shit, you better bring me some fucking drinks first…”

Nappa’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief when, after running a quick scan across the jumbled mess that was their table, he discovered nothing but a collection of empty glasses resting on it. He knew that the Prince had been drinking far more than usual as of late, but it was practically inconceivable that a man who usually nursed a single glass of liquor for hours on end would have already polished off every one of the bottles he’d ordered less than ten or fifteen minutes ago.

Vegeta’s underling stood from the table with serviceable speed, inwardly biting his tongue so as not to cross the well-drawn boundaries that both Saiyans had established around each other years ago. Even though, back in the old days, the fundamental duty assigned to him had been to care for his Prince and to protect him at all times, he’d also accepted long ago that the younger warrior wasn’t a child anymore but a man, a man infinitely stronger than him with a character so hardened by years and years of endless abuse, that he wouldn’t hesitate in the least when the time came for him to reduce him to smithereens if he ever crossed the invisible line separating them.

The tall man walked to the bar, ordering another plentiful round of drinks and choosing a strategically located spot that would allow him to keep an eye on the dishonorable figure which Vegeta had become as he waited.

It was hard to believe that the pitiful, hunched man sitting somberly on his own was his Prince, a man whose entire life had revolved around meticulous self-control and obsessive discipline, a man with the sole purpose of creating some sense of order around the chaos he’d been thrown into when he was nothing but a five-year-old child with no place to call home any longer.

Nappa would never dare to go as far as comparing himself to some kind of a father figure to Vegeta, but the deeply imbedded, protective instinct that the younger Saiyan evoked in him, ingrained into his darkened soul after lustrums of active service under him, couldn’t be diminished either.

Something had happened.

Something big.

Something explosive which had turned one of the strongest warriors in the Universe into nothing but a pathetic shell of his old self.

Despite the well-known fact that Nappa wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch, he’d spent the greatest part of the past few months carefully tying the knots in Vegeta’s capricious behavior, attempting to put all the pieces of the paradox that was his life together, until he was able to get a pretty decent mental picture of exactly what had transpired during the Prince’s scarce times off duty.

It’d all began one night like any other when, shortly after seeing him talking for a few minutes to that loud-mouthed wench who Raditz used to fuck on a regular basis, the shorter man had inexplicably disappeared from the very same tavern they were drinking at right now. At first, Nappa had speculated with the bizarre possibility of the blonde wacko embarking on some kind of a mission to seduce the Saiyan Prince now that her old lover had been killed in battle. But, seeing how the crazy human had stayed all on her own, drinking herself to death until long hours of the night, the old man had quickly dismissed such an idea.

His early suspicions, however, hadn’t strayed that far from the truth, seeing how, the morning after, Vegeta had punctually shown up at the hangars where the space pods were located reeking of female pheromones. As a rule, Nappa wouldn’t have given much thought to such an insignificant detail. Despite the sickly spartan, larger than life aura that the Prince exuded, he was a male, after all, a man with natural cravings and needs that only a woman could satisfy. And, even though Vegeta’s fixation with keeping his private affairs away from privy ears sometimes verged on the neurotic, Nappa’s sharp Saiyan senses had always been able to cleverly identify when his Master had spent the night with a woman.

This time, however, the bald man had become powerless to ignore just how appetizingly peculiar the scent was, a potent aroma far richer and sweeter than any other traces he’d ever detected on the Prince’s skin. The womanly perfume had been so intriguing, so persuasively seductive, that Nappa had seriously felt tempted to comment on it. But something told the more experienced Saiyan that things wouldn’t end well if he ever did, based on that one memorable morning in which Raditz had playfully teased Vegeta about some forgettable bimbo the Prince had bedded the previous night, earning the long-haired warrior the beating of his life in return.

Whoever this woman was, there must have been something undoubtedly exceptional about her, not only due to her delectably appealing scent, but to the startling way in which she seemed to have affected Vegeta after merely spending one single night in his company.

Indeed, all through that particular mission, Nappa had been astute enough to recognize an abnormal change in the Prince’s comportment, the first dangerous sign of what was still to come. During their times of duty, the younger soldier had been as competent as ever, completing his purging assignment with his characteristically detached efficiency. However, as soon as night engulfed them and they both engaged in that ancient ritual of comradeship, sitting by the fire and sharing a half-decent meal and a few old stories, Vegeta would soon retreat to his own private, imaginary world, looking even more disconnected from him than usual, even irked by the endless Saiyan tales that he’d so loved to listen to in his ingenuous days of youth.

