Well, here she is. Tell me what you think (at this time I'm still in the middle of writing 'episode' three). I've decided to experiment with honorfics against my better judgment.
****
Dragonball GT: Rewrite
Original Story: Akira Toriyama
Fan Rewrite: Yûgi's Black Magician
Episode #1: “Welcome Home, Son Gokû! Return to the Tenka’ichi Budôkai!!”
The morning air was chilly that day. A rather tall, youthful-eyed man somewhere around the age of fifty peered around in the crowds as he and his young apprentice sought their prize: a restaurant. The apprentice, with a rough and jagged forward facing Mohawk haircut, wore a stern and slightly annoyed expression. “Sensei,” he asked, “Why did you choose for us to arrive here on foot? Surely with your Instantaneous Movement we could have saved ourselves the grief.”
Grinning—while not actually facing his ward due to his feverish search—the blue topped, golden yellow pants wearing master replied, “The Ol’ Turtle Man once told me to come to the tournament without Kinto’un,” he shuffled through the crowd a little more—being sure to excuse himself—and continued to his following apprentice “It seemed right to come back all of these years later the same way!” Son stepped into a pile of pink poop, “Slump?”
“
What was that?” queried Oob, taken back by his teacher’s off hand comment.
“Oh nothing…hey, there, right there!!” the wise master pointed towards a nice noodle shack, “That’ll do mighty fine!” The man-child of a martial arts master made a mad dash through the busy crowd, his student following rather embarrassed by his master’s behavior.
“Oh come on!” Pan pouted as she was forced to watch her uncle wooing another rather attractive booth lady. “Don’t you already have enough bimbos in your harem?”
“Bimbo?” retorted the obtuse women behind the Kisses for Charity booth.
“Hey, hey watch yer mouth Pan-chan!” the rather vexed girl’s uncle scrambled, covering her mouth. “’Scuse her she’s a bit o’ uh antsy-pants!”
Puttying on a bit o’ the ol’ hick charm I see, Pan thought as she witnessed her uncle retake a suave position, leaning forward on the booth counter, “Speaking o’ pants…”
“There you two are!” Vegeta barked with his hands snugly tucked into his brown leather jacket’s pockets, “Get the hell over to the registration desk before Kakarot’s wife gets on my case about you two failing to register in time!”
“You heard the man!” Pan giggled devilishly as she dragged away her uncle.
“Call meee!” Son Goten called back in a ‘whining in defeat’ matter as he was dragged away by the back collar of his dôgi.
“Whaddaya mean you can’t pay!” cried the cigarette-smoking grizzly bear charged with running the noodle shack, “You damn near cleaned me out!”
“Uh…well, I ain’t got any money on me ‘sall,” Son Gokû chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head, “Uh…maybe I can get Mr. Satan to pay…?”
“Yeah right buddy,” the grizzly replied snidely “And I’m a highwayman!”
“I thought you looked familiar!” Son gasped, suddenly serious as he recollected once protecting the turtle of Muten-Rôshi from a bandit.
“It’s called sarcasm, Gokû,” interrupted a familiar suave voice from behind.
“What’s that taste like?”
“Damn it Gokû!” the familiar man palmed his face in utter disbelief, agitated but cool.
Turning, Son lit up as his eyes caught sight the familiar face, “Piccolo!”
Recollecting himself the big, green warrior reintroduced himself to the delighted man-child, “Long time no see, Son.”
“Wow, so I guess you got my message?”
“I overheard it, yes,” Piccolo smirked, referring to overhearing the letter Son Goten read aloud—rather poorly—a few weeks ago.
“That’s great! I was thinkin’ on makin’ this year’s Tenka’ichi Oob’s final lesson,” Son rubbed the much shorter Oob’s hair, “And with you guy’s here it’ll be much better!”
“Interesting,” Piccolo mused, his draped cape concealing his body. “Even my eyes have not been able to locate where the two of you have been the past five years, I couldn’t even sense your ki.”
“That’s a secret!” Son playfully giggled. “Say, where’s everybody else?”
“Registering, I’d surmise.”
“Oops!” yelped Son, “We gotta do that too!”
“A race, Sensei?”
Piccolo was left behind in their dust with only a smirk, Something’s never change…
When Son and Oob reached the all too familiar registration desk they—rather pleasantly—found familiar faces.
