Alright, I swear. Last time I'm revising this. This isn't major revision this time; I'm just going to switch POV's. I decided that all 3rd person gives people better feels, and better imagery. It's harder to put things into the perspective of a single person, so this should be much better.
For those of you that haven't read this story before, WELCOME to one of my first masterpieces ^^ I'm ecstatic that you've decided to read it, and I sincerely hope you like it. If you're a sucker for long chapters, this story is full of them. If not…well, they aren't too terribly long, I don't think.
For those of you who have read this before, there will be major edits here, so that I don't hate this story anymore. It of course will have the same plotline, just rewritten so it'll be…not horrible.
All thoughts and memories, private or otherwise, will be in italics.
Summary: Trapped in a place where darkness reigns, and brought out only to be bruised by the cruelty that is the Kold Empire, two teenagers find themselves growing into ugly beings with no hope of redemption. Each tries to protect the other with willful sacrifice, and separation wears their bond thin, but they vow it won't break, no matter how many tears they cry.
Disclaimer: I am not Japanese.
Song Prompt: In The Dark ~ Flyleaf
And So The Angels Cry
Chapter 1: The Brig
There's only artificial light here
My flaws hide well here
I used to be afraid of cluttered noises
Now I'm afraid of silence.
Her face twisted in horror as her parent's bodies fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The man responsible stood before her was tall and muscular, with pale blue skin and vibrant green hair tied back in a thick braid. His purple sleeves were stained dark with blood, as were his almost feminine hands. Those hands, with their delicate nails and smooth palms, had just slaughtered her parents.
The man studies the red liquid on his fingers for a moment before he gingerly licked them clean, and his amber eyes slid to the young girl that remained alive. "Poor child," he crooned. "Poor, innocent thing."
The girl flinched back, her eyes overflowing with tears.
"It's alright. Just come here, and it'll all be over. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
She whimpered, pressing herself against the walls of her trashed living room. This couldn't be happening. Not to her. Her life was supposed to be perfect. She was supposed to grow up…she was supposed to make it to college. She was supposed to find her perfect man, have his children, give her parents grandchildren. Nobody said catastrophe could cast its dark shadow over her. This…this was all wrong.
"Don't be afraid," he said quietly, almost like a whisper. "You can go with mommy and daddy soon. Come here…don't run from me."
And suddenly the blue glass over his eye flashed with oddly shaped characters, and a fast series of beeps sounded from the white piece that fitted over his ear. He reached up and pressed a button, and a scratchy, high voice that matched a witch came over the speaker. She could just barely hear it, but whoever it was, the pale look on the man's face said that the person was important.
"Zarbon!" the voice screeched.
The man, Zarbon, winced. "Yes, Lord Frieza?"
The name gave her chills. "You haven't killed the man in the big dome house, have you?"
Zarbon's face paled again. "I…I received no orders that I shouldn't…"
"Have you or have you not?!"
"Good grief…and what of his daughter?"
"His…his daughter, sire? She's here…"
"Excellent. She's sure to have either her father's smarts or her mother's looks….escort her to the prison on Chikyuu's moon when you've finished up there. She is not to be touched, understood?"
"Good. And leave the house be…tourist might find it to be an interesting monument." And then there was another beep, and Zarbon relaxed. "Aren't you a lucky child," he said, his tone sarcastic. "I pity you, really. Death would have been a kinder fate."
She was silent and perfectly still, save her tears. Her sobs became quiet, and she did not verbally object when he hoisted her over his shoulder. She said nothing as he trapped her in his small ship for days, only letting her out to use the bathroom once or twice a day, and fed her minimally.
And throughout all of this, while she watched her world burn, she said nothing. No one near or far would have heard her screams, no matter how often she opened her mouth.
The trauma had struck the voice out of her.
"Father…" he whispered.
