King Piccolo stood screaming at the heart of a whirlwind of blazing golden power. Despite having felt far stronger energies in times past, and even presently with hell's escaped hordes rampaging the earth abroad, Roshi still struggled to stand upright in the face of the Ki driven tornado that slammed into him, he could barely even see his illuminated foe with all the wind blowing in his eyes "Ah, dang it, why'd I leave my sunglasses behind, ugh, real smart Roshi, real smart." No sooner than it started did the Demon King's enraged howls and fluctuating power desist and the green giant himself was right there, full on attacking Roshi before he even knew what was hitting him.

Unlike before where their battle was but a small difference between stalemate, this particular exchange was all one way traffic. Master Roshi was lucky if he could fend off a third of the mad overwhelming bombardment of savage blows now falling on him like so many hale-stones. It was as if the Demon king had ten thousand fists and all of them were pledged to the singular purpose of pounding him into a bruised, bloody, pulpy mess. Already Roshi was covered in red knuckle shaped welts as he was forced on a very rapid unsuccessful retreat, desperately trying to deflect and parry incoming kicks and punches he could barely follow. If only he could get a moment to recover his breath and bearings, but Piccolo's sudden power up and even more abrupt assault had taken him both off guard and off balance.

Piccolo's onslaught was unrelentingly brutal, Roshi wasn't sure how much more of this he could take, already he was pushing much of his Ki into helping absorb the damage he was taking. Every hit he took came with an impact and pain factor unmatched by all but a few of his most unfortunate experiences, and most of those came from the business end of Chi-Chi's frying pan. So yeah, he was in big trouble.

Fortune struck like the lightening above when Piccolo overextended and attempted adjustment of his poor footing. presenting a fortuitous opening which Roshi took, sidestepping a very sloppy punch then grabbing the offending arm as it was being pulled back, Roshi made like an acrobat on a trapezium, glad he'd watched so many gymnastics exercise tapes cause it's what allowed him to swing a good kicking leg up and around to connect a solid shoe-point hit to the side of Piccolo's neck. It'd been a fantastically executed move, but all Piccolo did was grunt and sway slightly with a smirk that showed Roshi for a certainty just what this final power difference between them meant for his chances.

The realization had him backpedalling for distance that wouldn't help much, though to Piccolo, this cautionary tactical move was mere cowardice and he threw his head back laughing like the typical self-satisfied maniac he is. Still, that was fine, Piccolo could laugh; it was a good enough opening, so Roshi attacked. The surprise attack however was barely worth the effort, just a half deflected elbow later and both combatants reengaged in a very one sided flurry of fists, feet, knees and elbows. In a long shot attempt to gain an edge, Roshi jumped into the air, poorly deflecting the perusing Piccolo's fists all the way up, hoping that when gravity reversed his upward course he could use his falling momentum to break the Namek's guard and pepper him with kicks and punches.

Yeah, it didn't work, because unlike the Demon King, Roshi couldn't fly, so by default this particular handicap only heightened Piccolo's advantage. All it took was an opportunistic but well-timed knee to Roshi's stomach at the peak of his jump that sent him plummeting, or would have, but Piccolo, unwilling to let gravity steal his foe from reach, grabbed the old master by his scrawny throat and unceremoniously began strangling him toward an undignified end.

Knowing King Piccolo's reach was to long for an eye gouge, Master Roshi didn't waste time scrabbling feebly at those clamp like hands, instead he instinctually flexed his neck muscles and bit hard into the strong green fingers vicing his neck. Old Piccolo yelped and let go by reflex and began sucking on his bleeding fingers "ARG, you bit me, you insolent wretch, I'll…." Was all he got out before Roshi put both hands to the Namekian's chest and unleashed a burst of Ki that packed a potent enough explosive force to throw the full powered Demon king and himself sailing backwards in opposite directions.

Only mildly scorched, Piccolo rode the detonations shockwave back, but as he did, his arms elongated, one clamping around Roshi's shoulder and the other one delivering a powerful backhand slap to the cheek so hard it spun the old master around so far that his captured arm dislocated with a painful wet popping sound; only piccolo wasn't done, after halting his own backwards flight with levitation, his slapping hand grabbed Turtle Hermit's other arm and pulled the old man in like a reverse slingshot to slam face first into both of Piccolo's outstretched legs, leaving behind a pair of painful looking purple shoe imprints as Roshi plummeted dazed and motionless to the earth below.

Master Roshi felt himself falling, impact, sliding over rough earth, cuts and scrapes opening, his mind was dazed but his well-honed muscle memory kicked in by reflex, he flipped upright into a pathetically feeble defensive stance, but he was swaying with double vision and folded over with a groan, his left arm was useless, dislocated. He could bare it though, for what really mattered was that Piccolo believed him done for.

Roshi waited, still hunched over, pretending greater injuries than he really had, which wasn't difficult, he ached all over and his arm was killing him, but he focused his senses above himself as looking up would blow the charade. He sensed Piccolo racing down head first, a nasty ball of Ki in one hand, ready to finish this; yet Roshi waited, waited, then at the last instant, just as the king of pickles lobbed his projectile mere meters ahead of his landing, Roshi leapt backward, clear of the condensed explosion and the Namek's ground shattering stomp, then pounced back forward, snap-kicking the miffed Demon King in the chin.

Piccolo skidded back on his heels, the kick had stung but in itself wasn't enough. Roshi however had anticipated such and planned in advance. Before his mildly hoodwinked foe could recover and retaliate, Roshi thrust his one remaining usable hand forward and a wave of telekinetic Ki slammed like a wrecking-ball into Piccolo's chest, driving the breath from him and shoving him back several yards every time Roshi repeated the motion, once, twice, thrice, shoving his good hand further forward each time until, with the fourth final even greater push containing the limit of his telekinetic persuasion, Piccolo was thrown clean away, crossing several dozen meters of open landscape to crash through the very same rocky cliff he'd collided with earlier.

Multitasking, Roshi used this precious respite to catch his breath and to pop his arm back in place, an unpleasant task, but he'd had the problem before and so knew the procedure well enough. Time was running out though and this old master knew it was either time to die or time to do something desperate and dangerous.

Naturally Roshi chose the latter, and only one technique fit the bill. He called it Focushien, a temporary physical and energy boosting technique he'd recently developed, mostly in theory; it was modelled after Goku's old Ka-O-Kan move, yeah that slouch King Kai did at least teach Goku something useful. Focushien however was intended to improve on Ka-O-Kan, demanding less of a physical penalty while being more stable with greater longevity. That was the theory anyway, but between the laziness of retirement and a lack of testing opportunities, Focushien was extremely unstable and unpredictably dangerous to use, if he botched the attempt he would almost certainly destroy himself before Piccolo could. On the other hand, taking the accompanying risk of Focushien's utilization seemed a fair trade off for survival as a whole.

"Huh, guess the old Psychic Hammer Technique has Big-Green-N-Ugly thinking twice." Roshi crowed inwardly; he sensed Piccolo had fully recovered but was in no hurry to retaliate for whatever reason. Perhaps ambush planning? Regardless, Roshi exploited the delay, heightening his passive Ki replenishment technique to harmonize all his chakras and purify chi flow because unstable chi powering such a poorly tried technique like Focushien could prove fatal, so this purification was important to help moderate the possible physical ramifications and overwhelming exhaustion Focushien would reap. After the Kamehameha wave, his Ki channelling technique is perhaps Roshi's finest invention, regenerating his energy reserves even in combat, obviously not as fast as he spent it but enough to ensure he always had fresh strength and pure Ki streaming through his body.

Ready, Master Roshi gritted his teeth and channelled his Ki accordingly, setting it running white hot through his body. Suddenly his aura turned purple and doubled in size around him, shining radiantly. The power now coursing through him wasn't nearly what he'd been hoping for, but it was a boost, not much of one true but it should even things out a bit; problem was the technique was consuming energy rapidly, he could feel it taxing his willpower even now. So it was a weird relief to see Piccolo come screaming out of the now decimated cliff-face, because Roshi hadn't a second of Focushien to waste as he lunged into a furious pounding sprint to meet Piccolo's charge, legs and fists pumping for more speed.