The bigger man hadn’t thought much of such an odd conduct at first, thinking it nothing more than a childish infatuation, one of those that the Prince had most surely missed out on during his adolescence, just like so many other rites of passage denied to him after having had his innocence so brutally taken away from him, far too early in life.

Nappa had wrongly predicted that, whatever ridiculous crush Vegeta had developed towards the furtive woman, would soon fade away into nothingness. But then both fighters completed their hellish mission and, not only did Vegeta instantly disappear from his side as soon as they landed on their recently assigned military base, but he showed up far later than expected the next morning, absolutely drenched in that awfully inviting, sugary perfume.

Soon, it happened again.

And again.

Until the brute had no choice but to surrender to the overwhelming evidence, grudgingly accepting that Vegeta was involved in a monogamous relationship of some sort with an unknown woman.

He could hardly believe it.

It was painfully hard to believe that someone like his Prince, a man of few words, an evasive warrior who’d mastered the art of deception and taken it to an entirely new level, had somehow managed to develop, not only the desire, but the emotional skills to establish a meaningful bond with another living creature, for Nappa had always thought him damaged beyond repair.

Many years had passed since that doomed day in which he’d been bestowed with both the great honor and the inestimable responsibility of watching over the King’s oldest son, a task he’d gratefully accepted, swearing under Royal Oath to always protect and do good by the Saiyan Prince. Never had he imagined the cussed cards that providence would end up dealing them both, and how tragically scornful the complete and utter destruction of their beloved home planet, their Monarch and their entire race would be. And all by the twisted hand of the slimy lizard Overlord who’d demanded to have the young Saiyan Prince by his side at all times, like some perversely sick trophy, the last descendant of a warrior race that was no more.

The Prince of No One.

The boy’s babyish expression had remained distantly impassive on the day he was informed of the tragic fate of his people, mumbling some bratty nonsense about how they all deserved to die anyway if they hadn’t been strong enough to defend themselves from Frieza’s overwhelming power.

Vegeta had been foxy enough to disguise his true feelings on the matter, exhibiting a level of astuteness way beyond his young age, even back then; a masterful shrewdness that would be wisely polished and improved over time, only to become his most hazardously lethal skill as an adult warrior.

The Emperor’s most eminent child soldier may have possessed the clever ability to put on a good show to the outside world, smartly concealing his feelings as means to survive in such a hostile environment, but, behind closed doors, Nappa would rapidly become the sole witness to Vegeta’s true emotional state.

As soon as the lights went off, and the young Prince sought comfort beneath the false protection of the dark, the exceptionally dignified boy would undergo the most chilling metamorphosis under the secret, watchful eye of his caretaker, becoming nothing but a curled up little lump, shivering and sobbing quietly into the night. A woeful string of primitive words would emerge from his small lips, mournful whispers poorly muffled by the raggedy blankets that served him as shelter. The older man’s sensitive ear had clearly distinguished the all too familiar prayers, spoken in that rare but unmistakable Saiyango dialect solely reserved to nobility; ancient litanies of hope and protection, of bravery and honor, which Saiyan mothers would usually recite to their children before putting their rambunctious brood to bed. 

Nappa had been so confused in those days, so utterly consumed by his own grief and exhaustion, that he hadn’t fully understood the meaning behind Vegeta’s delirious behavior, dismissing it at first as nothing but a naïve young boy handling the agony of loss as he only knew how, filling the void of loneliness by clinging to whatever fragments remained from his noble heritage.         

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know back then that the child was not hanging onto his roots but committing them to memory, walking through the vague reminiscences frailly imprinted in his mind, over and over again, until they’d become such an intrinsic part of himself that he’d eventually be able to cast them off.

And then one night, one fatal winter night spent on some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere, during one of their ruthless assignments, Nappa took a seat by the bonfire after a long day devoted to homicide and extermination, only to realize that he could barely recognize the young Prince lying by his side anymore. He’d anticipated encountering the sad, lost child consumed by never-ending nights hiding cowardly under the covers, and dwelling in his own misery, but his tired eyes bumped into an entirely different picture instead.

Vegeta had been lying collectedly on his back, arms crossed behind his neck with imperturbable nonchalance and impenetrable eyes, now free from any trace of his past disgraceful tears, staring right into the heavy-starred nocturnal skies.

This child was not a child but a man, an old soul trapped inside a body that would be far too small and powerless for years to come, bounded by a wicked impediment stopping him from fulfilling his destiny, that new, vengeful destiny which he’d designed for himself. His soul hardened, the remnants of his tender heart turning to icy stone and, whatever innocence he’d once possessed, quietly gave way to the heartless bastard that countless galaxies would grow to fear and despise for years to come.