He was a strong child, both mentally and physically. He was considered a prodigy, not just among his people, but among even the royal line. Grown men feared him at the age of five. Now he could easily overtake even his father. His potential was unrivaled throughout the planet; he was someday destined to be a Super Saiyan, and eventually, King. That of course did not mean that he would want to overthrow his father. The young prince was content to wait until it was his turn to ascend to the throne, for he loved his old man very much. The King was his role model, his teacher, and the prince viewed him to be the wisest on the planet, the smartest and most cunning. He quite adored his father, whom he was a carbon copy of, minus the sharp widow's peak and thick beard, and would never wish any harm to come to him.
That's why, when he found the King's body, he felt as though someone had stabbed a knife into his chest and twisted.
"Father?" he murmured softly. "Dad?"
The king was unresponsive, and the prince hissed in grief. "Father! Get up! I demand that you get up!"
It wasn't true. He was dreaming, surely. This was a simple nightmare, nothing more. His father was a king, and if he was do die, then it was to be of old age, or in a glorious battle that songs would be written for, and history books lengthened.
He was not dreaming, but oh how he wished he was.
"Wake up! Father, you're not dead, you're not! Get up now! Answer me!" He paused and choked, his vision clouding with hot, salty tears. "Please…" He was unaccustomed to begging, unfamiliar with such bitter tears, and therefore had no idea how to stop it, or to rein it in and control it.
"You can cry all you like…" a slithering voice said, "You can scream…but there is nothing you can do to bring him back, little prince. Tell me…what's it like, being so helpless?"
He glanced back, and in his peripheral vision, he could see the lizard. He could see the sharp black horns and the long black claws that hung from small purple hands, and the white armor that almost seemed organic. He could see those thin purple lips, pressed together in a sneer, and the blood red eyes that watched him.
His eyes widened for a moment as he realized the deceptive betrayal. He recalled in detail how he'd felt about the tyrant as a child, how the mere presence of the Ice-jinn made his skin crawl and his hair stand on end. Instinct had warned him of a snake in the palace, but for the emperor to escalate to this…?
His mouth hardened, his teeth bared as a growl surfaced from the back of his throat. Frieza was correct…he was helpless. He had never felt so weak and unworthy…and afraid. He was deathly afraid, because he did not know what this man was capable of. Suddenly, murder seemed like a mercy.
He buried his face in his father's dark red cloak, his shoulders shaking with a sob he would not voice. His jaw worked with the effort of holding back a sound, his fingers gripping red material and his brows knitted tightly enough to hurt.
"I'll give you a choice," Frieza said smoothly, his tone unsympathetic. "You may obey me and be recruited into my army, and in turn do whatever it is I ask of you, without question. Otherwise, I can simply have you transported to my newest prison in the North Quadrant. I can still have…uses for you there." He paused for a moment, considering. "And don't ask me to kill you, because I won't. I need a souvenir from this place, and living specimens are generally preferred."
How dare he think I'd serve him faithfully…"Never," he snarled, his voice muffled by the cloak.
"I thought as much," Frieza said, slightly disappointed. Calmly (as though such a task were an everyday thing) he crossed the throne room and picked the prince up by his hair. The boy screamed and kicked, clawing at Frieza's wrist with his nails, but left no mark on the white armor.
"And off to the dungeon with you," Frieza said, almost amusedly.
He did not bother marking the days that he was kept in that dark cell by himself, as most might, although he reckoned that he'd been there for perhaps two months or so. He did not, however, care how long he was there, not at all. The fact was that he'd been put there in the first place was what made his blood boil. It stung his pride and made him feel inferior to know that he'd been contained...and to know that guards here would be much stronger than him, thanks to the damned collar on his neck…
He reached up and touched it carefully, wary of the needles that he knew were infused in the collar. Depending on the setting, those needles could either prick him and pour poison into his bloodstream, or simply shoot out and skewer him. He was not keen on finding out which setting his was set to, but he somewhat hoped that it was set to skewer, because dying of poison seemed rather pathetic and anticlimactic.
Through his gloves, he felt the smoothness of the metal, and the flat, blinking red light on the side that meant the collar was working. It had taken many men to pin him down, but once they had, clipping that collar into place was all it took to render him as weak as a newborn third class.