“Son-kun!” Bulma shouted, being the first to notice his presence.
Standing tall and mighty excited Son held up a waving hand, “Hiya!”
Kuririn, looking older than ever, greeted his old friend, “You lucky guy, you haven’t aged a damn day since I last saw ya!”
Noticing the familiar voice Son peered down at his long time friend, “Ahh, we ain’t that old…”
“You’re fifty-two and I’m fifty-three,” Kuririn countered, possibly somewhat bitter. “You Saiyan’s don’t age a damn bit. Hell, my wife still looks half my age!”
There was a laugh amongst the gathered friends that only grew louder when Kuririn brought up the idea of asking Shenlong for his youth again.
“Boy have I missed y’all,” Son piped up, “But I really think after this day I’ll be able to leave everything to the next generation at last.”
Goten’s eyes were filled with melancholy. That’s what he said back when we fought Boo. Son Goten often wondered to himself why he was so unhappy with himself, why he never did anything productive with his life. Was it because his father bailed them out in the battle with Boo?
“Say…” Son Gokû trailed off, “Ain’t there some people missing?”
Son was right, his wife and second son were there but Gohan was not, in fact so was Trunks and Pan.
“Well,” Bulma replied, “Trunks was too busy running Capsule Corp. and Gohan-kun said he had a class to teach, right?”
“Yeah,” Chi-Chi confirmed, “When we got that letter he said he had to work or something like that.”
“Aww,” Gokû pouted, “I specifically said I wanted to fight Gohan, too!”
“Pfft,” Goten nearly spat, “That guy’s too much o' an ass to do anything with us.”
“Eh?” replied a puzzled Son Gokû.
“If he ain’t teaching a class he’s writin’ his papers, if he ain’t writin’ his papers he’s tellin’ me how stupid I am.”
“That’s…mean,” Oob piped up as last, turning to his master, “You’re brothers...”
“Like that matters to him, he’d rather die than be seen with us in public!”
Son Gokû turned to his wife when he sensed a change in her heart, a feeling of regret. “Chi-Chi…?”
“I’m ‘fraid…” she paused before continuing, the warmth that had met the cool morning dissolving, “That after all of these years of pushing him to be a great scholar…that I’ve only created a monster…”
“You can say that again,” a young girl’s voice quipped. Appearing on the scene from the V.I.P. lounge was Pan and Mr. Satan. “Dad’s a jackass, especially when he gets on me ‘bout my grades.” The older Mr. Satan passively advised his granddaughter against such discourtesy.
“Who’s she?” asked Son Gokû, pointing at the young girl rather befuddled.
“I think she’s your granddaughter, Sensei,” guessed Oob.
“Ehh?” balked Son, scrambling, “What makes ya say so?”
“Well, she called Son Gohan-san ‘dad’.”
“Wow,” whistled Son, “You’re right, that’s makes a lot of sense!”
The gathered friends all laughed, except for a vexed Pan who pouted: “How the hell could you forget about me?”
“So rude,” Son observed with dotted eyes and a ‘o’ shaped mouth, his left arm crossed so as to support his stubble rubbing right.
“Who the Hell are you to say such a thing to me, especially to my face?!” Pan’s fists were clinched tightly, she was gonna punch the lights of the old guy out, blood relation or naught!
“Son Gokû-san, Oob-san?” inquired a fox monk.
Having broken the tension the gathered friends and family turned to their latest visitor, “I’m sorry to interrupt your little reunion but many competitors have yet to sign-in…and you’re sort of in the way, sir…”
Monk Fox was right; there was a gathering group of irate martial artists behind our protagonists!
“My oh my, y’right!” Son whistled as he peered down the line of irate martial artists, “Hey, I’ll be back real soon, ‘kay?”
“Kakarrot,” Vegeta finally spoke, “Where are you going?”
“Don’t worry, I’m gonna go grab m’boy!”
Like he’ll listen to you, Goten thought, an ‘I’m pissed at my brother’ expression prevalent on his face as he watched a “Gohan, Gohan…Gohan” mumbling Son Gokû instantaneously move far, far away…
“We know that the World King first came to power—via the electoral vote—in Age…” Son Gohan trailed off, his calk-board still found itself being written on however the sudden appearance of a familiar ki outside his classroom door managed to derail his thought process. “Excuse me,” Son placed his chalk down and assigned his students to read page two-hundred thirty-nine and then left the classroom for the halls of Satan City University’s History Department finding a familiar man poking his head around the classrooms.