The young Prince had taken every shard of his Saiyan past, from his Father’s heroic speeches to his Mother’s bedtime stories, from Nappa’s enraged words of fury, pride and self-control during their daily, punitive training sessions to the morbidly intrinsic hatred that his Icejin Master professed against his bygone race, and he’d assimilated all of it in such a profound way that they’d become like a second spirit.

Vegeta had stolen whatever vestiges of the past that could assist him in his recently discovered quest for survival, legends of illustrious victories and tenacious resolution, and the eternal tales of men whose names and feats would remain on everyone’s lips long after their physical body had abandoned this world, and he’d kept them all to himself, getting rid of any unnecessary distractions along the way and pushing his superfluous emotions away, hiding them in that dark, occult corner within his soul where little boys went to die.

Nappa took a large swig of his freshly poured drink, allowing his curious eyes to freely roam all over his Prince’s defeated figure, and paying special attention to the strange armor Vegeta’d been wearing non-stop for the past two months. The out of the ordinary attire had survived virtually intact, and without a single crack, the last three missions both Saiyans had been appointed to, the last one being a particularly vicious one indeed. It was unlike his Master to wear the same armor for more than one assignment at a time, having no trouble at all in using and discarding every piece of combat gear on a regular basis, with the only exception of his treasured scouter, the one and only relic inherited from his father and, ironically, the one element which had finally solved the enigma that was Vegeta’s fascinating lover.

It’d taken Nappa quite a few weeks of patient wait, holding the solid conviction that his Prince was having a serious affair with some alluring female, a woman who’d influenced his aloof character far more than what the older man considered safe in a world where sentimental attachments could mean, quite literally, a warrior’s death sentence. He’d figured that, if Vegeta was honestly infatuated with a woman, sooner or later his judgement would slip, and he’d end up making a mistake, unwittingly revealing the identity of his secretive wench to him.

His expectations were proven right the day Vegeta placed a cryptic little box in his hands, a white box containing the most valuable item in his possession, the one thing that the younger man would never willingly part from, methodically instructing him to take it personally to a woman he knew by name, and to ‘absolutely no one else.’ Not only had the Prince never referred to any other female on a first name basis, but the unyielding tone in his chilling voice, hiding the promise of a very, very painful form of punishment if his firm instructions refused to be followed to the letter, and ordering him ‘not to do anything stupid’ told him that, whatever plans he had in store for the mysterious scientist, were no laughing matter.

He got it.

All he had to do to get, at long last, what all the commotion was about, was setting foot inside the building and laying eyes on this enigmatic Bulma Briefs.

The enchanting witch had turned out to be the finest piece of ass he’d ever seen in his life, like a tempting little bonbon wrapped up in creamy skin and ethereal blue curls, and a scent, that goddamned scent which had enveloped his Prince’s form for weeks on end, so rich and crisp, that the old man had to use everything within his power to remind himself of what Vegeta would do to him if he ever dared to touch what was his.

And she was his.

Not only had Nappa identified the woman’s distinctively thick aroma right away but, when he’d approached her with bold audacity, getting dangerously closer and inhaling a liberal waft of her, he’d promptly distinguished Vegeta’s mark imprinted all over that fuckable body of hers. Based on the look of pure shock and repulsion in her eyes when he’d invaded her personal space, the female’s senses were probably not sensitive enough to realize that she’d been shamelessly carrying around a Saiyan’s scent all this time, that possessively primal mark that cautioned any other males around her of the imminent risk of trying to steal a warrior’s property from him.

“Here you go…” Nappa muttered sheepishly, setting two large trays filled to the brim with Vegeta’s preferred drinks of choice atop the now empty table, and sitting by the Prince’s side, scrutinizing with poor discretion the avid way in which the young fighter grabbed one of the largest glasses with zero hesitation, guzzling the whole thing in one single, anxious gulp.

Whatever happened between Vegeta and his woman, he wouldn’t know.

All he knew was that, the day after he’d diligently fulfilled his assignment, taking the old scouter to the scientist, Vegeta had shown up at the hangars far later than usual, dressed in that totally bizarre armor and his naturally bronzed skin looking paler than ever, as if all blood had abandoned his compact body, never to return. The slut’s irresistible fragrance was still clinging heavily to his being, making the older man assume that not much had changed between the two of them.

But, when the time came for both warriors to return to the military base, and his superior literally flew straight from the runway facility into the shadiest, filthiest tavern he could find, Nappa knew that trouble had ensued in the Prince’s private paradise, and that those two lovebirds were over for good.

He’d been relieved, it couldn’t be denied.