He ached, his body dotted with bruises and painted with fresh scars. He was unclean, filthy, and violated. He felt disgusting and worthless, and his pride had been dampened in a way that a man could not recover from, far too many times.
And when his mind slipped, his black eyes would darken with a sworn vow of bloody vengeance.
The pod landed roughly in a cushion-like device, which frightened her terribly, seeing as the pod hadn't slowed down in the slightest before landing. The cushion then moved forward as though on a flat escalator, and brought into an indoor platform surrounded by a wide half circle of pods. Once the doors closed, Zarbon opened his pod and dragged her out, uncaring about her physical or mental wellbeing. He barked orders at her as though she was a dog, and she took it all in silence. There was, of course, no other way to take such a thing, as her ability to speak had all but died. It was probably a good thing, she thought, because if she had her voice, she'd scream and wail and cry, and he'd certainly kill her for such behavior. Already, just because of her consistent, soundless chokes and sobs, he was glaring at her as though he'd been inconvenienced in the most grievous of ways.
His beauty was wasted on such an evil man. She didn't understand it, how a horrible person like him could be so beautiful, and yet some of the nicest people on Chikyuu had been less than attractive. It seemed unfair…a small injustice in a world of horrors.
"I'm assuming," he said, "that Lord Frieza will keep you here until you're old enough to be of use in a lab. The other scientists wouldn't take so kindly to have such a young co-worker." He paused and clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "It's a shame you're pretty too. Who knows what he'll do with you then. Lord Frieza loves beautiful people." The last part was said bitterly.
That made her nervous; she was young and naïve, but even a ten year old could make minor guesses.
She looked around at her surroundings, and when she looked to her left, she could see Chikyuu out one of the windows of the hall. Her eyes widened as she realized that the aliens had built a prison on her moon. Anger boiled up inside her, but at the same time, she marveled. They'd installed a gravity canceling device that allowed them to walk as though there wasn't a lack of gravity at all.
He led her down countless hallways, the walls of which were lined with doors. Each of these doors, she would later find out, had a barred cell behind it, and each cell had a neighboring cell, and thus, each door had a neighboring door. They were blocked in pairs, and each pair could hold up to four people in total. Finally, after much walking, they came to a seemingly empty cell, which Zarbon unlocked and tossed her into.
"These will be your quarters," he said, mocking her. "Enjoy your stay."
And with that, he locked the barred door, and slammed the hall door shut. The cell became immersed in darkness, lit only by dull fluorescent lights that casts an eerie shadow over everything present in her newfangled…bedroom.
Terrified, and with tears welling, she looked around her new living space. Her cell was actually quite large, perhaps 14 x 16 in size, which seemed appropriate given that she might one day have a cellmate (oh, how she prayed that day would never come). A small, dusty cot with a scratchy blanket and pillow sat against the wall in the middle of the cell, and a few feet away from that was a slightly dusty toilet with no apparent flushing mechanism or toilet paper in sight. There was no shower, or sink, and that was all that was in the cell.
Biting her lip, she glanced over at the neighboring cell, fearful and, simultaneously, hopeful, that she'd been left alone in here for who knows how long. In the hazy lighting, she saw the shape of what appeared to be a young human boy sitting in the corner of the cell, farthest away from the door and closest to her. He was perfectly still, and she heard no other sounds besides her own breathing, and she thus came to the unfortunate conclusion that he was dead.
As a fairly normal human girl, whose previous views of death had consisted of old, wrinkly relatives lying in caskets, the dam built for holding back tears broke, and she cried bitterly. She cried so hard that she eventually started to cough and hiccup like an infant, and she didn't much care about her lack of dignity. This carried on for perhaps ten minutes, although she had no real way of telling.
Eventually, this became annoying to her cellmate, who, in fact, was very much alive. Unbeknownst to her, he had been glancing at her irritably out of one eye, and rolling his eyes in annoyance for some time now. As his patience was short (although he'd been very generous with his tolerance towards her, he believed) he finally snapped, "For God's sake, I am trying to meditate here. Shut the hell up."
