Author: Jacob M. Bosch


DISCLAIMER: I don't own Dragonball-Z, not really sure who does either. It'd be a shame if people I don't know sued me. J v

SUMMARY: This ficlet is about what happened on a parallel world where Cell decimated all life on Earth.

NOTES: Was one of two ideas I had for The Human Challenge, but I write slower then erosion, so…


And so the world ended.

Or should it be said only Humanity came to an end? The world for the most part was doing just fine. In fact there would be new places for other forms of life both old and new to take root, now that Man had all but faded away.

No, the world had not ended. All was well. Yet... Yet, extinction had occurred. In all the history of the world such an event has only come to pass twice. In Three billion years just twice.

In both those cases, the extinction did not stand. For they had not been natural. The first occurred over five million years ago, when a strange egg, utterly dripping with entropy, was deposited on the Earth. Striking the world with weight and power contrary to its size, the egg wiped out all life.

The second event happened a mere four hundred years past. In contrast to the first cataclysm it was only an eye blink ago. The firestorm that came was a legend from another world. A golden force that carelessly moved from world to world sanitizing life-forms with a glee that was more corruption then euphoria. This too was undone.

Though the world could chug along after the loss of a dozen species, nature abhors a vacuum. And every organism provides a necessary element that no other is capable of volunteering. Unless Nature decides this element it is no longer needed, or must be altered.

And that can be a violent time for the obsolescent, cruel even, because Nature can be cold when it comes down to the bottom line. Generous on one hand, and heartlessly murderous on the other. The open hand, and the closed fist.

Mr. Popo saw it all. This ebony creature that has existed throughout ages long forgotten. This immortal who's stood at the sides of gods, and at times when duty demanded it, stood alone as the devil.

Mr. Popo, on his flying carpet, soared across the land, searching with his own eyes for signs of human survival. He had found no indication of it from the Sky Temple, but this way made the fact more real. And Mr. Popo felt it was disrespectful to lord over the Earth and distantly acknowledge the passing of an entire race.

So he flew to every corner of this emptier Earth, the echoes of death screaming up at him from below. Men, women, children--babies, all crying out in protest as a pointed siphon slid through their flesh to absorb their life forces. And Popo wept.

Mankind was no more. Never again will their like be seen again. For their extinction was natural.

Though he disagreed--or perhaps he simply found it unfair--Humanity's end came to an end at the hand of one of its own. By one who was not indicative of the race as a whole. But to the Universe, this was an example of free will being displayed in all its glory.

Cities forever vacant and more than half-demolished, stood as nothing more then cement and steel monuments. No longer were they homes or places of work. Just crumbling wreckage that howled mournfully with the wind as inhuman breath.

Mr. Popo motioned with his hands and erased all remnants of the human developments as he passed over them. There couldn't be such an obvious record of the former society's existence. And room must be made for the new.

Mr. Popo headed next to an ocean. It was no coincidence the ocean he chose held the small island that had belonged to the old turtle hermit. It was from here, from the island's thin sandy shores, that Mr. Popo placed his hands in the crystalline blue water, and let a kaleidoscope of ancient energies, energies that originated from Creation itself, flow through him and into the water.

Blue became all colors, a liquid prism, carrying the Genesis energy to every connecting lake and river on Earth. Causing the planet to glow like a spherical rainbow. Had there been any witnesses to the spectacle, they certainly would have been brought to tears by the Earth's aesthetic magnificence during those few minutes of grace.

Not only for its beauty, but also the purpose behind it.

Mr. Popo returned to his carpet, his task completed, and rose into the air. And rose, and rose. There was nothing left for him here.

Humanity was gone. Soon to be replaced by another species and Mr. Popo's sense of loss was great. The pain he felt was far more pointed then an immortal in his position should feel.

For he had come to enjoy the presence of Humanity despite all their faults, and for all their strengths. He even discovered a love for the mortal race through the eyes and heart of a Kami that had every reason to despise them. A people that had never shown the alien any kindness, only violence and mistrust. And still this Kami forgave these often-narrow beings, and chose to protect them unselfishly for centuries. He mourned each death he could not prevent; ached in his heart for every cry for salvation he was unable to provide…

Mr. Popo would return in time, when the next race came to fruition in several million years.

But until then, Mr. Popo would leave this world he called home for so many eons, and heal.

He would heal.