He’d been incredibly relieved to find out that Vegeta was free at last from the disturbing burden that only a beautiful woman could bring into a soldier’s existence. It was perfectly normal to spend the night with some tight, wet cunt every now and then, but getting attached to some manipulative little bitch was something else entirely, and not a single good thing could ever come out of having any kind of a serious relationship with a blasted woman.

In the beginning, Nappa had presumed that the young Prince would simply drown his sorrows for a day or two before picking himself up, dusting himself off and keep on going, just as he’d always done every time tragedy had struck his unfortunate life in past times. But the ferocious speed in which Vegeta had developed this new drinking habit of his, drinking himself to the brink of unconsciousness whenever he was off duty, and never taking that worthless armor off, had revealed a very different picture instead, the image of a deeply wounded man, utterly unable to move on from heartbreak.

To a certain degree, Nappa understood Vegeta’s predicament, for he too had been a young man once, a man with grit and goals, and an expectant spark of optimism shining bright within his immoral soul. He’d experimented the frightening power of infatuation in his youth, back in the good old days, when mating with a Saiyan female was still a very real possibility, and he knew the immense power that such foolish emotions could hold over an inexperienced heart.

What he’d never envisioned, however, was seeing a man as ferally cold and lonesome as his Master falling in such a treacherous, pathetic trap. But, on second thought, perhaps the fact that Vegeta had walked through life in no one’s company was precisely the reason why he’d turned into such an easy prey when the right woman had bumped right into him.

The Saiyan Prince was an itinerant man who’d lived his whole existence wandering across arid, deserted wastelands, a lost nomad used to thirst and dearth who’d gotten a taste of the most divine Holy Water far too late in life. Like a small child living in famine finally getting a morsel of the most enjoyable treat, only to have it violently yanked away from him.

It was as easily understandable as it was idiotically dangerous, not only for Vegeta but for Nappa himself. As much as the ruffian had always respected and tried his best to accomplish his obligation as the Prince’s servant and protector, there was also an increasingly larger part of him that cared only for himself, a side of him who’d grown to regard the younger warrior as his only beacon of hope, the one safe-conduct that could end up catapulting him into a far superior life than the monotonous reality of bloodthirsty slavery they’d both been subjected to for only the Gods knew how long.

There was only one dream which had remained essentially untouched, that one golden dream of infinite power and supremacy, the auspicious hope that his Prince would one day live up to his glorious expectations and fulfill his destiny by birthright, reaching his Ascension, once and for all, and triumphantly breaking the sadistic chains that enslaved them both.

It was getting close.

He could feel it.

The vision once felt unattainable, back in those days of agony and catastrophe, when Vegeta was nothing more than a helpless brat completely at Frieza’s mercy, would soon come to an end, and Nappa couldn’t allow anything or anyone to sabotage them, much less some useless little slut who could simply be replaced by any other whore in the Galaxy.

The bald man reminisced on all the torment and humiliation, never-ending years of bone-crushing beatings, usually in front of the lizard’s favorite bastard soldiers, so that everyone could laugh in contempt at the deplorable spectacle of the three last remaining members of an eradicated race beaten to the edge of death just for the vile joy of it.

He thought of young Vegeta, the one who’d always get the worst of it, merely for having been blessed with the curse of possessing Royal Blood coursing through his veins, the blue blood which Frieza so loved to spill with unashamed cruelty, letting the child choke on pools of it while his malevolently syrupy laughter boomed in the air.

It couldn’t have all been for nothing.

It couldn’t.

There had to be a reason for all of that seemingly irrational pain, for all the pointless degradation and incessant defeat, and the reason must lie behind his Prince’s majestic legacy.

Vegeta’s flawless body had been tempered throughout interminable years of infernal battles and monstrous exploitation, his remarkable Saiyan genes allowing him, not only to recover at superhuman speed, but to bounce back stronger and faster after every single one of those merciless poundings. The Emperor’s cruelty had been unbearable, that was the truth, but it’d also served an ironic purpose, the mortal purpose of filling the young man with unparalleled wrath, toughening his heart, gradually but implacably, and killing his spirit until he’d become nothing but a soulless killing machine.

The Prince’s imminent ascension was so close that Nappa could almost taste it, goldenly awaiting at the tip of their fingers and, once the mystical power of the Legendary Super Saiyan was conquered, Vegeta would finally slay their evil tormentor, ruling in his place and sharing his abundant riches with his most loyal subordinate.

Then, and only then, would there be time to relax, to indulge in all the pretty pussy that only immeasurable wealth and power could buy. And, if the Prince couldn’t get his act together soon enough, if he obstinately kept going down this recklessly idiotic path of decadence and self-destruction, then perhaps the time would come for him to take matters into his own hands and kill the magnetic little bitch himself.