The game of chicken was on, both closing the distance fast, a head on collision imminent, and at the meeting their fists collided with a booming shockwave, as did their volleys of elbows and knees that followed, matching eachother offense for offense with neither scoring a clear shot. Master Roshi could feel his energy depleting, he'd expected an energy drain but this was too much, every shocking impact juddered his body and concentration, but he maintained Focushien long enough to fake an opening the ever direct Namekian ignorantly attacked, leaving himself vulnerable to Roshi's swerving uppercut and the jumping back-foot spin-kick to Piccolo's shoulder that followed. A two for one deal as it happened because Piccolo recovered fast and retaliated with an open palm strike to his chest, though Roshi had the good sense to cartwheel clear of the proceeding twin eye-beams and lob a decoy Ki ball of his own.

He was keeping up with Piccolo's peak form, but Focushien's boost was wearing off and it's after effects were wearing on his stamina, yet Roshi recharged it, his purple aura blazing to life again as he rocketed back at his opponent, head butting the Namekian then grabbing him by those freaky green tubular forehead antenna things, which must've hurt because the Demon King yowled as Roshi swung him around twice then tossed him away like unwanted trash. Piccolo wasn't having that though and he flipped, pushed off the ground and retaliated with a rebounding head butt of his own; a real eye for an eye guy old Piccolo was. A proceeding kick had Turtle Hermit heel sliding backwards, but Focushien gave him the fortitude to keep his guard up as the green maniac, true to form, came chasing after instead of doing something clever.

The Turtle Hermit's hands glowed a strange purple colour, then, just as Piccolo struck out, Roshi clapped his hands and an invisible wave of force coupled with an unexpected gust of wind threw Piccolo skidding back with a comical squawk as he clutched helplessly at his sensitive pointed ears which were both ringing and bleeding. A shame it takes a bit to charge that Sonic Clap Technique considering the effect it has on sensitive ears Roshi thought; oh well, hopefully the hearing handicap will stymy Piccolo's fighting potential and give him the opening he desperately needed to end this.

Putting on an unstable Focushien fuelled burst of speed, it was a purple streak that ploughed a fist in the whimpering Namekian's face, an elbow into his gut, an uppercut to his jaw, a kick to his ribs, another jumping rotator-kick the neck and a final skull cracking elbow to the base of the neck, all one after the other and all devastatingly damaging strikes. Or so Roshi thought, that's why it was a little unexpected when one of Piccolo's arms elongated as he was sailing away, the hand scrabbled for Roshi's neck but caught his beard instead before reeling him straight into the oncoming elongating leg that slammed hard into his abdomen, sparking magma hot pain to shoot through the nerves of Roshi's gut as he himself, like Piccolo who'd relinquished hold of his beard, was sent bouncing and rolling across the torn up battlefield, lucky not to fall into one of the various craters now littering the area. Roshi had to hand it to the old bastard; that was one hell of a counter attack.

The last of Focushien's enhancement allowed Master Roshi to recover and rise before fizzling out completely and letting in all the aches, pains and shivers of natural relapse that even his Ki purification technique was slow to compensate for. It's a shame he'd not devoted more time to developing Focushien for if he had, this fight would've been over before it began. Still, he couldn't risk using Focushien again, too dangerous, but now without it, he was in serious trouble, Piccolo was lumbering back, and fast. He had to do something…wait a second, Piccolo was running, and quite clumsily, too blinded by pain and anger. Perhaps he could trip the oaf up? Yes, it's doable, if timed correctly.

Quickly calculating his foes heightened speed, Roshi took a backward leaping bound, using his Ki to shred the earth under which he'd just stood, churning it up into a tripping hazard the Demon King blundered right into an instant later. Roshi pulled back and threw a fist as his old enemy stumbled, windmilling his arms with a comical exclamation. Turtle Hermit's punch however missed due to Piccolo's unpredictable tumble, and before Roshi knew it the Namekian barrelled right into him with such momentum that their combined body mass became a great ball of tangled limbs that bounced like a tumble weed several yards across the landscape, cracking the earth and smashing boulders wherever they rolled, trading blows all the while.

It was a very miner burst of Focushien and Roshi's smaller size funnily enough that won him that insane little bout by sucker punching Piccolo in the ribs and disentangling himself from the vastly unfair grappling match with a retreating kick. He had learned one useful thing from it though, and that's smaller bursts of Focushien concentrated into strengthening a chosen body part is far safer and less exhausting than fully embracing the flawed technique.

Steady on his feet again, Roshi quickly feigned a dizzy backward staggering spell and piccolo did exactly as Roshi wanted. The powerful Namekian, still on all fours like a savage beast, leapt at Roshi mountain lion style. Too bad nobody had bothered to inform the Demon King the turtle always beats the lion because if they had, Piccolo would've anticipated Roshi falling onto his back like an upsidedown turtle with his knees tucked to his chest like coiled springs to deliver the sly kick that took the Demon King square in the ribs as he passed over the Turtle Hermit, yielding sky flying results for Old Piccolo and a rare windfall advantage for Roshi.

The advantage wasn't wasted; Roshi expertly turned that kick into a kick up to a standing position, then he sprung into the sky after his foe, catching up and taking a desperate offensive with a rabid volley of Focushien powered punches to the Namek's stomach, driving him higher and higher up. Finally, just as Roshi felt the peak of his jump height approach, he twisted in mid-air and decidedly drove a foot into piccolo's side, simultaneously using the Demon King's body to push off of to hasten his own return groundside and to stun the Namek to delay any pursuit. Piccolo however, only mildly put out by Roshi's cunning yet hurried assault, flipped in the air and dropped, landing on one knee then, in his typically direct no nonsense fashion, took the offensive yet again and bull rushed the landing Martial Artist.

Roshi for his part brought his own fall into a landing roll, then rising and turning he slammed two glowing hands into the ground, channelling his energy into another geyser. This time however, the charging Demon King was familiar with this trick and swerved aside the irruption of blue Ki, though he was almost taken off guard when a second geyser followed by a third and fourth burst out from under foot. The second Piccolo narrowly avoided, the third grazed him, but by the fourth geyser Piccolo was anticipating and circumventing every underground explosion that followed, dancing between the irruptions and rapidly nit-picking his way closer to his quarry. Piccolo knew at his full power he could survive a direct hit from these feeble detonations relatively unscathed, but why take the risk when the old fool was so willing to waste his energy.

Truthfully Roshi was hardly putting any energy into the geysers and was in fact buying his enhanced chakras time to restore some of his lost energy reserves, the geysers were simply a lights show intended to look far more devastating than they really were; the whole idea was to get Piccolo dodging them, because if the Namekian went on a direct offensive, Roshi was a dead man. Luckily the old Namekian did as intended and danced a delightful puppets jig. Dance-dance, dodge-dodge, edging closer and closer until, just as the Demon King was about to close the distance, Master Roshi exploded one last smokescreen geyser right in the space separating them. Piccolo's hesitation however was brief and with a slashing hand he cut through the geyser which was far weaker than he'd expected. Perhaps the old man was getting tired? Or not, as the bearded martial artist appeared to have vanished.

"Your disappearing acts grow tiresome. Don't you have any better tricks?!" Piccolo mocked and whirled, lobbing a Ki ball at the old man who was attempting to flank him, but the Ki ball past right through the bastard "Gah, damn afterimages!" The Demon King Bellowed, letting rip twin eye beams in a completely random direction and was a little taken-aback when they connected with his elderly opponent who was in the process of attempting to blindside him. "Huh, who said dumb luck doesn't favour the experienced hahahaha!" Piccolo jeered, watching the Turtle Hermit hit the ground in a crumpled heap, the skin of his arm badly scorched from where he'd only just blocked the unexpected eye-lasers with some Focushien assistance, yet instinct overruled the urge to curl up and die and Roshi clambered up to face his enemy "Up already, good, because I'm far from done with you."

"Eh; nor I you." Turtle Hermit gasped out through gritted teeth, his chest heaving with breathless strain; Piccolo merely smirked, only a little bruised and worn out himself, but otherwise as strong as ever.

