I filter in and out of sleep over several days.
The first time I wake up, it’s in pain. Everything hurts. There’s no soft feeling of fleeting dreams, no moment where I pull a pillow in and slam the sleep on my alarm for another ten minutes of rest. My eyes blink open through the crust that covers them, and as I try to push myself up, the taste of iron fills my mouth. I try to speak. Instead, I cough, hack blood up onto whatever it is I lay on.
“Vegeta, calm down.”
Even through my blurry vision, I see Olave stand above me. She quirks an eyebrow and reaches around my back to help me sit up. “Go back to sleep, dummy,” she says. I try to respond, to snipe back, but there’s a sharp, stabbing pain just above my tail. A hiss follows. My eyelids droop shut, and as she lays me back down, I have a single thought.
That bitch just drugged me.
I’m unsure how long I sleep afterwards. The next time I come to, it’s due to my shifting bed. I blink my eyes open, and the first thing I notice is the taste of coffee that coats my tongue: three weeks old and never changed from the same pot. Maiz looks back at me from the foot of my bed, some sort of fruit in hand.
“Wow kid, you look like shit,” he says, laughing around the bite he takes. “Heard you got your ass kicked, but I didn’t realize it was this bad.”
I flip him off. It isn’t easy through the haze in my head, but I’m able to raise my hand just enough to give him the bird. He laughs again, stands up, and walks up next to me. Placing a hand on my shoulder, Maiz leans in close and speaks so quiet his voice is almost a whisper.
“Good job taking care of my old man’s scouter. I’ve left it for you, in the bag next to your bed.”
He pats my chest once before he turns to walk away. “One more thing,” he says, glancing back at me. “Come and find me when you’re up and able.”
“It’s about time to test how far you’ve come.”
Maiz laughs a final time, takes another bite, and makes his way out of the room. As I’m left alone, the fog of sleep overtakes me.
Where once my dreams were empty, this time they’re filled with flames.
The third time I wake up, the pain has dulled. It’s still there, persistent as it can be, but I can still move despite it. It takes a moment to wipe the layer of crud out of my eyes and sit up. As I do, my stomach rumbles hard enough that I swear the bed shakes. For a second, I wonder how long I’ve been out. A day, a week -- more time than that? Hard to tell, but the way my body seems to want to cannibalize itself gives me a rough, hazy estimate.
“At least a couple of hours.” I snort at my own joke, kick my legs over the side of the bed, and look around. Everything seems much the same: the cave, the furniture, the singular medicine ‘cabinet’ Olave retrieved the gauze from the last time I’d been in the med bay. But as I glance down, something on the floor catches my eye.
Good news: it’s food. I’m one-hundred percent sure I can technically eat it without worry.
Bad news: it’s raw meat. Again. As I stare down at what looks like a full size, untrimmed brisket, I wonder if I’m really about to go in for round two.
Hell yeah I am.
With a resigned sigh, I hop down and go to town. Halfway through my seventh bite, I realize that there’s no hair, and that whoever stripped this away from the animal it came from did a significantly better job than before. Small blessings. Before long, I finish, and I wipe away some of the melted fat on my chin with the back of my hand.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I spot a familiar, rough woven bag.
It’s Maiz’s, I realize. For his scouter. Our conversation from before -- one that feels like a fever dream -- comes back to me, and I reach over to pick the thing up. The strings come undone in my fingers, and I stare at my reflection in the scratched, green glass.
Honestly, I look like shit. Bruises, large and splotchy, cover most of my face. They look like they’re healing and have long since faded to a greenish-brown. But they cover my right eye, both of my cheeks, and even parts of my forehead up into my hairline. Flipping the scouter over, I give a soft sigh before affixing it to my left ear.
Even through the crisscrossing scratches, the HUD comes to life. It clicks, goes through the same bells and whistles as always, and I bring a hand up to press the third button on the ear guard. It takes a second before my reading comes back to me.
1250.
If I had a drink, I’d spit it out. Mental math has never been my strong suit, but it’s easy when it’s so close to a multiple of ten. A hum passes between my lips.
That’s almost a twenty percent jump. “Is Zenkai really that strong?” I ask aloud. There’s no answer, not that I expect one. Regardless, I reach up to the same button to trigger another self-scan, just to make sure I’m not crazy. It comes back the same. A one-hundred and eighty point increase from before.
All I had to do was not die.