All he had to do was find a way, just an ingenious way to discover just what exactly had transpired between those two crazy kids, and whether or not there was a chance, a real chance of Vegeta getting over her eventually, or if he still cared about the wretched woman far too much for his own good. Nappa knew that he had to tread carefully, not only because of how unpredictably dangerous the Prince could become whenever he felt crossed in any way, but because Frieza’s scientists, even those belonging to lower classes, were considered far too valuable to mess with, and their unjustified murder could have lethal consequences for their executor.

 

‘All he had to do was find a way, just a cunning, sneaky way into Vegeta’s unstable mind…’          

 

“So…” Nappa spoke at last, clumsily clearing his throat as his dumb mind tried to mull over the shadow of a plan. “You…? You want me to walk you through the details of the…?”

“Just get it over with, asshole…” Vegeta mumbled with frustration, sipping sluggishly on a new drink, trying to make this one last as long as he could while he listened to Nappa’s irritating garbage.

“Uh… Oh, yeah! Right! So…” The old man faltered awkwardly, putting on his scouter and rummaging through the recently downloaded files in search for the newest one. “Okay… Uh, just let me… Yeah… So, we’re leaving tomorrow morning…”

“Destination?” The Prince replied without delay, secretly ecstatic about having to depart in such short order. The sooner he left this hideous place, the sooner he’d get away from the diabolical woman.  

He could feel her.

He didn’t know how or why but sometimes he could, even though he’d been avoiding going to see her during the last three times he’d visited the base, he could somehow sense her energy still around, an outlandish awareness that brought him both peace and agitation. Knowing that Bulma was nearby, still alive and free from harm, was enough to settle his tumultuous nerves, making him feel as if all was well in the world, as if someday, maybe someday, he’d finally find the courage to come back to her and face those silly emotions of hers.

But he wasn’t ready.

Not tonight.

“Ummm… This is… Uh…” Nappa’s croaky voice rasped, temporarily distracting him from his inner turmoil.

“What?” Vegeta dryly prodded.

The Prince’s icy tone left no room for argument, making the older man’s tongue untangle at light speed. “Well, we… We’re supposed to go to Base-055…” Nappa informed at last.

In spite of his liquored-up state, and even though he wasn’t paying much attention to the towering brute, Vegeta could hardly conceal his surprise at this unforeseen revelation.

“Isn’t that a medical facility?” He blurted out with tangible curiosity.

“Y-Yeah…”

“Why the fuck would Frieza want to purge a place like that?” The Prince asked again, offering his subordinate the dirtiest of looks.

The bald man kept flipping through their instructions, looking, for once, as if he shared Vegeta’s clear confusion as he deciphered them.

“Uh, no… We’re not… We’re not supposed to purge it. We’re supposed to just go there and wait for two weeks until we get further instructions…”

“What the fuck are you even talking about? Give me that shit!” Vegeta commanded, extending his arm to an increasingly aghast Nappa, in demand of the older man’s scouter. The Prince may have already descended quite deeply into a state of blind drunkenness, but he sure as Hell was intimidating as ever.

Vegeta put on the apparatus in his ear, riffling through the available data and confirming, with dismay, that the imbecile hadn’t read their new orders wrong.

“That fucking son of a bitch motherfucker…” He mumbled with furious bitterness, snatching the gadget from his ear and literally throwing it at Nappa’s face as hard as he could, causing the stunned guy to almost fall off his chair as he tried to save it from touching the ground and blowing to pieces.

“I’m so fucking sick of this shit…” Vegeta slurred hotly, swamping his lips into another glassful of nasty alcohol. “That fucking lizard prick motherfucker… You’ll see… You’ll all see…”

The warrior leaned back sloppily on his chair, alternating between garbling a row of degrading insults against the loathsome freak who’d destroyed his life beyond repair, and tossing down drink after drink as his inebriated mind elucubrated on the million possible reasons hiding behind such a bizarre job.

By now, it was vox populi that the Prince and his comrades were never assigned anything other than purging missions. Not only due to their natural expertise for such deadly tasks, but also because, through the years, the Icejin Overlord had learnt, the hard way, that the young leader of the Saiyan gang was strongly opposed to anything that would involve capture or enslavement of any kind.

From a very early age, Frieza may have tried to instill some ‘sense’ into Vegeta, vainly struggling to shape and mold the soldier child to his own image. But the dogged brat had refused to sacrifice certain untouchable principles, making it dangerously clear that there were certain lines he was unwilling to cross, and always would be, such as anything related to slavery or sexual abuse. Which was why now Vegeta couldn’t even begin to comprehend just why was their beastly Master asking them to go to some out-of-the-way space station, where nothing of interest ever happened, and just wait there.