Again there they stood, staring each other down with only the rushing wind, pouring rain and violent thunder to accentuate the tension as the ground they stood on, now dreadfully unstable from all the underground tunnels Roshi's geysers had created, began to audibly crack and crumble.

The intense standoff didn't go unobserved, for about a hundred meters away, concealed among some rocks and dead bushes squatted the singular survivor of the slaughtered village, the beautiful twenty something girl who's big green eyes were fixed on the two figures. She gaped in astonishment at the combat now unfolding. It happened she was a fan of the old school Martial Arts, not today's pathetic excuse for tournaments but of the time before that clown Mr Satan. She'd grown up watching the legends of old battle it out, it's why she could, only just, follow the blurry battle raging before her. Truly she feared for the old man, clever as he was, it was abundantly clear he wasn't on the winning side of this battle, yet he didn't back down, didn't flinch, didn't balk, so neither would she. It was then fear and grief yielded enlightenment and she suddenly recognized both of these fighters.

One was the monster King Piccolo who'd terrorized the world when she was still a little girl, and the other was, of all people, her childhood idol, the legendary Master Roshi, a man of honour, respect and ethics. She'd memorized his face from old Martial Arts magazines, but she thought he'd died of old age years ago; yet here he was, risking his life so she could flee. But no, she couldn't run away and pass up the once in a lifetime chance to see her childhood hero in action, perhaps even help him. How though? Sure she'd studied martial arts, but she wasn't a threat to either of them. What could she possibly do?

"You are full of surprises, I'll give you that," Piccolo complemented, sounding ironic "Though I can also tell whatever power your using to bridge the gap between us is costing you dearly. Buuut," He drawled "Seeing as it's also increased your fighting efficiency, why should I take the risk of you killing me with a lucky shot when the final difference between us is simply that I can fly, and you….can't, hahahaha" As he said it, Piccolo started levitating upwards, smirking maliciously and stopping to hover about twenty meters up, clearing his throat "Ah, yes, well, fun as it's been my old friend, I'm afraid it's time to finish this; got a planet to conquer and other enemies to stomp, you understand." That sadistic grin again "But hey, don't look so glum, as a thank you for such an invigorating combat, I'm going to send you off with an honorary bang; that's right, you, yes you, get to be the first to witness my new technique; I call it, Popping Melons!" The overgrown alien sounded like a salesmen the way he pitched it, but Roshi, perhaps misinterpreting, wasn't buying.

"Eh, I'm sure that's how it is when you're busting to use a toilet, but, oh wait, don't tell me it's that!" Roshi pulled a disgusted face, taking a step back in mortification, glancing warily up.

"What, NO! Don't be disgusting!" Piccolo barked and Roshhi sighed with relief.

"Phew, you had me going there for a moment, things could've gotten –reeeal- ugly." Roshi chuckled awkwardly while grinning inwardly as this pointless bantering was only buying time for his Ki regeneration technique to refuel his strength.

"Yes, laugh while you can!" The Demon King jeered, his arms held away from him, palms facing up to support two large melon shaped conflagrations of evil green Ki, Ki very different to his usual gold "Because like I said, you're about to go out with a bang!"

"Oh, an aerial bombardment of misshapen energy melons, real imaginative; a true scholar of energy manipulation is our dear unbeloved Pickle King," Master Roshi thought sarcastically, but instead let out an exaggerated gasp "Uh-oh,"

"Yes, Uh-oh." King Piccolo echoed derisively.

"Um, I don't suppose you'd be willing to be a little charitable with this poor old man?" Roshi fished.

Piccolo pretended a seconds contemplation "Hmm, I might," That sharp toothy grin again "It depends on how well you dance little human!"

With that the Ki melon bombardment commenced as big oval like energy constructs fell like the rain itself, ripping up the earth beneath with explosions a many; certainly not the biggest Roshi had seen but big enough to make dodging them without Focushien a near impossibility, and even then he was forced to use the legendary technique of evasive manoeuvring called The Headless Chicken, a very elegant and deceptive technique that involves a whole lot of darting about and confused yelping; you know, all very top level stuff only true masters can do.

"Yes, Dance-dance-dance the dance of the dead man dancing hahahahaha." The Demon King Cackled, increasing the magnitude of his bombardment to wasteful extremes so only through those flawlessly timed Focushien bursts was Roshi able to keep evading. Roshi's refusal to die eventually sucked the saver from Old Piccolo's fun, especially when the insolent martial artist had the audacity to leave the ravaged crumbling dance floor and attempt a jumping attack "ENOUGH! Mellon Buster!" Piccolo Boomed, cupping his hands palm to palm in front of him to let loose an enormous energy beam with a melon shaped head, a beam that was aimed right at Roshi's ascending figure.

"The guy sure likes his melons, not that I'm one to criticize, a nice big bouncy pair of melons are always a welcome sight, hehehe." Roshi thought with a grim smile, not the least bit concerned about the closing energy beam as he put on another Focushien burst; it was time to play the second ace up his sleeve. Though to clarify, it was actually Piccolo's love of melon juice that inspired the Melon Buster, but Roshi was of course visualizing melons of an entirely different sort.

While Master Roshi contemplated the vital philosophical importance of melons, several meters above, King Piccolo was mere seconds away from a victory celebration when the impossible happened. The old man swerved sharply to the left and flew, that's right, -flew-, around the Melon Buster's roaring trajectory, moving so fast that all the dissembling Demon King saw was a blurry purple streak that zoomed up and around in an arch before slamming into him, delivering an unseen strike to his midsection that packed such force it folded him in half, driving all the air from his lungs in a spray of blood and saliva as the ground far below them was annihilated in the Melon Buster's concussive detonation, hurling loose muddy chunks of earth higher than they were.

That devious, conniving trickster had been pretending he couldn't fly all along, except by the time that little epiphany enlightened Piccolo's unresponsive brain, Master Roshi's purple glowing fist crashing into the side of his head added pretty exploding stars to that enlightenment as he was thrown into an uncontrollable spin that brought him crashing bodily down into the blackened smoking desolation of his own energy blast. Piccolo's teeth knocked on impact and he began coughing up yet more blood soon after; the pain shooting through his guts was immense and his wide bloodshot eyes felt like they might pop, yet they weren't eyes so blinded as to miss the old man now circling in the air above him, flying loop-the-loops and grinning like an idiot. It was the last straw, that mongrel would die over an eternity for this indignity.

Just after King Pickles hit the dirt, Roshi darted it, flaunting his –new found- flying talents as he charged up another Sonic Clap and directed it's shockwave down on the now howling, ear-clutching Namekian as he flew over. Roshi loopty-looped and charged another Sonic Clap before making another pass to unleash it, leaving the Demon King, who had amazingly clambered to his feet, to stagger about gouging at his pointy ears yowling hysterically and firing off wild, randomly aimed eye-beams. Yeah, it was a low blow taking advantage of a Namekian's vulnerabilities like this, but it's only fair when that same foe is ruthless enough to do the same and so much worse given the opportunity. Plus, it was funny as hell.

His mirth didn't prosper; just as Roshi committed to making a third pass with a Sonic Clap supercharged enough to cause permanent deafness and grant himself an easy victory, bad luck struck bold, struck hard and struck him true. All the Demon King saw now was red, the pain of his injuries drowned in fury and he launched off the ground at speeds even he never thought himself capable of; and Roshi, too exhausted from depending on Focushien so heavily, was simply too slow to react and took that monstrous fist square in the face, even Focushien couldn't cushion the blow, it hit him so hard it literally threw him up among the merciless storm-clouds above, his head spinning violently with dizzy pain the whole way up.

Eyes scrunched shut against the pain, it took a laborious exertion of will, but Turtle Hermit halted his assent. Now he hovered unsteadily in a swirling dark world of misty fluffy gray-black clouds. Roshi flared his aura, making it a protective shield against the moist, electric, barely breathable environment; rain fell even here, lightening streaked dangerously around him, fuzzing the hair of his beard while thunder louder than ever he'd heard assaulted his ears; and worse still, like a commit of gold, the King was closing in fast.