“I know he’s around here somewhere…” Son Gokû thought out loud.
“What are you doing here, dad?” Gohan asked as he walked down the hall to where his father had been investigating. “I told them to tell you I wasn’t going to the Tenka’ichi Budôkai,” there was an evident annoyed tone in Son’s voice; his eyes were sharp and calculating, however did they cover up something else?
“Ah, there you are son!” exclaimed as he retracted his head from one room and met eyes with his son. Placing his shoulder Gohan’s shoulder he suggested, “Come on, let’s go before registration closes!”
“No thank you,” the scholar declined curtly as he removed his hick father’s hand from his shoulder, “I’ve got class and then I must finish an article for the National Geographic Grizzly Bear Committee.” Son Gohan turned and walked back to his class. “Just go and have your fight and leave me to my work, please.” His voice seemed to carry more than just annoyance and shortness but Son couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Aww, come on and live a little!” the clueless father laughed. He grabbed Gohan’s should once more and off they were, arriving in Papaya Island’s locker-room.
“Dad’s back…with Gohan…” Goten noticed, his eyes growing sharp as his senseless went on edge.
To Gohan’s liking none who did not know him were present, “Don’t do that! What if someone had seen us?”
“Eh?” was all his father could reply.
“He means he doesn’t want to be seen with us,” Goten revealed as he slightly slammed his locker shut.
“Why not, we’re all friends and family!” replied Gokû.
“He ain’t gonna care,” Goten scowled as he made his way out of the room.
“Take me back!” Gohan growled in a low voice.
“Aww, come on!” Son laughed as he rubbed Gohan’s hair.
“Stop!” Gohan barked, breaking free of his dad’s grasped. Turning as he straightened his glasses and tie Son Gohan grumbled: “Fine, I’ll fly back myself…”
“Oh, stop being a wet blanket,” Son reached for his son’s wrist but before he could he reached a mighty slug to the face.
“I said stop it!” be roared, his eyes full of rage, “Are you too damn stupid to get it through your skull? I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to talk to you and I certainly don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of all of these people!!”
‘Dead silence’ was the best phrase to describe the situation, not even Son Goten had thought his older brother would go to such a length. Piccolo too was unnerved by his mentees actions as Vegeta’s stern stare was left unshaken.
Picking himself up from the locker scrap metal he was in Son Gokû wiped the blood from his lip. “Gohan…I’m sorry, I just—”
“Save your excuses,” Gohan cutoff, not even turning back to look. “I’ve got to go…”
Outside Son Gohan, lost in thought, stumbled into Pan, knocking the nine year old onto her bottom. When Pan picked herself up she scowled, noticing it was her dad. “What are you doing here?” she questioned, suspicious.
Noticing his child Gohan continued walking away before finally answering with a ‘Leaving,” his eyes and emotions covered by his glasses. Pan was left alone and with many questions at the entrance to the locker-room as Son Gohan took to the skies.
A word from the author:
It always surprises me how my Dragonball fandom has changed over the years. I became a big fan back during the first airing of the episode where Vegeta massacred that Namekian village back during the edited Season Two’s run on Toonami. I remember buying my first video tape, the uncut version of the second Ginyû tape. It was incredible; it completely stunned me how violent Dragonball was. For the next few years I would buy the tapes edited at my local Target because they were ten bucks there and closer to home, but I was just glad to have the series before it aired on Toonami. The years past and eventually my collection came to have many gaping holes but I was still as big a fan. When GT aired I honestly could not tell you what I was doing. At that point, a combination of my decline in interest for Dragonball and lack of wishing to stay up so late kicked in and I missed most of the series’ run. Nowadays, somehow, I’m as big a fan as ever, collecting and reading the Manga, buying my first Dragonball game (Sparking METEOR’s English release), a few of the DVDs and more. I suppose what I can say is that I’m finding more and more to love about the series as I get deeper into the original version and begin to enjoy the Japanese music and voice cast too.