A grunt passes between parched lips, and I push myself up to stand. It’s always easy to boil things down. But at some point, when all the liquid turns to steam, the pot starts to superheat and glow. ‘Not dying’ isn’t the same as ‘almost dying’. One implies waking up and living your life, and the other implies a sticky situation where you’re fighting for a chance to live your life.
Making my way over to the water basin in the center of the room, I put my palm up under my chin, push and listen to the sound of my neck pop. ‘It is what it is’ seems like the wrong energy to have, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment. I’m tired. Weary. And all I have are questions that make me want to spiral and an ache in my muscles that seeps deep into my bones. I crouch down, stare at the still water, and run two fingers against its surface.
After a long breath, I slam my head in face first.
It’s cold. There’s a biting, crisp chill that I find soothing despite the way it makes my body tense. Somehow, it’s refreshing. After a while, when a minute or two pass, I come up for air that I don’t really need.
“Having fun, Vegeta?”
I turn around as I run a hand through my hair. Water beads between the stiff locks and comes free between my fingers, and as interesting as the texture is, I’m much more focused on Olave. She watches me from the open door, a small smile pulling at her lips.
“Yeah,” I say, even if I wince at the distorted, unused sound of my own voice. It’s rough on my ears. Rougher than twenty grit sandpaper. But as I submerge my arms beneath the water, wait for some of it to pool between my cupped hands before bringing them up to my lips, I can’t help but think that it feels even worse.
“Yeah?” Olave asks, grunts, and rolls her eyes. “You’ve been laid out for two weeks, and that’s all you want to say?”
Two weeks, huh? That’s a long time. When I first woke up in the med bay -- when I first woke up as Vegeta -- I don’t think I spent more than four or five days in here. To more than double that time is a true testament to how bad I’d been messed up. Or, maybe, just how bad I’d messed up. They’re not really that different. Pushing the thought away, my lips pull into a smirk; as little as I want to talk, the moment is too good to pass up.
“Yeah.”
Olave gives a full, snorting laugh. She walks over next to me, places a hand on my shoulder and crouches down. I expect her to stop there. She doesn’t. Using the hand she has on the opposite side of me as leverage, she pulls me into a casual embrace. It isn’t loving. It’s far from romantic. But it’s comforting in a familial way that reminds me of my older brother back home. As startled as I am, I don’t make any move to stop her.
“I’m glad you’re okay, short-stuff.”
I lean into the hug. Honestly, it’s hard not to. “Yeah,” I say around my smile as I mumble into her hair. It’s stiff, like mine, but it falls down over her shoulders and back in a wild mane. It also gets into my mouth and tickles my nose. “Me too.”
We break away when the position gets awkward. Olave stands and dusts herself off; I go back to drinking as much water as a freshman frattie with his first six pack. It tastes of the earth, though slightly sweet, and it soothes some of the pain even if it doesn’t stop it. When I swallow, Olave speaks.
“The captain asked me to get him when you woke up,” she says, and her eyes soften, even if only a little. “You think you’re up for it?”
A grunt comes from the back of my throat. “That’s fine.”
Olave nods and turns back to the door. “Hope you’re back up soon, Vegeta,” she says, offering a final wave, “and don’t let the Captain hassle you too bad.”
The handle clicks as the door closes shut behind her. I’m left all alone. Again. For the little bit of time I have until Nappa arrives, at least. My thoughts are my only company. And really, I only have one.
Does it help to minimize your problems by imagining the people that you’ve killed as your ex-boss?
I chuckle under my breath. A little, admittedly. Without doubt, it’s a bit therapeutic to picture someone I dislike in the cockpit instead of some nameless soldier, and I’m not above admitting it. But as useful as it is, it raises a question.
What the hell do I do the next time?
The silence that greets me is as telling as it can be.
I don’t have an answer. I run my hands down my face and breathe out through my nose in a long, drawn out exhale. The only thing I do know is that I’m not in Kansas anymore. It seems a bit obvious, but when the stark contrast of where you were versus where you are stares you down like… Oh, I don’t know: the stalactites that frame the roof of the cave that you now call home? Well, it makes reality settle. As much as I want to pretend otherwise, I’m not a Human anymore. I’m a Saiyan. And as much as I don’t want to admit it, there’s a near zero percent chance that I won’t end up in a similar situation in the future.
“You’re awake.”