He couldn't afford to take another hit like that, but another hit is what he'd get if he didn't do something quick. Damn it, he'd expected Piccolo to recover, but not that quickly or that savagely. Where'd the egomaniac tyrant find the strength, especially with his hearing so scrambled? Regardless, there was no other option, Focushien was too self-destructive, meaning he had only one other technique that could keep things relatively even, and sadly it's just as new and undeveloped as Focushien, minus the diabolical self-exhaustion, but using it was dangerous in other ways.

Blue Centre is another theoretical technique he'd contrived just last year; put simply it's a combat mediational trance, a complete mental cleansing of all distractions, invoking utter tranquillity; it doesn't enhance speed, strength or anything so base, instead it heightens the senses, clearing and calming the mind by filtering out all non-threatening irrelevancies, thereby allowing one the proclivity to fight in the most efficient, conservative and logical fashion possible. Blue Centre doesn't make one a master of battle, rather one becomes the embodiment of the present conflict and it's every aspect, knowing the thoughts of his enemy, knowing his environment without seeing or memorizing, instinct evolves to near precognition, the world around slows, breathing is perfectly harmonized with intent, no energy is wasted, every movement has lucrative gain, emotions are ousted from judgment. Blue Centre grants one true freedom, but only through relinquishment of the insecurities and concerns anchoring one's mind could one ever truly attain that freedom, and in that space of time before King Piccolo reached him; Master Roshi, despite understanding how undeveloped the trance is, embraced that freedom; a passive blue aura began pulsing and rippling about his body, and then, things started happening.

With a madman's unconcern, the hovering Turtle Hermit half-heartedly leaned first left to dodge a golden orb of Ki that tore inches past his ear then just as unhurriedly right of the incoming green fist. Remaining completely expressionless, Master Roshi nonchalantly drove his own fist into Piccolo's nose, producing a wet crunching sound, then he pirouetted in the air and spun a solid yet sedate looking spin-kick into the confused Namekian's shoulder, and as Piccolo floated backwards, unbalanced, Roshi flung a lazy hand forward and a stream of Ki slammed into his reeling opponent.

Looking like he hadn't a care in the world, Turtle Hermit floated lazily forward, though the lazy appearance was just a beguiling front concealing the deadly procession and infallible intellect behind it. Unaware of this, Piccolo steadied his spinout, wound up and sprung a potentially devastating kick at his unhurriedly approaching enemy. But Roshi simply leaned back, grabbing the Demon King's heel even as it passed bare centimetres from the tip of his nose, then, increasing his own elevation, Roshi swung Piccolo into the perfect position beneath him whereupon he planted a stolid downward stomp-kick to the Namekian's pointy jaw. No celebrations, no pride, just pure focus was Roshi, who, still gripping that leg, instinctively swung the King up above his head just in time to sabotage the trajectory of the murderous Ki beam Piccolo cut loose with an instant later. The lightning bolt of gold Ki that could've slain Turtle Hermit outright streaked off among the clouds, but Roshi, was too busy back-flip kicking Piccolo in the spine to care.

Piccolo twisted like a streamer in the wind, righted himself then launched into a machine-gun volley of kicks, punches and elbows that even in his trance Roshi was hard pressed to dodge until Piccolo made the mistake of reaching out to strangle him, because Roshi just slapped the grasping hands aside and clapped his own cupped palms against Piccolo's bloodied ears. Instead of a follow up attack, Roshi did something odd and casually flicked the Namekian in his right eye as if flicking some annoying bug; then stranger still, he gave the green man a mocking two finger clip to the forehead, as if disciplining a troublesome child.

The feeling of humour was lost in Blue Centre, but it's fundamental concept wasn't, though Piccolo himself didn't find it funny, his facial reaction and tensing muscles gave his next wild swing away and Roshi floated a twirling 180 degrees around behind his raving, cursing nemesis, delivering a heavy open-hand chop to the back of Piccolo's neck and a swift kick in the backside for good measure. This wasn't childishness on Roshi part, well ok, maybe a little, but realistically if he riled Piccolo into more reckless energy wasting endeavours, the Namekian might wear himself out enough to benefit Roshi; a slim hope, but any chance small or big is a windfall.

Time to get serious; Roshi surged forward, his heightened instincts guiding him under Piccolo's roundhouse kick where, without consideration of Namekian anatomy, he punched the overgrown brute in the crotch then flipped upside-down and kicked Piccolo in the chin. Piccolo jerked back as Roshi set himself right side up then stole the offensive again, pressing the old martial artist back with a tireless barrage of rapid-fire limbs. Roshi kept a steady retreat and dodge pattern as he lacked the speed to dodge stationarily and the toughness of arm to block or deflect such vicious hits. Turtle Hermit remained unworried, King Piccolo's whirlwind assault was a blur yet the Namekian as usual was flailing wildly now, practically foaming at the mouth with frustration, his mistakes were legion, one mistake was enough, an over extension, a poor left upper guard and Roshi broke Piccolo's momentum and began peppering the large alien's ribs, chest and shoulders with a combo of punches aimed for the most sensitive and vulnerable spots to compensate for his lacking strength.

The defensive was Piccolo's now, the shots he was taking weren't severely damaging him but were well enough delivered to hurt and keep him reeling backwards through the misty clouds, unable to fend off his luminescing attacker. Suddenly the assault halted, but good sense didn't stop Piccolo long enough to see why before his foul temper demanded he exhale a tremendous beam of Ki from his open maw at first opportunity, and as any projectile without a target does, it hit nothing.

"Wasteful." A flat, dispassionate voice said, Piccolo whirled to the left, it was the old man, that eerie blue liquid-like aura still rippling about him, the pest's voice sounded different to, zombie-like, yet its critical undertone swelled his humiliation over his own ineptitude at slaying this weakling.

"DAMN YOOOOOUU!" Piccolo raged, fist clenched, lividly trembling.

"I have a new trick…..want to see?" The unintimidated old bastard quarried, his deadpan tone somehow baring a sarky undercurrent; King Piccolo would never admit it but this geezer was really starting to creep him out, and with good reason.

Before Piccolo could react, the wrinkled martial artist raised his index finger above his head as a stray bolt of lightning streaked past. Roshi caught the bolt on his fingertip like a lightning rod, then quicker than the Demon King could blink. Roshi, taming and stabilizing the wild electricity with his own Ki, channelled it down the recipient arm through the stomach and up to the sparking fingertip of his other arm which now pointed square at the enemy. –ZAP- The supercharged Ki augmented lightning bolt left Roshi's index finger to slam cracking into King Piccolo's chest, right where the heart should be on a human. Naturally it didn't kill, but the Namekian was flung away hurting, his flesh charred and blackened. For all the pain though, King Piccolo was more akin to a berserker than he knew; pain simply made him more rabid and ferocious.

Taking the initiative, Master Roshi slipped deeper into that perfect calm, that sureal division of self and flesh that melded into a greater, more intuitive and deadlier whole. He experienced no fear in this trance, no emotion; here in this deepest of mediations his mind wandered fields of glittering insights and epiphanies through the instant enlightenment of which his body performed the required motions to thwart his far more potent adversary; executing offenses, defences, feints and deceptions with a flawless precision and super intelligence that left the Demon King utterly miffed for lack of retaliatory stratagems. Piccolo could not land a single blow, and any he fended off he was intended to, and those that slipped so easily through his guard like water between splayed fingers stood as mere preludes of yet greater embarrassments to come. What infuriated Piccolo most was the old man's completely blank stoic face, betraying not a sign of strain or effort or pain or even warning of his next move.

Perfect warrior though Roshi had become, he remained too feeble of strength and weary of body to defeat his nemesis. Piccolo knew this yet knew not how this pitiful human was confounding him so. Failure and counter failures looping on repetitions a plenty in time numbering seconds had the Namekian raving mad and hurling insults foul enough to have the whole Namekian race blushing. But then, a windfall, a slight twitch in the Martial Artist's dispassionate stony veneer did Piccolo spy. He wasn't sure what it was, weather distraction or feigned distraction, but it was something and seeing no better options, Piccolo lunged full speed, struck and scored with a savage punch to Roshi's forehead followed by another ferocious fist Turtle Hermit's abdomen. In a blur of violence, Piccolo began repaying hurts received and then some.

