Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z, just in case you didn't know. Thanks for rubbing it in.
I, Seventeen, the greatest, most powerful, most intelligent fighter that ever lived, lost.
I simply could not wrap my mind around it. All these years, I had reigned unopposed, my sister by my side. Granted, people opposed us, but they were worth no real effort. They were simply pieces of trash to be discarded with a flick of my wrist. Including the boy.
The boy. The one that I had always let live. Not out of any semblance of affection or mercy, mind you. I let him live because it was entertaining.
He would try so hard, pouring his sorrow and hatred into every battle that we fought. In every battle, I would crush him. Sometimes he would escape with only a broken arm or a few cracked ribs. Other times, he would hack up blood due to massive internal trauma until whatever gods exist finally took pity on him and he blacked out.
It's funny, though. After all of these battles, I still don't know that kid's name. I watch him walk towards me now, his hand still glowing from the ki blast that dispatched my sister. I knew that I was next.
But it didn't make sense! Sure, the kid was powerful compared to the rest of the pathetic population of this pathetic planet, but I was better. I had proven that in the many battles that we had fought.
Looking up at his face, I realize that something has changed. Gone is the scared, hateful child that had so long amused me. In his place stood a lavender haired man with eyes so frigid they almost matched my own. I saw no mercy or pity in those eyes. But that wouldn't be any fun, now would it?
He was older, I realized. Not just due to the human habit of aging, either. No, he had grown an inordinate amount in a short period of time.
Whatever. I have more important things to worry about.
I guess my game is over. Hmph. How lame. I was winning today, too. But at least I had my consolation prize: the boy.
He had dedicated his entire life to fighting us, to destroying us. And now he has. Hurrah. It's probably too late, though. Can the world really recover from our years of mayhem and murder?
You know what? Even if Earth can recover, he can't. In a world of peace and reconstruction, no one wants a dark, twisted warrior like him.
See? Even when I lose, I still win.
I feel myself fading away. I am surprised for a moment; I hadn't even realized that he had attacked. Oh well.
As I lose consciousness for the last time, one thought keeps cycling through my head:
What was his name?
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