The Prince knew Base-055, and he knew it well.

It was a bleakly remote space station, much smaller and lifeless than the one in which Bulma resided, purely dedicated to scientific research, a place responsible for a myriad of medical breakthroughs. The secluded base also featured a spacious facility devoted to the therapeutic treatment of the Emperor’s elite warriors, those considered as far too valuable to lose when badly injured in battle, which was precisely the reason behind the young Saiyan’s deep familiarity with the place.       

Indeed, Vegeta had spent many a time in his youth inside that awfully cold healing unit. Countless days and nights wasting away in that backwater clinic, while Frieza’s top-notch surgeons did their best to patch up his brokenly abused body until he’d been able to stand on his feet and rush back to fulfilling his obligations towards his punitive Master.

As he grew older, however, the Dictator’s physicians deftly informed the lizard on the many discoveries made on Saiyan anatomy, educating him on how unnecessary it was for him to dilapidate costly resources on a warrior who owned a frame designed for war, a body capable of healing at such a surprisingly fast rate, that throwing him into a standard regenerating tank would suffice in order to get the murdering instrument that was his body in top shape.

It was then that Vegeta had learnt his true value in Frieza’s army, and that, regardless of the ceaseless beatings and humiliation that the Icejin constantly subjected him to, sometimes pushing him to the brink of death itself, the bastard would always rush to save him at the last minute, thus proving that he needed his lethal artistry more than he was willing to confess.

But it was also in the springtime of his fatidic life that he’d become acquainted with the somber mistrust that the heinous ruler had in him and his compatriots, shrewdly refusing to assign them any sensitive job, and choosing to employ them as pure muscle instead.

Vegeta didn’t know the goal hiding behind this last shocking assignment, but the Saiyan was no fool, and he’d seen enough signals over the past few months to make an educated guess, concluding that Frieza’s empire was well on its way to crumbling down. He’d even suffered these alarming, cautionary signs in his own flesh, on that one mission which had culminated in a seriously injured arm, the grave wound that his little earthling had tended to with such affectionate care.

The buzzed fighter set yet another empty glass on the disheveled table, grimacing miserably to himself, not only at the foreign, touching emotions that Bulma’s memory still stirred within his soul, both heartbreaking yet oddly sustaining, but at the thought of how colossally obtuse the Icejin King had been in regards to the thoughtless way in which he’d handled his vast Empire so far. For all of his power, and an undeniable astuteness when it suited him, Frieza had made the incurable mistake of presuming that physical strength and fear alone would be conducive to ruling over the Universe and keeping his occupied dominions under control forever.

He’d been deadly wrong. 

Raw subjugation may have done the trick in the early stages, but Vegeta, and any ruler worth its salt, knew that brute force simply wouldn’t be enough to allow anyone to keep and consolidate an Empire for long. Even the weakest, most vulnerable races would tire out of living an unhappy existence underneath a Tiran’s boot, without getting anything in return, and would wind up rebelling sooner or later. The unfamiliar weaponry employed in that calamitous mission was evidence that an Imperator should never take his power for granted or underestimate the determination of the people subjected to him.

Vegeta and Nappa, with the assistance of a few members of Frieza’s emergency troops, had managed to suppress the mutiny, a rebellion so incredibly violent that, in the end, the Emperor’s contingent forces had to resort to exterminating the majority of the planet’s population nevertheless. It wasn’t the first time that such a troublesome occurrence had taken place, and the Prince knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that it wouldn’t be the last.

And, judging by the endless stream of fence-back talk circulating amongst the Emperor’s gossipy soldiers, even Frieza himself must have strongly suspected that the time had come for him to change tactics. In point of fact, Vegeta knew that something was brewing on the lizard’s crooked mind, something so big that he hadn’t been able to successfully hide it from him, in spite of how guardedly he’d been pulling the strings of the handful of jobs from which the Saiyans had been deliberately excluded. The Prince wasn’t exactly sure about what it was that Frieza was searching for, but rumor had it that it was something of such magnitude, that it would change the fate of the Universe as they knew it until Doomsday.

Vegeta grumbled lethargically, leaning his elbows on the table and lightly massaging his temples in some pitiful attempt at getting rid of the annoying migraine he could already sense coming, while he sank even further into a profound abyss of self-loathing.

He hated himself.

He absolutely hated who he was and who he was becoming, just as he detested knowing that it was precisely under such turbulent times when he needed a clear mind the most, instead of floundering in despair about some bloody woman who wasn’t supposed to mean a goddamned thing to him.