You’ll notice this fan fiction uses the original Japanese names of characters (if I ever miss any of them please point them out). This little ‘reboot’ or ‘revisioning’ is meant to restore the balance, something I really loved about GT’s final arc, and such much of the theme of the story will be restoring the balance, creating the future that probably should have been. Son Gohan is by far my favorite character to write because of where his story is going to lead and how he gets there is pretty exciting, if I can say that totally unbiased. I’ve only been writing on and off for five years now, beginning through Pokémon fan fiction and finally arriving at where my Manga and Anime fandom truly began, like with so many others. I hope you guys enjoy the story and the changes that are to come to restore balance to the story of the Dragon World.
Sayonara,
Jacob
YBM's Dragonball GT rewrite of bliss and doom!
Moderators: General Help, Kanzenshuu Staff
YBM's Dragonball GT rewrite of bliss and doom!
Last edited by JulieYBM on Sun Nov 02, 2008 12:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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NeptuneKai
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You nailed Goku's hick speech but I thought some lines characters uttered were a tad out of character and harsh. "Too much of an elitist prick" comes to mind. The point of the line isn't bad itself but it could have been reworded.
I don't like how Gohan is acting and it seems very out of character but I think I know what you're doing with him so I'll keep my mouth shut about that until further notice. If you are doing what I think you're doing that's going to be cool.
Not the worst GT fanfic I've ever read and I do look forward to more.
I don't like how Gohan is acting and it seems very out of character but I think I know what you're doing with him so I'll keep my mouth shut about that until further notice. If you are doing what I think you're doing that's going to be cool.
Not the worst GT fanfic I've ever read and I do look forward to more.
Aro started to laugh. “Ha, ha, ha,” he chuckled.- Actual quote from Twilight
Gohan is by far one of my favorite character's and much of the series will be about exploring him. 
As for the 'elitist' line, considering it came from Goten it probably should get changed to something like "Too much o' an ass" if I want to keep his more 'uneducated' speech down. It's pretty hard juggling different speech patterns.
I'm actually surprised nobody mentioned the TFS reference. It sort of popped into my head as I wrote it, however I did play it for a different feel.
EDIT: Any other lines that may need work? I'm open to getting the dialogue more in character with the original Japanese version.
As for the 'elitist' line, considering it came from Goten it probably should get changed to something like "Too much o' an ass" if I want to keep his more 'uneducated' speech down. It's pretty hard juggling different speech patterns.
I'm actually surprised nobody mentioned the TFS reference. It sort of popped into my head as I wrote it, however I did play it for a different feel.
EDIT: Any other lines that may need work? I'm open to getting the dialogue more in character with the original Japanese version.
Not sure how Mike feels about double posting in a fan fiction thread, but I feel chapter two is ready for release:
*****
Dragonball GT: Rewrite
Original Story: Akira Toriyama
Fan Rewrite: Yûgi's Black Magician
Episode #2: “The Tenka’ichi Budôkai Opens! Oob versus Vegeta!!”
Mr. Satan chomped on his cigar jovially as he reclined in his chair, faithful dog Bee at his side, as he spoke with Son Gokû. “So,” Satan pondered, “You want me to have Boo rig the pairings, again?”
“Yeah,” Son replied, finishing off his ‘brunch’ bowl of rice, “I need Oob to fight Vegeta in the first round. I’d like to fight Piccolo for my first round match-up, as well.”
Grinding his cigar into his ashtray Mr. Satan rose from his reclined. The balding old man took a few paces forward and peered out his V.I.P. box window down upon the qualifying matches taking place. His eyes a now opened to the truth he would often get caught up in his self-shame. Sure, he played a most pivotal role in the original Majin Boo’s defeat but it was based upon a lie. He would never be Earth’s true hero, only the man who would be given the thanks. “Son Gokû-san…”
“So formal,” Son quipped, taking his gaze off from the qualifying round match-ups and placing on his friend, “I’m old. I age far easier than you Saiyans…I’m ready to give the next generation their time in the limelight…their time to be the gods the people of Earth look up to,” there was an uncharacteristically heavy tone in his voice.
“Mr. Satan…are you…?”
With a smile he returned his relative’s gaze, “The people will be far more willing to accept Oob’s presence as my successor if they were told we co-trained him,” his face scrunching up once more, taking a rather grim look, “This sick old man’s only got one gift left in him for the world…”
Son Gokû stared at the World Champion for quite some time…
Pan’s kick to her opponents left arm nearly dislocated his elbow. Fighting was the only activity that could get her mind off her homelife but often times her rage only fueled her fighting, making her fiercer and more dangerous, especially against those who were far weaker than her. After her kick had left her foe pleading for mercy Pan was left as her block’s representative in the final eight.