I glance up from my spot on the floor, watch Nappa as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. He’s stiff. Tight, like a coiled spring ready to come undone. But despite his rigid posture, his signature grin still stretches across his lips as he shoulders his way in and looks down at me.
“Good,” he says, and the water in my hands falls between my fingers and onto the cavern floor. “You and I need to have a talk.”
It’s a loaded sentiment, for sure. But as he sits down at the end of the cot closest to the exit, links his fingers in-between one another and stares through me, I’m not sure what to think. For a second, there’s silence. I’m unsure of what to say. Shit, he seems to be too.
“I’m glad you’re alright.”
I… don’t expect that, don’t know how to respond. “Thanks,” I settle on, wincing as my throat grinds. “I still can’t talk much, though.”
He continues to watch me with way too much intensity. A heartbeat, and he eases back and nods. “That’s fine.” He sighs, closes his eyes, and breathes in through his nose. “I’ve got some things to explain, a couple of questions, but don’t get too hung up on ‘em or anything. We’ll get the nitty gritty shit later.”
Nappa brings a hand up and rubs it under his nose. “Tuffles have some new combat tech, it seems. I’m sure you noticed,” he says, chuckling, “what, with the way you were laid out when I arrived. Doesn’t mean we can ignore it, though.”
Pausing for a second, he rolls his jaw. “Keep outta the forests if you’re hunting. Stick to the desert, the mountains, and the coast if you end up going out that far. Rebuilding our stores can come later.” He doesn’t glare, but his gaze sharpens. “We need to remember that everyone’s a warrior, and we need to bring the entire tribe up to snuff. Too old, too young, too weak -- it doesn’t matter. You can be a hunter or a butcher or a door-matt, and I’ll still put you through the ringer. Everyone trains.” Pressure fills the room.
“More than anyone, that means you.”
Somehow, I manage to scoff. ‘Getting stronger’ rises on my list of priorities, despite already being at the top. “I’m serious, Vegeta,” Nappa says, his lips falling into a frown. “Shorty and Scar-face are gonna go back to helpin’ with the food. They might not be as strong as you, but they’re not far off. And they’re better hunters anyways.”
I give a jerky nod. With only a vague recollection of who they are (and for some reason, Shorty is the tall one while Scar-face is built like a goblin) it’s hard to argue. Not that I want to. There are probably babies on Plant with better hunting instincts than me. Haven’t been able to bring down anything that didn’t try to bring me down first, and isn’t that a thought and a half.
Nappa laughs. “Don’t let it bother you, kid. They're good at what they do. Always have been.”
The ground shakes. A light overhead flickers, and the metal cups in the cabinet clink against one another. I jolt upright, but Nappa holds a hand up and motions me over to a cot like whatever that was doesn’t matter. Chances are, it probably doesn’t.
If there was an issue with the big guy here, it’d be taken care of.
Nappa pushes himself back up and paces in front of the cots. “Protection detail will go to Zorn, Maiz, and myself for the time being. We’ll alternate days. And while the other two are out hunting, whoever stays back will be helping the rest. You’re still responsible for your own work, but you’ll stay back from time to time so we can get a read on your progress.”
He stops, looks me dead in the eye, and his lips curl into a smile that’s equal parts a snarl. “You have more potential than any Saiyan I’ve ever met, Vegeta. We need to bring that out.”
What? Goosebumps crop up along my arms, and a chill makes me shiver. My fists clench, unclench, and as my heartbeat picks up, I realize I’m not scared.
I’m thrilled.
“Don’t get too excited,” Nappa says as he barks out a harsh laugh. “Zorn’s only instructions are ‘not to kill you’. As long as he leaves ya’ in good enough shape to do your job, I don’t really give a shit how hard he hits. I’m sure you’ll be out in the wilds with a broken bone more than once.”
This time, I laugh. It’s an awkward, uncomfortable sort of thing, but it comes out all the same. “Yeah,” I say, “I get it.” For a second, no one says anything, and I watch the shadows dance on the rough textured wall behind the big guy. They form in flashes from the flickering lights, and when the ground shakes again, they disappear when the overhead bulb breaks.
“I need you to tell me about the fight you had.”
Oh, right. That. Somehow, I’d almost forgotten that my foray into the forest is what led to this conversation. “At first, I thought I’d stumbled on a hunting party,” I say, pursing my lips. Between not wanting to talk and trying to figure out what not to say, I’m in a bit of a tight spot. “Found them in a clearing: a couple of schmucks, a mech or two -- nothing crazy. Didn’t think they were worth it, so I left.”