But, above all things, he abhorred that inner struggle overriding his spirit, that all-consuming echo imploring him to take a leap of faith, if only for once in his miserable life, and to return to the earthling and make her his until the end of times. 

It was her fault.

All of it.

It was she who’d ripped his heart apart, making him relegate everything he’d ever known into oblivion, forcing him to wonder, to question every principle he’d lived by for as long as he could recall. Because nothing was more crucial to a man like him, in this callous Universe that wanted nothing more than to crush him at all times, than having a confident identity, a strong sense of direction, of who he was and who he wanted to be. Vegeta had always had it, that imperative drive, guiding himself by that one glorious goal at all times, motivated by that insatiable quest for strength, power and vengeance.

And then she’d burst into his life, with her darling smiles and girlish mannerisms, with those darned blue eyes he could see himself reflected into, and those human stories and forlorn memories, and tears and whispers and tender caresses, and understanding, the unnerving understanding that he wouldn’t ever be able to reciprocate her irrational emotions, but choosing to pronounce those absurd words of love anyway.

She’d buried the knife all the way, cruelly taking it away with her and leaving nothing behind but the ghost of the man he used to be, burdened by the agonizingly heavy weight of a wound that wouldn’t heal, a venomous wound oozing poison and sin, a wound that no amount of noxious alcohol would ever alleviate.

 

A man who could feel the world disintegrating all around him and didn’t even care anymore…

 

“…”

“…ta?”

“…geta?”

“Ve-Vegeta?” Nappa gingerly called again, after having waited what he’d considered a prudent amount of time.

The older man had been observing him with forethought, meditating on what his next course of action should be.

It was plain as day that the cheap booze had loosened up Vegeta’s tongue, pushing and emboldening him to voice his honest opinions on their evil Master. It wasn’t as if the Prince had ever truly bothered to hide his manifest hatred towards Frieza anyway, and Nappa definitely believed that he had more than enough reasons to despise the son of a bitch, but he also knew that, as the younger fighter had grown a bit older and wiser, he’d learnt to be a tad more discreet about voicing his exact thoughts in regards to their Emperor. There was categorically no place for reliability or authentic camaraderie of any kind in Frieza’s army, and one never knew when mischievous spies and traitors may strike a malignant blow.

Either Vegeta was simply growing tired of bidding his time and holding up until his Legendary Ascension materialized at last, or his little whore had irreversibly messed with his deluded brains.     

Whatever the case, the time had come for him to find out exactly what lie masked behind the Prince’s suicidal despair, how sincere his feelings towards the woman were, and whether or not it was within his power to do something about it and help bring him back from the masochistic edge he was hanging from.

“So… What…? What do you think?” Nappa enquired with cautiousness, trying to cover up his worries with little success.

“About what?” Vegeta snarled hostilely, squeezing his eyes shut while his fingers kept working, rubbing his temples with visible exhaustion.

“A-About the mission… It’s pretty weird, uh? You think Frieza would…?”

A loud bang resounded in the joint when Vegeta hit the wobbly table with his fist with unexpected violence, scaring Nappa to death all at once. “Who gives a shit?!” He barked, grabbing the last filled glass and promptly washing down the lukewarm drink as if his life depended on it. “Let’s just go the fuck there and get this over with!”

“Uh… Sure! Right Vegeta! I was just… I was just curious, that’s all…” The minion babbled, his rough voice oddly submissive, trying to appease the drunken, moody jackass who was about to endanger a lifetime of excruciating suffering and sacrifice for the sake of some tight little cunt.

It was now or never.

“Hey, Vegeta… I was wondering… Remember…? Uh… Remember that woman?”

The Prince’s reply to Nappa’s shabby question was instantaneous, the air enveloping them both suddenly feeling a lot frostier when Vegeta’s black eyes pierced him to the spot with the deadliest of looks. 

‘Perhaps this hadn’t been such a bright idea, after all…’

“What woman?” He asked with inebriated suspicion.

“Oh? Oh, uh, you know… The… The one you sent your scouter to. The one with blue hair…”

Vegeta’s face contorted into an expression of pure danger, squinting menacingly at the giant idiot as he deposited his empty glass on the table with aloof, terrifying calmness.

He knew that the possibility of Nappa guessing that something was going on between him and Bulma was very real, he just hadn’t thought that the prick would be stupid enough to stick his filthy nose into his private business.

“What about her?” The Prince muttered, his voice dripping with petrifying intimidation.

“Um, no-nothing. I just, well… I was wondering if you… If-If she…” Nappa stammered, unable to stop his big hands from fidgeting agitatedly under the table. “She… She’s a low-class worker, right?”

“So?”