Leaving the ring Pan made her way to the waiting room where she found Goten hitting on one of the female competitors, “Uncle!”
“What now?” he shot back, annoyed by his niece’s constant interfering.
“Don’t you think you should be focusing on getting ready for the next round?”
“Ah please, I’m good,” he brushed her off; “I’ve spent the last few days training.”
“You haven’t fought or trained seriously in years, so I’ve been told,” she countered. “What if you have to fight Grandpa Gokû in the first round?”
“She’s got a point there, Son,” Piccolo chimed in as he meditated in the corner.
With a gulp Son Goten thought about her words. His old man had been training with Majin Boo’s reincarnation for five years, throwing aside the fact that he was in his fifties; he was still a formidable opponent. Aww crap, he thought, I will be screwed if I have to fight dad…chicks don’t like guys that lose. Parting ways with the female, Goten dragged himself to a quite area for some meditation of his own.
“So, the final eight are Son Gokû-sensei, Pan-chan, Son Goten-san, Piccolo-san, Vegeta-san, Mr. Satan, Mr. Boo, and myself,” Oob thought aloud. While he certainly wasn’t the nervous wreck he was five years ago we was still slightly intimidated. Following the trend, the teal dôgi-clad young man began to center himself with his own meditating.
Vegeta rested his back against the rather freshly painted looking southern wall of the waiting-room, right beside the entrance. Kakarrot had yet to appear in the room, as Vegeta could sense he was still speaking with Mr. Satan, but he also sensed something else was amiss, he simply could not figure out what.
A few more moments would pass before Son Gokû and Mr. Satan would make their appearance in the waiting room, in addition to Mr. Boo whom Oob greeted as ‘big brother’. Son took note of how all of this year’s final eight were either his friends or family, this made his smile. What did Son see in the coming future?
The Announcer of past Budôkais, as energetic as ever, entered the room looking as old and grizzled as the tournament itself. Had he seen the first Tenka’ichi? It was hard to say. “So wonderful to see you all here again,” his eye caught Son Gokû, standing as a powerful as ever, “I wished I looked as good as you do when I was your age,” he laughed, ever so slightly bitter as evident in his tone, “But I must say, you’re doing wonders for the image of senior citizens!”
“Eh?” Son asked, not entirely sure what his old acquaintance was saying.
“Oh never mind,” Mr. Announce sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“Hey, who’s that?” Son Goten asked, pointing to the announcer’s cohort dressed in a similar fashion.
“Isn’t that…you?” asked Son Gokû, taking note of the familiar face.
“I am his grandson,” the young man spoke. He literally did look like the Tenka’ichi announcer once did shades and all.
“Continuing the old family tradition, I see…” Oob noted.
“Something like that…” the grandson replied with a nervous laugh as he scratched the back of his head, “My grandfather plans to retire this year so he’s finally preparing his successor, me!”
“Frankly, I’m surprised you ever that the time to settle down. You always seemed so…” Mr. Satan struggled to find right words.
“I’ll have you know I got married after the twenty-third Tenka’ichi,” the announcer shot back, defensively.
Fumbling, Mr. Satan manically recomposed, “Oh, well…not to say you couldn’t—wouldn’t!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” he droned on, “Damn, I must be getting senile in my old age, allowing myself to get so off topic; take note junior!”
“Yes sir, Senior Announcer!” the greenhorn snappily replied.
Damn, I feel old, the aging fight-personality mentally sighed.
Mr. Popo hurriedly pushed his master down the corridor, “Hurry, Kami-sama!” Huffing and puffing the two panicking made their way toward the exit of the Sanctuary’s Temple. The large doors in sight at last, the two overseers of Earth breathed a sigh of relief but their rhapsody was short-lived. A short, red-cloaked figure appeared before them, slobbering fangs unsheathed, “Thinking of escaping are we, Kami-sama?”
“Damn!” Dende grimaced, taking note of a second demon to his and Popo’s rear.
“That’s hardly anyway to thank loyal subjects that have from so far away to ask God for his forgiveness,” the second demon, a tall and frail-appearing teal-colored one, chuckled as he took a chomp out of an apple, “Mr. Popo, the apples you grow have always been so very delicious!”
“What do you want from us?” inquired Dende.
