Lost, a Dragon Ball Z fanfic

Disclaimer: Dragonball and all its characters belong to Bird Studios/Toriyama.and was used without prior permission. No
profit was made from this story.

Author's note: This story is a Follow up to the alternate end of 'There are No Winds that can blow it away'.

English isn't my native language and this story isn't betaed criticism is highly appreciated! 'Flames' are okay, too, but keep them directed at the story. If you flame me, I'll sick Muten Roshi and hismagazines on you. You've been warned. :)

Lost

by Lee

(c) January 2003

Piccolo's hopes died an agonizing death. He had counted on Gohan's love for his sensei, but he had underestimated the strength of the hatred the kid harbored. A hatred that would destroy Gohan sooner or later if he didn't let it out... Piccolo knew just too well what could happen; his own life was a perfect example of it. No, he couldn't allow the child to suffer the same fate. Piccolo would gladly give his soul if only Gohan would be the happy, carefree kid again he had been only a few months ago.

Daimaou didn't fight back. At first, Gohan had not paid attention to it, just dealt out viciously, enjoying to hear ribs break under his kicks, gleefully sending punch after punch into the demon's face until it was nothing but a bloody mess, swollen and torn beyond recognition. But now, with his hatred spent, with even the anger depleted, Gohan realized that Daimaou had not put up even the slightest bit of resistance.

He had not expected this. Why didn't the creature defend itself? It was confusing. But what was even more confusing was that Gohan felt no victory, no satisfaction. He had thought he'd feel better after this, but all that there was left was a hollow nothing. Gohan nudged the barely conscious demon with his foot. Daimaou only groaned in pain. Gohan frowned. Pity. He pitied Daimaou. After all the horrible things the demon did, Gohan still felt sorry. Sorry that... sorry that no matter how much he made Daimaou pay, it would not bring back Mr. Piccolo or stop mom from having bad dreams. "You're disgusting... Crawl back to your hellhole, demon!"

"G-Gohan..."

It almost sounded like Mr. Piccolo. Memories flooded through him and he wondered if maybe somewhere deep inside the creature a trace of Mr. Piccolo remained. "Don't come near me or my family again if you know what's good for you."

Piccolo quietly lay on the ground long after Son Gohan had left. He could no longer feel the cold of the winter day, nor did he bother with his multiple injuries. 'Daimaou', Gohan's voice sneered. Daimaou. 'Keep me around and I'll destroy all you care about.' Alone, he was so alone. Daimaou. He once had a family, but it was gone now. There would be no happiness for Daimaou. He was evil to the core of his being. Monsters don't need a heart. Daimaou. His goal was world domination. His goal was to destroy and kill. He was Daimaou. He was... tired, so tired of it all. Darkness embraced him and he gave up the fight for his life. The world had no mercy for Daimaou. He was Daimaou. Maybe Hell would be more forgiving than Piccolo or Gohan.

The moonless night was cold and the stars blinked down like frozen tears on the lone figure that sat huddled on the rim of Kami's Lookout. Daimaou stared into the vastness of space as if the smooth blackness could soothe the pain that ravaged his heart. He had lost track of time long ago.

Not that it really mattered how many days had passed since Kami and Dende had found him half dead in the mountains. Earth's future Guardian had healed the injuries from Son Gohan's merciless attack, but no powers in the world would be able to heal the shattered remains of Daimaou's soul. With empty eyes, the stricken fighter lost himself in memories of happier days.

Minutes and hours trickled away slowly as the planet rotated under the skies until the sun announced its presence with a soft red glow on the horizon. With a swift motion, Daimaou got up and slowly trailed over to Kami's palace. Determination was etched into his haggard face as he approached the older Namekian, who was meditating, like usual.

“Kami, we have to talk." Unable to hide the exhaustion from his gruff voice, he waited for the other to acknowledge his presence.

“The answer is no." Kami's eyes snapped open.

“W-what?"

“The answer to what you want to offer," Earth's guardian explained. Anger laced his voice as he continued: “I will not fuse with you so that you can just sneak out of here and leave me with all the memories of your crimes."

“It's the only way. You alone can beat the androids and bring back Piccolo to Gohan," the Demon King tried to reason, but he knew that it was a waste of air the moment he saw the glare in Kami's eyes.

“You are Piccolo."

“I'm Daimaou," the younger warrior stated quietly. “I'm the evil you purged from yourself and you will merge with me, even if I have to use force."

“You wouldn't dare," Kami's eyes widened.

“I have nothing to lose and you have everything to win. Think about it."

Still visibly angry, the ancient Namekian pondered the offer for a while. Suddenly, his expression brightened and he laughed. “I have a better idea."

“And what would that be?"

“Use the Dragonballs Dende created to wipe everyone's memories. They will forget that you ever existed and can live in peace again. I can stay myself and you can weasel off to New Namek, just like you offered to Son Goku."

Daimaou frowned. “What about the androids? I won't run away from that fight."

Kami shrugged. “No one will remember you and the Saiyans are stronger than you ever will be. You're a liability. Face it, they probably have more chances to win without you."

Unfortunately, the sly old bastard had a point there, Daimaou admitted grudgingly. The realization was pain- and shameful. Weakness. How much he hated being weak. It was both physical and emotional weakness that had ended him up in this situation, and there was no say when he'd botch up again. Son Gohan hated him, the Z-warriors wanted his head on a pole with fries on the side and he didn't trust his self control any longer. So why continue the lies and games that would only leave him empty in the end?

Piccolo Daimaou sighed. The future belonged to the Saiyans, to Son Gohan and young Trunks. Maybe it was the best to follow Kami's advice. The spare Dragonradar should still be in the Kame House with the old pervert and Kuririn. With a bit of luck, he'd complete the search in a day or two and then Gohan and his family could be happy again.

He should've thought about starting on a clean slate a long time ago. All bonds would be severed, no more silly obligations outside of fighting against a common enemy. He even could, in all secrecy, complete the preparations to end what his father had begun. It would be a perfect world.

Nonsense. Who was he trying to fool? The old Daimaou, the ruthless killer and vicious monster didn't exist and longer. Conquered by a child, Piccolo had emerged from the depth of the bottomless pit of darkness where he had resided since the day of his hatching. He had found himself drowned by the tidal waves of new, strong feelings that were both scary and reassuring at the same time. The safety of the pitch blackness inside was replaced gradually by a warm light that had him do and say things that were outright weaknesses. He had pursued silly dreams and had paid the price for his frailty with his heart and soul.

“You're right." Unshed tears glistered in his eyes as he took off into the sunrise to gather Dende's Dragonballs and make a wish.

To be continued...Will Piccolo make his wish? What evil lurks in the new day and why is Vejita grinning diabolically at the author?

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