That's the problem with using untested techniques, they don't work properly; Master Roshi's trance had hit a bump in the road so to speak, it had twice before too, though luckily Piccolo had missed the split second lapses, but now the monster was getting wise to the technique's flaw. Now the turtle Master was in a world of pain and trouble; he'd never been hit this hard this many times in his life. Fortunately though it seems that –bump in the road- doesn't halt the wagon, Roshi blocked out the pain, concentrated, and instantly the trance resettled itself; time seemed to slow a little, Piccolo again became that open book.

Anticipating Piccolo's next attack, Roshi twisted aside, darted back and bought himself just enough distance and time to cup his hand together infront of himself and shout "Cannon Force Repulsion!" The technique proclaimed shot a fist of telekinetically condensed air into Piccolo's stomach, winding and folding him over to plummet out of the clouds like a falling arrow, his ass being the tip of that arrow. Merciless, compassionless, Roshi chased after, caught up, slammed the toe of his shoe into the falling Demon King's midsection, intensifying the velocity of Piccolo's plumet. Master Roshi wound up for an energy attack that should further quicken Piccolo's fall and smash him against the rocks below, inflicting some much overdue damage, but luck that cruel old mistress of his did a doublecross and broke his trance yet again; a momentary lapse his enemy was utterly ruthless in the exploitation of.

Large twin beams of gold roared from Piccolo's outstretched hands; Blue Centre restabilised enough to get Roshi dodging, but not fast enough, one of the beams clipped his side, burring the skin horribly as it passed. Of Course Turtle Hermit didn't cry out, Blue Centre frowns on such emotional expressiveness, nope, instead Roshi found himself summersaulting three times in the air before flinging his legs downward and cutting loose with a modestly potent blue Ki beam that shot from the souls of his shoes of all things and exploded against Piccolo's defensively crossed arms. Despite the trance Roshi was taken-aback; never in a billion years had believed it possible to shoot Ki from his feet. What kind of crazy ass trance had he created?

Both fighters landed, but the fight didn't halt this time, the battle had come too far for pointless banter; the end was approaching one way or another. They rushed eachother, Piccolo headlong and Roshi zigzagging in a blur of footwork that cancelled out Piccolo's superior speed when the Namekian closed, laying on a heavy volley of punches. Roshi danced back and around, opening up with a return volley that Piccolo deflected with his forearms then lashed out with a kick that Roshi anticipated and dodged by spinning around behind Piccolo and aiming a jumping elbow between the Namekian's shoulder blades, but Piccolo was already turning and elbow deflected elbow. Quickly Roshi landed, crouched, swept a tripping leg in an arc, Piccolo danced clear then back again with a clock-cleaner kick of his own.

Master Roshi barely intercepted the vertical kick with his knee, the jarring impact would've hurt if not for the trance, but instead he rode upward force, locking his arms around Piccolo's own reaching arms, trapping those sharp nailed strangler's hands and levering himself further up to head-butt the Namek once, twice and once more with double the force before leaning back and slamming both feet into the Demon Kings Adam's-apple, using their interlocked arms to lever out additional kicking power. Promptly disentangling his arms, Master Roshi back-flipped away, aiming two powerful Ki blasts as he did; together, the blasts exploding against the Namekian's mid-section packed enough boom to stagger him some. Piccolo chuckled tartly then blurred forward, raining down vicious hammer-fists and undercut knees attacks, forcing Roshi back onto the defensive. The trance slipped again, one elbow made it through, took Roshi in the cheek, then his legs were swept from under him and a boot collided with his ribs sending him sliding backward on his stomach over shredded rock. Pain, coughing, spatters of blood. The trance resettled, its serene tranquillity immersing him, again he embodied the conflict and stole Piccolo's wind, literally, by punching from all fours and delivering a flying head-butt to his gut.

"You may be a tricky sod; but you're as weak as ever;" Piccolo rasped, stumbling back a few paces "Your already slipping, I can tell; sooner or later, you're going to make a mistake, and when you do, I assure you the end will be so slow and agonizing your imagination won't keep up!" Master Roshi didn't respond, his old enemy spoke truth; it's only a matter of time.

Roshi's success so far wasn't due to any augmented physical attributes, he was as weak and exhausted in Blue Centre as out of it; rather his success was courtesy of the trance's gift of intuition, and even then, if Piccolo were more level-headed or stronger than he is, Master Roshi knew he'd be dead right now trance or no trance; he might be scoring top shots through pure skill and technique, but the damage he was dealing was likely little more than a modestly painful inconvenience to Piccolo; if he didn't find some way to put this animal down soon, it'd be otherworld for him. As if to punctuate the thought, the trance slipped again. Piccolo saw the flicker and grinned carnivorously.

Mixing Focushein and Blue Centre was an option but a stupid one; using two highly undeveloped and unstable techniques that are polar opposites of eachother, calm prosecution and wild power simultaneously, he'd destroy himself before Piccolo got the chance. Worse still, over the last half minute he'd been fighting, Roshi felt the trance was doing something funny to his consciousness, he was fighting, but memory of what passed seconds before kept slipping in a lightheaded haze. Despite its repeated faltering, Blue Centre was becoming more a threat than an asset, it was pulling him in too deep, like a pit of quicksand, yet the quicksand consuming his mind was also all that kept him alive; quandaries oh quandaries…..

-Memory Gap-

Suddenly Demon King materialized behind him, savage fist falling. But Roshi instinctually caught the punch in a back slung palm, gripped the green fist, pulling his foe down and forward with unexpected force while leaping artfully up and back in an arc, arching his spine just enough to slam two well-placed heels into of Piccolo's left temple, sending him corkscrewing a few meters away….

-Memory gap-

Pain, perfuse sweating, gasping for breath, Roshi felt himself rolling, the trance must've broken and resettled again; he turned the momentum into a break-dancer's move he'd once performed as a young man, evading Piccolo's ground cracking stomp then scissor kicking at Piccolo's knee joints. As the Naemk buckled, Roshi, spinning on his hip, drove one backward leg up into his foes chin while the other locked around that thick green neck where upon he performed a handstand with Piccolo's head still trapped between his heels, and with all his strength, flicked his legs forward, hurling the Demon King straight into a blackened, dying tree fifteen yards away. The trance broke, Roshi grinned, the dolt had gotten tangled in the thick gnarled branches. It was a grim smile though, he'd done well, given it his best; but his best simply –wasn't- enough, and Blue Centre was messing with his head too much, so reluctantly, he let it go completely.

"Time to lay my cards on the table and bet it all;" He proclaimed to himself "Either I win the pot, or I go down broke…either way, this end now!"

There was a furious bellow, the tree exploded, a swarm of splinters riding the wings of a mighty gale. Roshi had to cover his eyes to keep from being blinded and as a result barely sensed the boot coming for his forehead. He swerved but it still clipped him and he staggered, whatever effects remained of the trance must've saved him there "No such thing as twice lucky, it now or never Roshi!" His mind declared and he agreed; instead of dodging Roshi jumped high into the air, using the lingering vestiges of Blue Centre to follow Piccolo's movements as the Namekian regrouped from his foiled flying-kick and jumped up after him, just as Roshi wanted.

"Leaving so soon, and without your goodbye present;" Piccolo chortled, drawing level with Roshi as they both ascended "Here, take this, with my condolences….!" King Piccolo pulled a hand back that was charged with enough Ki to level a large city, the power radiating from it made Roshi's skin prick and beard fuzz, yet he had his own game plan, and before Piccolo could vaporize him, Turtle Hermit raised his hands to either side of his head, fingers splayed and shouted the magic words.

"SOLAR FLARE." With those magic words spoken, the world lit up in an all-consuming blaze of light bright enough to shame the storm above.