A third and fourth figure entered the temple from the large doors from which the pair had originally hoped to escape from. Of the two new entrants one was tall and muscle-bound and the other by far the shortest of the six. The short demon’s face was covered by his cloak’s hood however Popo still knew who it was they faced and this left him fearful more so than it would have years before for now he was mightier than ever, “Where is the previous God?” the small demon asked carefully, surprised—however unwilling to show such to be true—but in a cool and calm tone.
There was silence.
“Must I reiterate?!” the small demon snapped, his facial features still shrouded, save for a soft, general outline.
“He merged with Piccolo-san!” Dende replied, “Now, who are you?”
“Has he? So he left you as the new God? A relative, perhaps??” the petite demon walked forward toward the Namek and his cohort, finally delivering his face from the shadows.
“I knew it!” Popo gasped, “It is you, Garlic Junior!”
“Who?” Dende asked, turning to his man-servant, “Who is this Garlic?”
A palm swiftly rose to the level of Dende’s face and from it a blast of ki was unleashed. Dende’s corpse fell backward as the demon replied, “Kami-sama.”
Pan’s cold and attentive eyes scanned her grandfather who had placed his entire attention on the role call. Pan failed to remember much about her grandfather, he had left with Oob five years before when she was but four and so had very little recognition of who he was. He seemed like a simple enough fellow, but his child-like attitude toward everything left her irritated and only made the burn she felt when he left all the more bothersome. Beyond it all, Pan remembered something her father once said:
“Father is a fight-junkie. He lives to improve himself, to transcend his present-self. No matter how often he tried to pass us the torch, he always came back. He couldn’t help it, I suppose. If there was a strong foe to be fought, he’d take him. He gave me Cell; something he must has struggled to do. He took Boo and now he’s training him! The fight never ends for dad…”
Pan often wondered why her father was so cold and distant from his family, was it because of his own daddy issues? Despite it all, his attitude left her bitter and in pain; she lashed out, did anything to get attention! Even if it meant purposelessly getting bad grades and getting into trouble with the law. She realized she was caught in a psychological cycle of sorts, she was totally aware of her faults and inabilities to communicate, however she lacked the emotional maturity to break the cycle. Being so acutely sharp—an attribute no doubt acquired from her father—only added to the torture. How much longer would their respective Hells last before finally they admitted what they felt within?
“Well now,” ‘Mr. Senior Announcer’ spoke up, “How about we commence the match-up selections?” With his trusty—if worn and weathered—clipboard in hand the seasoned pro read off the first name, “Son Goten, please come forth for your number!”
Goten picked himself up off of the waiting room couch and made his way toward the monk holding a small box with a hole atop it big enough only for a man’s hand to enter.
“Remember the match ups,” Son Gokû whispered to Mr. Boo who replied with a serious nod. Mr. Boo always took this duty seriously.
Once the match-ups were decided upon Son Goten exhaled, relieved his match, the third one, was but against Pan-chan, “I’ll get my revenge for the last Tenka’ichi!” he growled in a low whisper.
Oob stared at the display screen on the large flat-screen television set. The second round was his master’s first fight and it would be a rematch with his old archrival, the now reformed Piccolo Junior, entered as Ma Junior in this tournament as he was in all others. The third round would be Son Goten-san against his niece, Pan-chan. The final round was Mr. Satan against his supposed ‘student’, Mr. Boo, however of greatest interest to Oob was the first match; this match would feature Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans, against…himself. Oob was to face Son Gokû’s greatest rival, a man who even his master had never truly defeated in battle. He’d have been a damn good liar if he could tell his friends he wasn’t nervous, conversely that wasn’t the case. Allowing his eyes to wander towards the ego-maniac prince, Oob saw that his foe’s own gaze was upon him. Was he simply trying to read his foe or did it occur to him he would be fighting the reincarnation of the one who had hurt his family and nearly killed him for a second time? Oob remembered his master’s kind words:
“You ain’t Boo, Oob. You got his power within you but you got yer own mind, yer own heart.”
Learning of his own past life was difficult for the boy. To be told he once was a demon that destroyed billions was quite jarring; however the preceding five years had matured the meek boy into a strong man. With a deep breath, Oob opened his eyes and approached the ring as his name was called out.