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Nappa holds up a hand. “Wait, you say you left? You didn’t try to fight them or anything?”
Is it dishonest to downplay the situation? At the time, I’d felt my heart beat out of my chest, but now, it seems so small. So inconsequential. A snort leaves my lips.
“Kicked the kid who caught me across the clearing. Just to get him out of my way, really.”
Nappa stares. He blinks once. Twice. Three times before he walks over and leans against the wall, waves for me to continue. “Took off after that. When more and more mechs started to show up, I called for help. Thought I’d attracted a lot more attention than I thought I should’ve.”
I cough, clear my throat. “My gut said something was wrong.”
“Your gut was right,” Nappa says, grunts more than anything. He stares down in contemplative silence, and his next words are so quiet, I almost miss them.
“Tell me about the girl.”
And so her fate was sealed. “She was strong.” I frown. “Silent, too. Didn’t know she was there until she was on top of me. She threw me into the ground and used my face to till the dirt. When I got up, we went blow to blow for a bit.”
I pop my pointer finger under my thumb and look down at my hands. “She was winning.”
“I spoke to her briefly after I arrived,” Nappa says. “Got some info on her gear. Could you detect her with your scouter?”
I glance back up and meet his hard stare. “No. When she was wearing the suit, the scan came back inconclusive. After the fight, when she was out-cold, it did give some sort of feedback when I forced a lock-on. Doubt it would’ve picked anything up without it.”
Nappa huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “She was augmented. Muscles, bones, senses -- everything, the whole lot. Seems her suit did a lot of heavy lifting, too.”
What? “Like her bones were replaced?” I ask. Androids were a thing in Dragon Ball, and I recall Baby being some sort of biodroid… thing, but I had no idea it stemmed back from this far into the past.
“Close, but not quite. Chances are, someone reinforced her skeleton -- or parts of it, at least -- with some sort of shock resist alloy. Not sure what they did with her muscles. Fully organic material isn’t the same, and they gotta do different shit to juice it.” Nappa blinks a couple of times and laughs. “At least, that’s what Paragas always said, and even if I didn’t listen to him much, he was pretty smart about that kinda stuff.”
Nappa pushes himself off of the wall and makes his way to the door. “C’mon,” he says, glancing back at me, “I’ve put off talking about our upcoming problems until you got up. We need to address the tribe.”
We? This is a group effort, now? I throw the thought away, swallow, and nod. Pushing myself up, I make my way over to Nappa and follow him out the door. We make our way down the hall, past the flickering lights of the cavern that mirror the issues the med-bay had, and to the main room. Even though my dark vision seems to be fairly strong, I reach up to my scouter, click through a couple of things to see if it has any sort of assisted seeing.
Nappa’s power level flashes as I go through some settings. His 4200 sits at the top of a list of ranges, but as we make our way into the common area, several other numbers fire up on the display as well.
“Hey, it’s Vegeta!”
I watch as two kids -- one, who holds some sort of small, electrical component in hand, and another who carves at an animal the size of a fully grown doe -- drop what they’re doing and rush over to me. Nappa doesn’t say a word, but his smile sharpens as he steps away from me.
He doesn’t reprimand them either.
What a traitor.
“When did you get up, Vegeta?” the first one asks. He’s taller than me, by a foot or so, and it’s clear that I should know him even if I have no clue who I’m speaking to.
I shrug. “About an hour ago.” He purses his lips like he’s about to grill me for answers, but Nappa reaches over and places a hand on his shoulder. With his other hand, the big guy reaches up to his mouth, places two fingers against his tongue.
A sharp, shrill whistle echoes in the cave.
Everyone else stops what they’re doing. Olave, and an older woman she stands next to, turn away from the grain stores; an older man, with two large, multi-gallon pots attached to the separate ends of a long rod that he balances on his shoulder shifts focus; and a group of young men in the corner who scrub away at some furs, drop what they’re doing and stand up. All of them turn to Nappa.
All of them turn towards me.
“I’ll keep this brief,” Nappa says. He takes his hand off of the young man’s shoulder, puts his pinky in his ear and twists it. “Vegeta’s up and about. I wanted to wait to speak with him, ask him some questions before I made any sorta statement.”