While a blinded, cursing Demon King shielded his eyes, Roshi promptly opened a shoddy telepathic line with the briefly mentally unguarded Namekian through which he mind-screamed as high and loud as he could, an effect likely worsened by the physical proximity because it certainly scared the crap out of Piccolo who doubtlessly believed Roshi was trying some new, unprecedented, never before used kind of mind-fuckery; the hurried Sonic Clap Roshi discharged just before flying madly off probably didn't elevate the poor guy's misery either

"Thanks Tien, I owe you big for teaching me that one." He didn't just have Tien to thank but also Goku's obnoxious loudmouth Otherworld teacher King Kai for inspiring him with the idea of telepathic deafening. King Piccolo screamed and screamed, and –screamed-, pawing at his eyes, ears and temples, unable to decide which ailment most deserved his useless motherly doting as he descended shakily, seeking the reassurance of solid ground to placate his sensory deprivation; the only pity of it was that Roshi lacked sufficient strength to end this fight for good while the enemy was vulnerable. Nevertheless he used the time wisely getting himself some distance to prepair for the grand finale. But what grand finale would suffice?

He considered a Max Power Kamehameha but decided against it for several reasons the most logical of which said in the time it'd take bulking up then placing the remainder of his severely reduced power into an ages to charge up beam, Piccolo could very well sense his intentions and recover quick enough to interrupt the process, or at least dodge the humungous beam. King Piccolo was no saiyan, he didn't thrive on battling a challenging opponent or playing the imovaable object against huge energy beams, quite the opposite, he sought to wipe out any challenge to his strength, as he claimed he'd do after ending this match, which was kind of ironic actually as it was this battle that was sparing the Demon King a humiliatingly quick demise at the hands of a Z warrior or one of his fellow hellions.

Master Roshi quickly found a suitable, un-cratered patch of ground, a real scarcity now. The point A point B distance ratio wasn't great, a few dozen meters or so, but it was the best available, so the legendary master prepared himself, using his Ki channelling and replenishment skill to gather precious energies for his signature attack. That's right, crazy or not, a Max Power Kamehameha was his only hope he had left "Or is it?..." It was then, in that desperate moment that a truly devious plan came to him. True he couldn't fight Piccolo head to head anymore, but this one last trick might actually work, and he should have just enough energy to pull it off; he couldn't be bothered contemplating the ins and outs of it though, Blue Center had left his mind numb just as Focushein had taxed his flesh; far as Roshi was concerned, this'd either work, or it wouldn't, simple as that.

The Demon King snarled, his head was ringing and his eyes burned something fierce. He shook his head, willing the pain away, noting he was not being attacked despite his vulnerable state; the cowardly human was fleeing, that light trick was just an escape tactic, curse him. Piccolo cracked an eyelid; dark as the stormy day was, his eyes remained sensitive, but with a flaring of his aura to cleanse the affliction with fresh energy, his sight returned and his ears bleeding stopped squealing. Growling in both rage and arrogant superiority, he scanned the area….nothing, nothing, noth….no wait, there the wretch was, 40 meters away on a stretch of ground their battle hadn't graced. Except the martial artist wasn't fleeing, in fact, he was waiting. What was the pitiful human playing at? It didn't matter, in but a few seconds the pest would be dead and the world would be his for the taking once more.

Piccolo simply walked, didn't rush, just walked the first few yards toward victory, savouring this moment to remember forever onward. Ten paces later his impatience won out and Piccolo broke out into a full speed charge when the old man inexplicably crossed his arms in an X before him. Some fearful defensive tactic perhaps? Whatever it was it wouldn't help him. Such was Piccolo's thoughts before he saw something unusual enough to halt him in his tracks. The martial artist's body began to glow white, the air itself shimmering in heat waves around him, as if a waterfall of melting glass oozed like a barrier between them. Then, impossibly, the elderly human suddenly split into three, yes three exact duplicates of himself, all bald, bearded and shirtless, all standing in a neat line, exact mirror images of one another. "More trickery!" Piccolo thought in frustration; this worm was now openly insulting his intelligence "Hasn't he learned I cannot be out-maneuvered; fool!"

Two were illusions he knew, but which was the real one? Piccolo's annoyance doubled when the three shifted stance, lining up one behind the other, each adopting a different stylized fighting stances, held them, then, to the snarling Demon King's outrage, all three took flight in three different equidistant directions, like an expanding triangle, each keeping roughly a fifty meter distance from him as they began circling like hungry vultures at high speeds. However, that wasn't the strangest part; the strangest part was, right where the three had been standing before taking flight, was a fourth duplicate standing as a clear invitation in that rippling window of air. What was this madness? Piccolo wasn't stupid though, he knew the old man wanted him to attack that stationary copy so he could launch a sneak attack. Heck, the bastard had even started the air rippling with heat to hoodwink him, just in case he went after one of the other illusions and…and, that was it.

Three fakes and one real, the obvious illusion would be the stationary one, the heat-screen cunningly exposed the bait as an illusion by contradictorily trying to make that illusion seem like the real man cowering afraid behind the smokescreen. King Piccolo smirked; three hundred years of experience told him that –that- was exactly what he was meant to think. Oh yes, his brilliant mind new better, he was too clever to be outfoxed by this lowlife amateur, he knew their type, and the most logical place for such an amateur to hide his real self, would be in place of the most obvious illusion, the bait.

"How ironic." He internally cackled; externally however, mustering the absolute pinnacle of his speed, strength and energy, Piccolo launched himself bodily straight ahead with all of his murderous intentions focused souly on his second greatest enemy. Oh yes, this menace had caused him too much grief to die quickly in some anonymous energy blast, Demon King Piccolo wanted the full hands on experience, the full exaltation of making that worthless wretch scream, and as he rocketed closer, all he could think of as a fitting war cry was "DIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!" King Piccolo's clawed hand lit up with more power than yet he'd used today, a finishing move, a killing move aimed to gouge clean through the old man's heart; and it went through alright; right through another damned afterimage…..then things started happening too fast for The Demon King to realize just how badly he'd fucked up.

Piccolo had no chance to rage and curse because on his peripheries he caught movement; he whirled a full 360 degrees and saw not one, but all three copies of the old martial artist closing in from three different fronts. That wasn't all either, to the Namekian's utter disbelief, the three copies were no longer the lean muscled figure of the original, oh no, instead they were bulked right up like giant fleshy tanks and sheathed in that same dreadful bright purple aura that had heightened the martial artist's strength, speed and power earlier. inertia took hold, and in that millisecond window of danger awareness, Piccolo's eyes scanned the oncoming forms, seeking some kind of shimmer or transparency, anything to give away the genuine article, yet they were all perfectly identical and appeared as flesh and blood as himself. Which ones were the damned illusions? Turns out none of them were, a truth Piccolo found out the hard way when the jaws of prodigious muscle bound power clamped down on the bewildered Demon King just as he tried to jump clear, but it was too late….the trap snapped shut.

It couldn't have been more flawlessly done. Splitting into three identical copies might've divided Master Roshi's strength into thirds, but when those three thirds bulked up to his 100% state, their combined strength further bolstered by a dangerously strong burst of Focushien, stronger than any he'd attempted prior, focused into a synchronized attack packed the full physical punch of Roshi's 100% form while cancelling out its considerable speed reduction by confusing the hell out of King Piccolo who'd spent this whole battle being frustrated by Roshi's aptitude for illusions. More than that though, it was a psychological game, the trick was to get the foul tempered freak angry enough to impair judgment, but not angry enough to forget his ego or his physical dominance over the whole fight, thereby granting him the misplaced confidence that he'd ultimately outwitted and outfought his opponent when really it was his own egomania and short fuse that wrought his downfall and not Roshi himself.

"How do you defeat a brainless opponent possessing overwhelming power; easy, make them think they have a brain when they don't." He'd once tried teaching Goku and Krillin that lesson, but Goku, being Goku didn't really get it; Krillin wasn't much better but at least he grasped the basic concept even if he was useless in its application. But then who was he to judge, it was they who'd surpassed him, not the other way round.

The three simultaneous impacts of his three attackers weren't just overwhelmingly powerful, but also very specifically targeted, resulting in a domino like cause and effect pattern of crippling injuries The Demon king dropped to his knees, his body twisted and bent in ways a body isn't meant to; his arms and legs bent backwards, uncountable joints and bones broken, his arched spine unnaturally twisted and the whole right side of his face was a mess. The agony, was just, impossible, never had Old Piccolo imagined such misery, not even when that brat had punched through his chest so long ago. The Fallen King wretched up a puddle of purple blood then curled up in terror as the three purple glowing juggernauts converged in a storm of violence that must've pulverized his remaining unbroken bones as pain overloaded his senses and reality became something frighteningly surreal. This wasn't the goofy old man who'd arrived on this battlefield, this was a very –very- angry human hell bent on revenge.