“So… She wouldn’t… She wouldn’t be allowed near the hangars, am I right?”

The young warrior’s eyes broadened in stupor and something else, a flash of abject terror swimming within them as he quickly pondered the horrifying implications behind Nappa’s shaky words.

“Whatever you have to say…” Vegeta threatened, his hands trembling, knuckles turning white beneath his dusty gloves at how hard they were clutching the table’s split corners. “Say it now…”   

“I… It… It’s nothing, Vegeta! Nothing!” The gargantuan man explained, realizing just how far he’d crossed the line and knowing, with startling certainty, that there was no going back from here. “I swear! I just…! I…!”

“YOU JUST WHAT?!”

“I just… I just s-s-saw her…! A-At the hangars! I just th-thought it was weird! That’s all!”

He didn’t see it coming.

Before he knew it, Vegeta literally threw himself at him, knocking him on the ground as defenseless as a clay pigeon. His mortal hands instinctively found their prey’s neck, wrapping themselves around it as they applied just the right amount of pressure, enough to strike terror in the fucker’s heart without actually killing him.

Not yet, anyway…

“When?” The Prince slurred ominously, his warm, boozed up breath hoovering all over Nappa’s face, making the scared old man hopelessly squeezing his wrists wish that he’d never been born.

“Ve-Ve-Vegggg…! Nnngh! C-Can’t b-b-breath!”

Vegeta growled with repulsed disdain, his eyes seeing red, praying to the Gods of Abaddon themselves that they’d grant him enough self-control so as not to kill the bastard before he revealed his dirty secrets to him.

“Then tell me what the fuck you’ve seen and I’ll make it stop, old man…”

“I…! Nnnnggh! I s-saw her! A-A-At the hangars!”

“WHEN?!”

“T-T-Today! TODAY!!!” Nappa’s hands grasped his Master’s forearms, watery eyes bulging out of their sockets and legs thrashing frantically, urgently pleading for him to loosen up his grip so that he’d actually be able to breath. “T-Two or…! Or th-three hours ago!”

It was the truth.

Earlier that evening, when he’d briefly returned to the hangars with the intention of retrieving his forgotten magnetic card to pay for the night’s drinks, he’d seen the sly woman shadily hanging around the spot. He’d found it hugely suspicious straight away, asking himself how it was possible for a lower-class bitch like her to be granted permission to roam near the secluded space where the army’s highly valuable space pods rested, and wondering what Vegeta would do to her if he ever found out that she was trying to escape from him.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!” Vegeta roared in savage fury, pulling the dolt’s neck off the ground only to rapidly crush it against it, savoring the sound of the bastard’s skull cracking against the floors.

“N-N-Nothing!!! I swear! I SWEAR!!! Ve-Vegeta!!! I-I…! N-N-Nnnngh!”

Nappa’s eyes closed in panic, dreading that the white sparks of flashing lights beaming behind his shuddering eyelids would be his very last vision before the Gates of Hades would open at his lifeless feet. But, miraculously, fate took mercy on him when his Master released him with repugnance, swiftly standing on his feet and staring at him in sheer disgust, sneering at the sight of the petty old man anxiously grabbing at his own neck, coughing and gasping for air like a fish out of water.

Vegeta stood in the middle of the foggy tavern, wholly oblivious to the fact that most of the warriors surrounding them had left the place by now, taking to their heels, completely terror-stricken at the view of the Prince’s legendary temper. The few poor souls brave enough to stay had moved away from the two Saiyans already, tracing an imaginary circle of void around the short figure now enclosed by a mist of spine-chilling electricity, shaking in unadulterated rage.

His blood was boiling, his jittery stomach sinking, nails hotly digging into the palms of his rugged hands while his dazed brain strived to figure out what it meant, what all of it meant, concluding that there was only one conceivable explanation for the woman to have been wandering around the place where Nappa found her.

 

She was leaving.

Bulma, his Bulma, had decided to escape to only the Gods knew where, all by herself.

 

“G-Goddammit…” Vegeta murmured, his lungs panting heavily, desperately attempting to focus his furious mind, struggling to reign control over his own damned self but inexorably losing the battle on the way.

“GODFUCKINGDAMMIT!!!” 

A flaming explosion of silver light detonated with feral wrath, turning the gloomy joint into nothing but a wreck of broken glass and scorching ashes, as the Prince hollered a foul string of Saiyan profanities, howling like a beaten animal fighting the battle of his life.

The last thing Nappa saw when he finally ventured to uncover his eyes, blinded by the piercing brilliance, was the image of his Prince vanishing from his presence like a bat out of Hell.

He didn’t need to guess where Vegeta was going.

He knew.