She was so surprised by his sudden outburst that she nearly wet herself (nearly, she'd point out), and certainly would have screamed in terror if she was currently in possession of properly working vocal cords. A million questions sprang from her mouth, until she realized that he heard nothing of her tearful banter. Finally, speechless (in more than one sense of the word) she pointed at him with her mouth hanging open, to further exaggerate her shock.
Perplexed by her antics, he leaned forward, and his face came into the light. He was handsome, although his cheeks and jaw were still slightly rounded with what he considered very annoying baby fat. His skin was the color of caramel, and what little she could see of it seemed perfectly unblemished. His hair, which somehow managed to hang over his face in thick bangs and stand straight up at the same time, was charcoal black, and his eyes shown like obsidians (although whether they were really that dark or made murky by the poor lighting, she was unsure of). His finely shaped mouth was set in a very put-off scowl, which very nearly seemed permanent, as it appeared to fit his features rather naturally. He dressed in white armor similar to Zarbon's, but instead of frilly stockings, he wore a dark blue body suit made of tight material. His clothing was torn, and appeared to be splotched with blood, although he himself seemed virtually unharmed.
"I'm alive, if that was your petty concern," he said, intentionally rude.
She frowned at him and wiped tears from her eyes. Feeling a bit silly, she pointed at him again, then made a questioning shrug.
The boy cocked his head, his frown deepening. "You can't talk, can you," he said, more as a statement than a question.
She shook her head.
He pressed his lips together, and something like a growl of contempt sounded from him. Disgusted by her taken aback expression, he closed his eyes again and slumped against the wall, arms folded.
Bulma frowned again, displeased by his uncouth demeanor. Figuring that a few years in a cell with only an unresponsive cellmate for company would be rather bleak, she crawled over to him and poked his shoulder through the bars.
He opened one eye again, clearly not amused. When he closed it again and received the same treatment, he let out another growling sound and glared at her. "You won't leave me be until I figure out how to communicate with you, are you?"
She looked sheepish.
He scowled and looked her over, determined to find some fault with her that would further prompt him to ignore her presence. She was pale skinned, (not Frieza-pale, thankfully, but cream-skinned) with big, intelligent blue eyes and delicate features, also rounded with youth. Her hair wasn't any discernible color; it was slightly purple, but also cerulean blue, and the two were so evenly mixed that he couldn't properly tell which was dominant. She was very pretty, very exotically colored, but she was almost shamefully thin, and didn't appear to have an ounce of usable muscle on her.
She looked at him expectantly, and he didn't think her silent threat of never-ending pokes was a bluff. His mood was instantly darkened, as he disliked making links with anyone, especially strangers, but he decided that if she annoyed him too much, he could simply block her.
He set his mouth in a lopsided scowl, which was undeniably more ill-mannered than his straight one, and motioned for her to come closer. She hesitated, and with better reason than she realized, but his patience was worn thin already, and so he quickly reached through the bars and snagged her wrist, pulling her closer. "Be grateful," he barked, and put two fingers to her forehead.
A small shock pulsed through her, and she lurched back. Shimmering energy seemed to ripple under her skin, and when it finally faded, she felt slightly numb all over. What did he do to me?!
I gave us a link, he said, his lips unmoving. At her gasp, he added, I assume you can hear me now.
I…how is this possible?
The boy shrugged. "Saiyans possess minor telepathic abilities. They're easily transferable, if one has enough training."
"My race," he said dryly.
Oh…She'd thought he was human, but she didn't send that particular thought to him. She bit her lip in disappointment, then asked, So…I'm like a telepath now?
"A minor. Don't expect to be able to read minds. You can simply communicate."
Oh. She paused. Who are you?
A…A prince?! Poorly timed excitement bloomed in her; despite her circumstances, it was no secret that she had always longed to meet someone of royalty.
He scoffed, as if the idea of him being anything else was ludicrous. "Prince of the Saiyan Race, yes."
Wow…how did you wind up in here, then?