Vice-President Trunks Briefs of Capsule Corp. was unhappy. Hurryingly refilling his pen for the second time that day Trunks groaned as papers and contracts to be signed constantly hit his desktop. Trunks often spilt ink on his suits as he would refill his pen’s ink conversely the twenty-three year old president had learned to work through the mishap. “Damn it,” the purpled haired wonder fumbled, “Why won’t this damn thing get inside this damn cartridge?!” Trunks was particularly on edge today for it was the day of the Tenka’ichi Budôkai, one he could not—to his despair—enter, or even attend. Trunks hadn’t had a day off from work since he got the position of VP and it was killing him. The stress during the actual work day was bad enough but as of late his employees had taken to calling him in the middle of night, one particular case being Asaji-kun.
“Mr. Vice-President, are you sure I can use the quantum mechanics of Pandaman for this particular engine model?”
“Yes, yes,” Trunks would mumble, whether to actually answer his studious employees question or just to get him off the phone even I the narrator do not know.
Trunks finally got the accursed pen refilled and recommenced reading and signing contracts but his mind continued to wander to Papaya Island, I wonder how Goten’s doing…
Finally one too many contracts topped the copious towers of papers on the good Vice-President’s desk as finally way was given; hundreds of sheets of paper crashed onto their VP.
“Why me?” he whimpered, wanting only to play.
“So, do you think Son-kun’ll wind up fighting Vegeta in the finals?” Bulma pondered allowed as she, Chi-Chi, Videl, and Bra made their way through the crowds to their seats. This year, as opposed to the previous tournament, the friends and family of Son Gokû sat amongst the non-V.I.P. personnel.
“He’d better make it to the finals! We need the money!!” cried Chi-Chi, looking far more her age than her husband.
“But you married into money when Gohan married Videl,” Bulma pointed out, quite literally, by pointing towards Videl who sat to Chi-Chi’s right as opposed to Bulma who found her residency to the Gyû-Maô’s daughter’s left.
Chi-Chi hushed her cohort, “She and Gohan’ve been on the rocks lately. Just in case anything happens I want to be covered!”
“I can still hear you, you know,” Videl revealed, throwing Chi-Chi into a panic to comfort her daughter-in-law, “I’m sorry, it’s just—”
“Forget about it,” she muttered, “Gohan and I are just in a rough patch is all…”
“You know,” Bulma offered, “Maybe you two should go to couple counseling or something. ‘Stowing away’ on Vegeta’s little camping trips to other words has done wonders for our marriage, if you can call it that.”
Videl, hunched over with her two arms propping her up, cheeks grasped in her palms, sighed. “Gohan’s always busy with work. He always comes home late and than comes to bed.”
“Ever tried talking to him in bed?” queried Bulma, “It pisses Vegeta off ‘cause there’s only two things he wants to do in bed and talking’s not one of them, but maybe with Gohan…”
Videl shook her head wearily, “No…I don’t know if it’d work with Gohan…”
“You know mom, that ‘two things he wants to do in bed’ comment was totally gross,” Bra commented.
“Well, you wouldn’t have had to hear that had you won your matches, now would you?” Bulma countered, drawing a giggle from her two older cohorts.
Bra huffed. “It’s not like I wanted to come here in the first place! Dad made me enter!!”
“Considering the things he does for you, I’d say he’s earned some sort of right to have you train. Look at your brother, he’d love nothing more than to be here right now but as you can see he’s stuck pushing paper!”
“That’s because you never go to the office anymore!” Bra countered, evoking an unpredicted response from her mother.
“I know, hilarious…isn’t it?!” Bulma laughed, “Poor boy doesn’t realize he’s doing both the work of the VP and the work of the President!”
“Don’t’chu think that’s a wee-bit evil?” Chi-Chi muttered under her breath.
Thinking about it for a moment, Bulma answered frankly: “Just a little…” before bursting into laughter again, leaving her cohorts sweating it out as her outbursts drew attention their way in the stands of the Tenka’ichi Budôkai stadium.
Standing tall and proud, Oob faced Vegeta, staring him straight in the eye. They were within an enclosed area in this stadium and many overlooked the two fighters, all expecting an entertaining battle, but Vegeta expected more, he expected to make a statement about who he was. Kakarrot had been his goal for so many years, now his goal was different, he was different.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the final quarter-finals of the thirty-first Tenka’ichi Budôkai! Today we will see history in the making as the Great Defender of Earth, Mr. Satan, battles to retain the belt!”