Nappa breathes in through his nose hard enough that I can feel him inhale. “We’re working on strength and training because it’s become a necessity. I’ll be frank: up until now, I figured the strongest members of the tribe could handle any heat that came our way. Now? I’m not so sure.
The Tuffles have new tech. They’ve taken inspiration from the Chitauri invaders and have gone with strength augmentation. On top of that, they’ve got suits that push them even further.”
This time, his hand makes its way to my shoulder. “At a power level of ten-seventy, Vegeta struggled with a single one.”
I hear a hushed whisper between Olave and the old lady. Nappa holds up a hand, but he doesn’t address them verbally as he keeps going. “From my understanding, we aren’t the direct target, nor the reason for this recent push from the Tuffles.” He sighs, brings a hand up, and runs it through his thinning hair. “Honestly, that chafes worse than the alternative. To them, we’re weak. Inconsequential. So we’ll play their game for now, stay out of the forests and away from Jambul and Tejoco. All the while, we’ll consolidate. Grow. And if they ever turn their attention to us -- decide that they’re tired of the big, scary Saiyans planetside -- we’ll give them a reason.”
His already savage smile turns positively feral. “We’ll remind them why they’re scared.”
Sounds of agreement echo throughout the cave. I don’t focus on it, even as my mind runs at a million miles a minute. Technically, this isn’t an escalation. It’s a response. A response to a response to an escalation, but a response all the same. Yet I’m too focused on the faces of the other Saiyans to give that much more thought.
They’re not excited. No one seems thrilled or hyped or eager to go after the Tuffles.
Everyone looks nervous. Afraid. Like someone just told them some news they’d been dreading for years, and I guess that’s probably close to the mark. It hits me, then. That these people want as much to do with the Tuffles as I do. That these tensions are perpetuated. Not by them, but by their situation, and that the Saiyans I’m living with travel from cave to cave not because they want to, but because they have to.
They’re worried. Worried about their homes. Their friends, their family, their way of life. The Tuffles might not be physically able, but that doesn’t mean they’re weak.
That doesn’t mean the Saiyans wouldn’t fight. They would, and they know they’d die.
Nappa’s hand that rests on my shoulder gives me a soft squeeze; Olave looks towards me, offers a strained smile; the scouter on my face -- the scouter that Maiz gave me as a gift -- hums in my ear as everyone starts to talk amongst themselves. The context clues are brutal, there’s no denying that, but it’s the readings and numbers that really send the message home.
4200.
Nappa’s sits at the top. I assume it’s based on threat level, and he’s by far the strongest in the room. My own reading doesn’t appear. Not surprising, seeing as it isn’t a self-scan. But the digits that rest just under Nappa’s, the number of the second strongest person present, sans myself?
550.
Less than half my own. It’s a bit difficult to have a gauge for that, when the power levels in canon jump from 300 to 1200 and higher between the two fights in the Saiyan Saga. Clearly it denotes super-human, but by how much? Is this nameless Saiyan almost twice as strong as Piccolo?
I barely manage to stop the snort that threatens to tear from my lips. There’s no way. Piccolo’s special beam cannon clocked in at over 1300 when he first fired it off against Raditz, and Goku was able to similarly charge up his kamehameha. Once again, it comes back to control.
Something the Saiyans lack in spades.
“We’ll be alright, kid.” I look up at Nappa, taking note of the way his smirk never falls. “This is just another challenge to overcome. We’ll pull through.” He moves his hand away and rubs at his chin.
“We always do.”
Do we, though? I fucking hope so. As I break eye contact with Nappa, glance over at Olave and think of Maiz, it’s easy to realize why. They’ve all done so much for me. I’m not delusional, and it’s easy to see that it wasn’t for me, that it was for Vegeta. But I am Vegeta, a part of me whispers. And these people are my people now. I might not have wanted them, and they might not have wanted me -- even if they don’t realize it -- but here we are.
These are people that I care about, in my own way. People that I want to protect. I’ll never admit it out loud, because despite living in an anime, I’m not some sunshine and rainbows protagonist. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t matter. Maybe they’re feelings from a person that I used to be, a person I’m not quiet anymore -- Saiyan, Human, something else -- but they’re there all the same.
I recall the Tuffle pilot that I watched burn alive in his cockpit. Just thinking about it ties my stomach in knots, yet it’s now something that I have to live with.
A shortcoming that shapes who I am.
It hardens my resolve.