His already sour expression harshened. "I'm the last of my kind," he said, almost defiantly. "I'm here because I refuse to obey the orders of Frieza." He spat the name, as though saying it was poisonous enough to strike him dead.
Her face softened. Your planet was destroyed too?
His eyes narrowed. "My planet was blown to pieces by that disgusting lizard," he snarled. "Yours is still intact, at least."
She blinked. It is?
"Frieza had his eye on Chikyuu for ages," Prince Vegeta said bitterly. "It's a perfect getaway resort for the rich. But why he'd keep any humans alive is beyond me."
She bit her lip. Zarbon…he killed my parents. He was told to bring me here in place of my father…or my mother, whichever I turn out to be most like.
The prince glanced at her, and she elaborated, My father was the smartest man on Chikyuu, and a master inventor.
He nodded. "And your mother?"
Bulma frowned and fought a rising lump in her throat. She was very pretty.
"Your fate is unpleasant, no matter which parent you take after."
I take after my father, she said firmly, hurriedly brushing tears from her eyes.
He looked at her pretty, girlish face again, and said, "I'm sure."
It was quiet for a minute, save for her sniffling, and she drew her knees up to her chest. I'm Bulma Briefs, she said, seeing as he wasn't going to ask for her name.
"That is a long name," he said, disinterested.
Humans have three names…Don't you?
"No. I don't see why I'd need three names. One is enough."
It's in case someone else has your same name. There could be a million Bulma's, but only one Bulma Anne Briefs.
"I come from a long line of royals by the name of Vegeta," he said proudly, "and I've yet to see such a problem."
Okay, so what, you're Vegeta the 27th or something? There's still a distinction between you and your grandfathers.
He scowled; 27th indeed. "I am the last Vegeta, and that's enough distinction," he sniffed.
She became quiet again, but a moment later, said, I didn't realize there were aliens that looked so similar to humans.
He grunted, which sounded more like a conversation ender than a form of acknowledgement, and it appeared that this particular topic was not one he was interested in continuing. "Alright, listen Bulmoose –"
"Whatever. I'm not big on talking, and I see no reason to change that about myself to accommodate your preferences. If I appear to be concentrating, or training, do not interrupt me. It will not be appreciated."
She glared at him. I have enough to deal with without having to worry about your personal comfort, she snapped. I'll talk…I'll communicate whenever I see fit, and I'd like to see you stop me.
He raised a thick black brow, suddenly intrigued by her change in demeanor. It was almost reminiscent of his mother. A wild grin suddenly bloomed on his face, and sharp, pearly white teeth gleamed even in the poor lighting. "Is that a challenge?"
His twisted smile startled her, and she drew back. You don't scare me, she said firmly, although this wasn't entirely true.
"Aw, and just when I was looking to make a coward out of someone."
You're very cruel, she stated.
His face darkened in a way that seemed fit to compliment the devil. "You don't know the meaning of the word 'cruel'," he hissed.
My whole world was murdered days ago, and my parents in front of my own eyes, she snapped back. I think I have a pretty good idea.
Another animal sound came out of his mouth, like a snarl. Something brown around his waist moved and uncurled in anger, and it appeared to be covered in fur.
She blinked. A tail…
When he saw her glance at it, it wrapped around his middle again and tightened defensively. She decided not to question him about it, as it seemed to be a rather normal thing to him, and found that he kept glancing at her as if to see where she might be hiding such an appendage. The two did not talk for the next hour, until Vegeta murmured something to himself in a language she did not understand.
"Descrein locrata heizt," he muttered.
"Descrein locrata heizt," he repeated, but he had a distant look on his face that made her wonder if he'd even heard her. "I will get out of here."
Desperation made her hopeful. Take me with you, she pleaded.
He blinked and looked at her, as though remembering her existence. "Have you lost your mind?" he snapped.
I can help. I'm smart. I can hack any computer, fix spaceships…I'm not as good as my dad, but I'm a prodigy. I can be useful. She paused, and looked at him again. That thing on your neck, she said, motioning to the collar and its blinking red light. What does it do?