As abruptly as it began, the beating subsided and the defeated Demon King was mortified to discover he was paralysed from the neck down and in mortal agony; he gurgled, cracked open his bruised, swollen eyes, and focusing though the blurriness, Old Piccolo beheld two oddities. Firstly the three duplicate heavily muscled old men melded back into one, Piccolo met the cold eyes in the stern, pitiless face of his one true, now complete tormentor over who's shoulder hovered that second oddity, and to look upon it was like staring into a mirror.

"S-Son," The broken thing that had once been the world greatest menace whimpered so hoarsely you could scarcely hear him

Master Roshi frowned, then followed the dying monster's gaze. There, floating just behind him, arms folded, continence stoic as ever as his white cape fluttered behind him, was Piccolo Junior, they're Piccolo, now one of Goku's greatest allies. Master Roshi wasn't surprised; it's understandable that the son, sensing the father, would come to investigate. Judging by Piccolo Junior's expression this wasn't a happy reunion; there was no pity for his elder in Junior's eyes, only disgust as he took in the smoke and stench of death rising from the ruined village beyond the trees.

"Son…..help, me." The elder begged the younger.

"Hmph; you're beyond help;" Junior stated tartly "And your no father of mine."

Weak as the Demon King's voice was, the gravely spike of indignant outrage, wasn't "You ungrateful whelp; I gave you life!" Piccolo Senior rasped harshly "You owe me your loyalty, you owe me you respect, you owe me your whole existence," The old menace gasped for air through a crushed neck "YOU OW ME EVERYTHING! Now I command you, kill this filth, and together, we will rule this world."

Piccolo Junior glowered at the pitiful excuse for a conqueror that was his sire; Master Roshi wasn't worried, Junior's days of attempted world conquering were far behind him, and indeed Junior looked away, spat, then chuckled mirthlessly "That's the only thing I have to thank you for, you gave me life so I in turn could atone for your revolting screw-ups…..there can be only one Piccolo, and I'm him, whereas you are nothing but a deluded old fool who cares only for power and conquest; you disgust me." Piccolo spat again, this time on his sire then turned to Master Roshi and smirked "He's all yours."

"Much obliged." Master Roshi nodded curtly, an uncharacteristically dark, satisfied and slightly sadistic smile curving his frazzled, blood speckled moustache; he'd been waiting for this moment all his adult life, and finally, it was here. He raised a glowing hand, about to end it, then paused thoughtful. Piccolo Jr noticed Roshi had just had an idea of some sort and asked

"What is it?"

"Oh nothing, just one last homage to an old enemy, a little going away present to remind him once and for all that he's ancient history buried and forgotten; it's just a shame I hadn't figured this out sooner." Roshi looked down at the fleshy green wreck, grinned "Watch closely, and keep your senses fixed on my energy signature; trust me, you'll get a real kick out of this."

Roshi's sudden spirited declaration was justified, because from nowhere the answer to a 200 year old mystery had just hit him like a frying pan. At last he understood why, despite 200 years of trying, he'd never succeeded in streamlining his Max Power Form; but having split up into three divided thirds of himself with Tien's multi-form technique -another thank you he owed Tien- then having those quarters buff up to maximum simultaneously yet separately had showed him his illusive miscalculation. He'd simply not been channelling his Ki or shaping his aura correctly; 200 years of trying and failing all because of some silly oversight even an amateur wouldn't have blundered on. How had he missed it? So humiliating; but an embarrassment he'd be cleansing right now.

Piccolo Jr blinked but didn't reply as the old master's whole bulky body was suddenly sheathed in a red aura so unlike his original blue. Impossible, the old man was actually transforming, his power level sky rocketing, at least by olden day standards back when Vegeta and Nappa invaded. He watched on, stunned.

It was so simple now he knew what he was actually doing. Gradually the cumbersome heavy bulk of Master Roshi's muscles began to shrink, not in power or potential, but in size, growing slimmer, denser and more compact without losing any strength at all; he even grew taller, now close to equalling The Demon King's prodigious height. By the time the transformation was done, he felt light as a feather, his speed matched his strength and toughness perfectly, his movements were nimble, it was the perfect warrior's body; and his power…..his power wasn't what it was, oh no, it was far greater, it had to almost match Goku's level back when Vegeta and that bald brute Nappa invaded. Roshi had always suspected he had untapped energy reserves, but this…..this was plain crazy. This form was to him what the Super Saiyan transformation is to Goku.

If only he'd accessed this form sooner, trained it, perfected it, maybe he could've been more helpful on countless occasions. Fat lot of good this strength did him compared to today's generation; but why dwell, it was still an achievement, even both Piccolos seemed taken aback, especially the Demon King who'd finally opened his senses to the world; the way he was goggling at his son's energy levels was comical, though it annoyed Roshi cause that face was meant to be for him. Oh well, no point in show boating anymore, he had a debt to repay on behalf of those he'd failed to avenge years before.

Super Roshi's red eyed stare made cold, razor-edged titanium look soft and cuddly as he regarded the crippled object of his scorn "This is for my Master, Mutaito, for my friends old and new, for the innocents I failed to protect from your machinations, and for the settling of debts; I balance these scales and deliver their vengeance….." Super Roshi snarled, low and deadly as his newfound power crackled crimson bright around him; then much more sternly, in a monotone voice he barely recognised, Super Roshi announced "This battle is over…you lose.….Goodbye."

With the merest upward twitch of his index finger, Super Roshi telekinetically catapulted the monster who'd haunted his nightmares for so long straight up into the sky, then he dropped into a stance, drawing out the heights of his new transormation's power in an aura storm that shook the ground he stood on, sending vast spiderweb patterned cracks across it surface. It was Kamehaheha time, but instead of taking the usual stance, the Turtle Master cupped his hands but separately, keeping them at their repective sides as he squared his shoulders, arched his spine, pointed his elbows backward and then began

"KAAAAA….MEEEEH….."

"NOOOOOO, NOOOOO, NOOOOO, MERCY, MERCY, SON HAVE MEEEERCYYYY!" The Demon King screams were pure blissful music to Roshi's ears, and Piccolo's as well.

"HAAAA….MEEEEEH..."

Two luminescent sanguine orbs began to charge and crackle in Roshi hands, growing, and growing in power, just a little more.

"SON, PLEEEEASE, DON"T LET HIM Do….."

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Super Roshi thrust his hand upwards and released his new -Dual Kahmehameha Wave-; the result was two massive red beams of sizzling energy that went screaming straight into the sky after the begging, balling fiend, gaining incredible ground. About half way to impact the twin beams merged together into the ultimate Kamehameha wave which mere moments after collided with vaporized every molecule of the screaming monster that was one the Demon King, bane of the earth.

Reverently the clouds opened a path for the mighty Kamehameha to pass through on its final journey to space, letting in a great beam of bright sunlight that retraced the beams trajectory back to fall warm on the two figures far below for a short, tranquil moment before the curtain of clouds fell closed and the rain resumed as normal.

"Farewell, old enemy of mine." Super Roshi whispered, then in the long silence that followed, he let his body shrink back down to its original skinny old man form, a form no stronger than it'd been this morning.

It was Piccolo who broke the long companionable silence "I have to hand it to you old man; that was quite impressive, and here I thought you were just a dirty old pervert."

Roshi almost fell on his face at the comment, but recovered his composure "Ah, hahahaha, yeah, I guess even when you've seen it all, people can still surprise you." He scratched his head awkwardly, winced, so many bruises; what a fight it'd been; still he wondered something, asked "I thought I sensed you up there. You were watching the whole time, weren't you?"

"More than watching, I was about to make myself known just as you showed up."

"I see, so you came here for the same reason I did then?"

"Not exactly the same reason, but a related one; and I've got to tell you when I first saw you come charging out of those woods I couldn't believe it, I thought you'd gone totally senile…."

"Not totally, but give it a few more years." Roshi laughed.

Piccolo guffawed, continuing "But then I saw the look you had in your eyes, it was the kind of look that, well, let's just say I inherited all of my father's memories…."