I’ll pass Nappa. I’ll get stronger than Maiz and Zorn and anyone else who stands in my way. My declaration is a feeling: one that fills my muscles and seeps deep into my bones. Challenging for the right to lead seems like a lofty goal, especially when it’s only penultimate. Is there a way to stop the space Hatfield and McCoy style feud between the Saiyans and the Tuffles? Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never been a betting man, but between myself and the literal war criminal I stand next to, I’d be hard pressed to think my odds are somehow worse. And if it’s what I have to do to secure the safety of the people I’ve come to care about?
Then I’ll do all that and more. As I glance at Nappa, I think that maybe -- just, maybe -- Vegeta had the right idea, aiming for the position of chief. One thought follows when our eyes meet.
“I’m coming for you.”
My words are wind, a whisper so quiet I can’t even hear them. Despite that, despite how soundless I think they are, Nappa reacts.
His smile somehow stretches further.
----------------------------------------
A day passes. I’m supposed to spend the next three waiting out the end of my recovery.
I don’t. Doctor’s orders are more like guidelines anyways, and it isn’t exactly fun to be idle when your mind is so busy. Instead, I opt to train. Or try to, at least. There aren’t any jabs or strikes or swings that I run through, but as I sit up in my bed and stare at the wall across from me, I inhale and reach for my ki.
Pain blossoms. It starts as a dull ache just below my ribs. A constant discomfort that makes my lips twist as I grasp at the well of my own power. It doesn’t stop there. When I take hold, my chest flares with the heat of heartburn, and my stomach tightens as sweat starts to pepper my brow. As quick as my power fills me, it leaves, and I’m left hunched over, gasping for air. With a final exhale, I fall back into the mattress and stare at the cavern ceiling.
Okay, that’s definitely a no go. I bring a hand up and wipe at my face as the reality of the situation makes itself known. Previously, I’d likened the usage of ki to the flexing of a muscle, but it appears that I’d been much closer than I’d imagined. Limits exist. That much is clear, and if they’re stress tested, the road to recovery gets a new stop-sign.
“So we don’t do that, then,” I say to myself. After a minute or two, when my breathing steadies and the pain fades from throbbing to smarting, I run over my options.
Physical training isn’t going to work. Ain’t no way I’m at a spot where I can get up and ask for a spar. Out of idle curiosity, I reach over to the rock I setup as an end table, grab my scouter and affix it to my face. Clicking it on and pressing for a scan, it takes a second for any numbers to come back to me.
As soon as they do, a sigh leaves my lips. At the top of the list rests a reading that I associate with the antithesis of a good time.
2730.
Zorn’s. “Never lucky,” I whisper as I remove the scouter. My hand comes up to pinch the bridge of my nose, and I can’t help but wonder why it couldn’t have been Maiz. Shit, I’d even take Nappa. At least then I’d have someone to talk to, someone to ask questions, and someone to bother and waste a little time with.
If I try to bother Zorn, he’ll just ignore me. Or he’ll kill me. I guess there’s that option, too.
I grunt, roll over, and push myself up. Great. What the hell am I going to do now? Running my tongue over the back of my teeth, I kick my legs over the side of the bed, stand, and make my way over to the door. Maybe I go for a bite to eat? I place a hand against my stomach and think that it might be my worst idea yet.
I’m not really hungry. Peckish, maybe. And bored eating can wait until we have enough stored up to feed an empire. Not now, when we’re scrounging for every crumb the bad-lands can produce.
As my fingers press up against the rough, tarnished surface of the exit, inspiration strikes.
I focus and let everything else fade away.
At first, it’s just on what’s in front of me. I trace the texture of the wood-grain, follow the pocks and blemishes and imperfections that exist in the untreated surface with my fingers. Closing my eyes, the noises of the main room (half a hundred feet away, separated by two doors and a narrow tunnel) trickle into my ears. I hone in on the scraping of stone, the strikes of a hammer, and the tiny bits of conversation. My eyes blink open, and I take several steps back.
“Not what I was aiming for.” The words leave my lips as I stare down at my clenched fist, even as a grin pulls at them.
Still far from a bad result.
This time, I sit down on the floor with my legs crossed. I lean forward, balance against my arms, and close my eyes for the second time.
There’s little point in keeping them open. For now, at least. Instead of splitting my attention on the nothing in front of me, I let my senses speak for themselves. The sounds come first: the static from the next room over, but also the way the wind moves in the cavern ceiling. Second is the stale taste of the air, carrying hints of mold and mildew despite the dry climate. And finally, the soft smell of blood. It isn’t my own, but the coppery, iron notes come from the door. For a moment, I wonder if they’re butchering an animal in the room over.