"It drains my Ki," he said coldly. "So I can't fight."
"How did your species survive?" he asked incredulously. "Ki is energy drawn from within the body, used for flight and offensive maneuvers. This collar traps mine inside of me, in order to prevent my escape and slaughtering of each of Frieza's lackeys."
You are violent, she said, her eyes still glued to the contraption. After a while ,she said confidently, I can get it off.
His eyes became wide, but narrowed suspiciously a moment later. "How?"
It wouldn't be that hard to design a remote to control it, she stated boastfully. All I would need are some tools…provided that you take me with you.
He felt the need to dislike her, as she had just made a rather good argument in her favor. The way she'd played it made it sound as though he couldn't possibly escape without her help in the first place. Scowling, he said, "If I do, you'd better not slow me down. Once I get what I want, I won't protect you, got it?"
She nodded eagerly.
He growled again and settled back into his corner. She started to ask him more questions, but was interrupted by the opening of the door, and an aggravated Zarbon re-entered, this time through Vegeta's door. "Frieza has need of you," he spat.
Vegeta pushed himself further into the corner, his features twisting like a hissing cat. Out of his mouth came a horrible sound that a threatened animal might make, one that was so obviously not human that Bulma had no further doubts about his alien blood. Terrified, she scrambled away from the separating bars and dove to her cot, covering herself with the blanket as though it might protect her. Her blue eyes darted from Zarbon to Vegeta, watching the exchange the way one might watch a train wreck.
Zarbon's lips curled in disgust, and Vegeta made that sound again. It was indescribable, almost like a mix between a bear and a small tyrannosaurus, but not quite. Clearly not pleased with it, Zarbon stalked to him and struck him in the face, snarling, "My return trip has been delayed enough because of you. I don't have time for your foolish nonsense."
Vegeta's eyes narrowed with hatred, and he didn't bother to wipe the blood from his mouth. He hissed, and while the sound didn't seem to faze Zarbon, Bulma flinched.
Zarbon tsked disdainfully. "You've been here too long, boy. Being in prison gives a man time to hope…but then, I suppose that is merely another form of punishment."
He then revealed a small silver rod that he'd brought in, about the size of a five pound dumbbell, and pointed it at Vegeta. The collar beeped in acknowledgement, and there was a bright flash of light. When her vision cleared, Bulma saw that a line of energy had curled around Vegeta's wrists like cuffs, and the other end attached to the pole as though it were a chain.
As Zarbon dragged him out, the prince writhed and struggled like a captured beast, his howls sometimes comprised of words in that same, strange language, and sometimes completely incoherent. Bulma called to him in their new silent way, asking where he was being taken, but received no reply.
She heard his cries long after Zarbon slammed the door.
Many hours later, Bulma had drifted into a restless sleep, her dreams plagued with blood and gore. She woke up screaming twice, an each time, she was too exhausted to stay awake as she wished. She was roused a third time when the door opened, and Zarbon threw Vegeta into the cell with much more force than necessary. The prince's body flew through the air limply, and the metal bars shuddered as he crashed into them. He groaned and shifted stiffly, then lay still. Zarbon sneered and shut the door again.
Bulma, who had bolted upright and frozen upon their arrival, slowly turned to the prince. She swallowed nervously and rose from her cot, the blanket falling from around her shoulders, and crept over to him. She sat on her knees beside the bars and swallowed again, and hesitantly reached through the bars to touch him. Before she could, he moaned again and rolled onto his side with his back to her, and she jerked her hand back.
"Klei diesu…I'll kill them," he whispered. "They'll pay…I am legendary…"
She reached out to touch him comfortingly again, but when her fingertips met his shoulder, his body shuddered, and curled into a tight little ball.
Bulma did not touch him again.
Now I am mute despite myself
All of them are gone…
The silence overtakes me, the idle words forsake me
And I am left to face me…
For every idle word…curse the idle words!
This, I feel, is an even greater improvement from the original revised one…if that makes sense. Third person will help this story out a lot, I think. Hope you like it!