"Sometimes old debts have to be settled, no matter the cost." Roshi stated laconically.

Piccolo nodded, understanding completely, paused, then mumbled "I, uh…" Awkwardly he cleared his throat, tried again "I think I understand now why the others still defer to you as Master despite having surpassed you long ago; you came here to face an enemy that far outmatched you knowing you might die, yet you took the challenge on yourself anyway and in the end, through your skill, wisdom and experience combined with determination and good strategy, you overcame the odds and emerged triumphant….." Piccolo actually smiled, something akin to respect in his eyes "Krillin, Tien, Yamcha; now I see where they get their bravery from; retired or not, you're as much a warrior as Goku himself and…..and you've earned my respect, Roshi."

Master Roshi nodded curtly "And you have my friendship, for whatever its worth."

Piccolo returned the nod "Hmm, and I assume this settles the debt between us?"

"What debt? It was always your father my grudge was held towards, never you; you were Goku's rival."

Piccolo chuckled, amused "Yeah, I was, guess quite a few have passed through that roll; now even Vegeta isn't a match for him."

"It's a sign of the times, everyone has their time and mine was long ago; but Goku…." Master Roshi simply shook his head, chortling.

"I guess some people never grow old." Piccolo remarked, smirking

"Don't I know it." Roshi laughed, and astonishingly, Piccolo chuckled with him

There was a sudden explosion far to the west and a concussion wave rocked across the sky, patenting the clouds and drawing Piccolo's gaze "Hmm, sounds like that one could be nasty."

"It's probably one of those old androids as I don't sense any substantial energy signatures coming from that direction area." Master Roshi theorized.

"Hmm, that'd be my guess too," Piccolo agreed "….I'd better go sort it out before it gets worse." He turned, paused, looked back "Uh, you be right getting back to your island, you look pretty beat up." Piccolo wasn't kidding, Roshi was a mess, he could barely stand up straight.

Roshi was momentarily startled by Piccolo's concern, but opted for modesty "I'll be ok, it isn't as bad as it looks, besides I've got my own means of transport"

"Ah that's right, you can fly;" Piccolo grinned, recalling his father's shock at realizing the old man had feigned a flying handicap.

Another distant boom "You'd better go sort that out." Roshi said.

"Right." Piccolo agreed more seriously "See you later old timer." Roshi huffed at the jab, but Piccolo was already gone, good thing too as it seemed he had female company approaching.

She was jogging and stumbling through over the wrecked ground, all five foot eight inches of sexy feminine wonder, her clothing was wet and clung to her body, revealing just what a magnificent figure she had to go with that stunning heart shaped face and those green eyes, like gems they were, sparkling and shiny. Another positive sign was she'd even retrieved and brought him his discarded martial artist's jacket, she clutched it to her heaving shapely chest, it was now his favourite shirt

Finally she caught her breath enough to stammer "Y-your Master Roshi, aren't you? I swear I've seen you before? I know I have" She stuttered, those big green eyes sparkling with an sort of childish admiration despite her being in her early twenties.

She handing him his top while Roshi composed himself, then replied "Thanks, and yep, that's me, in the flesh. Guess you're lucky I was passing by, that maniac had a nasty reputation for, well, nastiness, but your safe now, here with me and that's all that matters." He said, grinning a not so benevolent grin; luckily she didn't seem to catch the perverse lilt in his tone though.

"Thank you for helping me get away, I-I don't know what I was thinking, I could've just kept hiding and he'd have moved on, but I was just so angry that I chased after him"

"Wait, you tried to fight him?" Roshi blurted, surprised out of his thoughts momentarily.

"Tried being the operative word; I've studied some Martial Arts when I was younger, but I couldn't even touch that monster no matter what I tried, and he just kept toying with me and laughed; I would've died if it weren't for you; I-I owe you my life Master."

"No-no, your life is your own my dear; although, if you feel like giving me a reward, then, how, about, A KISSS!" He leaned forward expectantly.

"Uh, um, o-ok…" She stammered, feeling indebted enough to think a peck on the cheek as a harmless request.

"Oh yeah baby, I've still got it!" As the women leaned in, Roshi could scarcely contain his excitement, he felt his hand automatically rising to cup her breast; but miraculously, he stopped himself just as her lips brushed his bruised cheek with feather soft sensuality. What was he doing, trying to feel up a girl who'd just seen her loved ones and her whole village murdered? For once Roshi reigned in his primal impulses, she didn't deserve what he'd almost done; plus if he was going to start training again, he'd have to tone down his impure behaviour anyway. Unfortunately as she pulled away, her eyes widened at where his hand had paused but not quite touched and she leaped away, mortified.

"Oh-no, it not what you think….." Roshi tried, too late.

"UCH, Dirty pervert!" He slapped him so hard his head spun and he fell on his butt "Imposter, you're not Master Roshi at all, the real Turtle Hermit would never treat a lady this way; we're even now, goodbye!"

"Aye, what ya talken about, ya crazy girl," He mumbled groggily "I'm about as Roshi as Roshi will ever, be and…..hey, where ya going, wait!" She stormed off toward the woods and the ruins of her village beyond, he tried to scramble up to follow but fell on his face, too exhausted.

Dang it, he'd exercised self-control and still got clouted anyway; girl knew how to throw a punch too, that smarted. He pondered going after her, but decided doing so would only make things worse, not to mention he was in no fit state to be running after anyone. Besides, within a few hours Goku would sort out whatever was happening in Otherworld, yes he was that confident in his former student; then she'd get her family back along with anyone else killed by this mishap when The Eternal Dragon was summoned. Till then there's no point in hanging round here, standing in this rain was a good way to catch cold.

Roshi cast his senses outward, found the Ki signature he was looking for, nearby as expected "Hey, Baby Gamara, you there?"

"That you boss? It's kind of freaky when you do this telepathy thing you know?"

"Freaky only to the impractical." Roshi quipped tiredly.

"Oh Ha-Ha;" Even living as long and seeing as much as he had, Roshi was still amazed that such a sarcastic talking turtle even existed "So what's up? Need a lift?" Gamara asked.

Roshi considered it, his physical state, he wasn't in a good way, he could fly back but since Gamara was already her, he'd take the slightly easier option, though the dizzy spell he was not looking forward to at all "Oh the sacrifices I make for this planet."

"What? didn't quite catch that." Gamara mind muttered, Roshi hadn't realized he'd thought that into the link, man, he really was worse off than he thought.

"Oh, nothing, yes thanks, I'd appreciate a lift back to the island."

Baby Gamara arrived not a few minutes later and Roshi wearily mounted up, strangely not even noticing the crazy spinning and dizziness. By all rights it was a miracle he'd survived today, yet for every victory there is a price, and for the first time ever, Master Roshi, just for a moment, felt the full crushing weight of his age "344 years, that's a heavy load, and I hope it keeps getting heavier hehehe."

There was perhaps more in store for Master Roshi than even he himself might realize, after all, he though, jumping off Gamara and watching the black turtle spin away into the bleak cloudy sky, he was the first Z Warrior and no doubt he would be the last as well once the others passed away. It was a lonely thought, Roshi reflected as he stood on the lawn of his little island paradise in the cool rain, but it was his life, a worthwhile life, protecting the earth had once been his responsibility, and perhaps, he mused, smiling at the thunderclouds above, once Goku and the others were gone, it would be his responsibility again.

"But not any time soon." He told himself, heading inside where it was warm and safe, because for the time being the Turtle Master was content sleeping in, watching television, socializing with friends, and their wives, or simply relaxing on his favourite lawn chair with a nice drink in hand and a tasteful bit of reading material in the other. Oh true The Earth would always face some threat or other, but when the day came for him to re-join the good fight, he'd be ready and waiting. But for now, things were good, so why spoil them?

To whoever had the endurance to read this 30K word-count fic, I say thank you and that I hope you enjoyed it. Also, a big thank you to any who leave reviews, even if it's just a few words of praise or simply a statement telling me the plot, grammar and characterizations were crap, or that the fight's pacing just plain sucked; any feedback is still greatly appreciated, especially if I ever get time to write again. Critique leads to improvement and all that.