Everything seems so vibrant. It’s a biological difference, to have senses this sharp. But as I once more get a feel for my ki, let the muscle move without giving it any work to do, everything changes.
The world erupts in detail.
My eyes snap open. It’s hard to focus on any one thing -- the sound, the smell, the taste -- but it’s my sight that hits the heaviest. Everything looks like someone dialed the contrast up to eleven. The brights are too bright, the darks are too dark, and the colors are so vivid that my blossoming headache borders on a migraine.
“Fuck,” I whisper through clinched teeth as I force the ki out. Pain builds in my stomach. Again. But it can’t compare to the way my head throbs, the way my brain rattles in my shaking skull. Snapping my eyes shut, I breathe in, count to ten, and let everything out in a drawn out exhale.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
It did, though, and it’s hard not to wonder why. I sigh, reach up to my eyes and rub at them. The question continues to eat at me longer than it should, but after a minute or two, a memory surfaces. A thought follows.
I’m operating backwards.
I snort, hock up some crust caught in my nose, and spit it onto the ground. Enhancing my senses without a target leads to sensory overload. Not something I ever recall seeing in the source material, but it makes sense -- pun withstanding. It does beg a question: how do I focus on any one thing enough to where this isn’t a problem? The answer I find comes in the blink of an eye.
Ki sense. The ability to detect living organisms and gauge their strength. Honestly, it’s what I’d first wanted to find. Once my head clears, and the pain fades like a forgotten memory, I close my eyes again.
Instead of reaching, I pull back.
I’m not interested in what my natural senses tell me. Right now, they’re inconsequential, and all I’m focused on is the feel of my own energy. Everything else falls away except the flickering flame that is my power. I can’t see it, of course -- but I can visualize it within my mind. The ki moves, ebbs and flows, waiting to be drawn out and used like a sheathed blade. But I don’t touch it, and my power stays contained.
I do try to take stock of it, though. Not by grasping or pulling or firing it from my hand, but by observing it. Watching the way it shifts, following it in a dance -- one where I’m two steps behind and unfamiliar with the song.
A song that I try to learn all the same.
Time passes. I’m unsure how long I sit in silence, but as my eyes drift open, my hold on my power remains. The feeling had always been there before, the ability to measure my reserves. Now, though? The rough estimate from before is refined, ever present, and something that I can check with nothing but an errant thought. My energy is the same: waiting, bubbling beneath my skin and begging to be called out. It almost distracts me from the second, far greater revelation.
It isn’t just my own ki I feel. A minute passes before I realize that when I focus, blips appear in my own mental radar. They’re so faint that they’re hard to notice. Even Zorn’s -- the brightest one I can feel -- sits at the total edge of my range (less distance than my shitty scouter can even reach) and I only notice him from the slightly brighter glow than the others.
But I do notice him. A triumphant laugh tears from my throat, and I don’t bother to hide my growing grin. For the next couple of days, I might not be able to throw hands. That’s okay.
There’s still plenty to work on.
----------------------------------------
Two more days pass in relative silence. On the third, when I wake and tentatively take hold of my ki without any pain, a comforting chill follows. Without a word, I stand and throw on my furs before making my way out of the cave.
I pass Olave, who offers a wave. I pass Maiz, who throws up a lazy salute and leans back against the rock he rests on. I pass several other Saiyans who all greet me with sharp smiles and quick nods and even a playful wink from an older woman. As of now, they’re all strangers -- something that I plan on changing as soon as I can. Each ki signature has a unique feeling. And while I can’t commit all of them to memory now with how fuzzy and undefined they are, jump starting the process is as easy as returning the stilted greetings that they offer.
It doesn’t take long to make it to the mouth of the cave. And as I come face to face with Nappa, who quirks a brow and grins, I stand my ground and stare up at him.
“Good to see I didn’t have to wake you up this time, Veggie,” he says, throwing his arm over Zorn’s shoulder. The other man doesn’t make a move to stop him, but I do catch the way he rolls his eyes.
Nappa bares his teeth in a sharkish smile. “You ready to get back out there?” A scoff leaves my lips.
“Yeah,” I say, fighting the grin that threatens to pull at my lips, “let’s go.”