The crowd roared furiously as they chanted Mr. Satan’s name. Jogging at a light pace out from the waiting room came the aging great one. His stride—oblivious to the loving horde of fans—was no longer what it once was. Hiding the weakness in his body, the World Champion cried out “Thank you, my loyal fans! I, your great champion just want to say it’s been an honor!! This tournament will regrettably be my last!”
The crowd grew hushed ever so quickly, each of it wearing an almost blank face. Mr. Announcer too was a little stunned.
“I am old; my youth has left me, but fear not, my apprentices Mr. Boo and Mr. Oob shall take my place as your great champions!” a tear ran down his cheek, They’ll be far better champions than I ever have been.
There was silence, until a lone voice roared: “MISTER SATAN!!!”
Videl too began shed tears; the pain on her father’s face was ever so evident. Learning the truth about Son Gohan’s family and friends had truly matured him, but the truth often carries a sorrowful pain.
Oob gazed at his ‘master’, feeling the weight he carried in his eyes, in his soul. If Mr. Satan was anything, he was a hero, a figure of inspiration for the people and a true champion. If he could inspire such greatness as his successor, he’d die a happy man. Resetting his sights up Vegeta, Oob took a fighting stance, powered by conviction.
Vegeta felt his foes new sense of purpose, took his own familiar stance, and whispered under the roar of the crowd, “I will defeat you.”
Both men grinned; fire may literally have been in their veins.
“Let’s get this fight started!” Mr. Satan roared, acting as a quasi-MC, to Senior and Junior’s surprise.
Pilaf, Shû, and Mai may very well have been gulping in synchronization as they hauled the former God and his companion’s corpses through the vestibules of the Sanctuary of God Garlic. Only hours earlier they had made a pact with Garlic Junior to dethrone the previous God and use the Black Star Dragonballs to wish Garlic immortality but now they were not so sure.
Shû, well beyond his youth, asked his master what he already knew, “We’re not going to get half the world to rule, are we?”
Pilaf cleared the sweat from his brow, “What do you think?! Why did I ever let you two talk me into this?”
“Milord, never did we once agree with this plan of action!” cried Mai, attempting to refrain from allowing Garlic or his men from hearing their spat.
“Oh, I’m too young to die!” Pilaf whimpered.
“We’d better dispose of these corpses like they said or we’ll really be done for!”
The trio recommenced their dragging of the corpses until Mai finally had an epiphany. “What if we make our wish to the Dragon first?”
“Brilliant!” Shû congratulated.
“I’m glad I thought of it!” Pilaf…agreed? His two cohorts were less than impressed with his behavior. “We’ll ask the Dragon to destroy them!”
“The Black Star Dragonballs only grant one wish, though!” cried Shû. “We’ll hafta be real quick about it!”
Garlic Junior’s dreams were about to become a reality. All of those years of planning his revenge had finally begun to come to fruition. While the god who killed his father was now one with Piccolo he still had the utmost confidence in his prospects, especially with the power of the Dragonballs in his hands. Using his telekinesis, Garlic lowered the seven orbs to the space before him. The Black Star Dragonballs were similar to the normal Dragonballs of Earth; however this set’s stars were black. According to the scrolls of God, this set was created when Kami split from Piccolo Daimaô, Garlic thought to himself. “I do wonder,” the small demon cackled aloud, “What face will Piccolo wear when he discovers I hold immortality?”
As the sky grew dark, a thunderous roar came from the clouds.
Vegeta, to Oob’s aversion, appeared directly behind the young man. Sensing his foe’s course of action beforehand, Oob swung his left elbow backward, powered by the force of his quick reflexes; however he fought not a greenhorn, but a true master of battle. The Saiyan Prince caught the elbow with his right hand, acquired a firm grasp, and then began to pummel Oob’s left ribcage with his left. Momentarily stunned by the impact of the rapid jabs, Oob soon overcame the shock and drove his left leg backward; however Vegeta was already one step ahead. Lifting his left knee upward, Vegeta stopped the kick midair and held the teal dôgi-clad warrior’s foot in place by the young man’s own sole.
Damn, Oob cursed to himself, Vegeta-san is by far the most challenging of foes. He’s…right up there with Gokû-san! Resolving to use his remaining arm, Oob reached back and caught Vegeta’s right arm—which had steadily kept his left elbow in place. Using what strength he could muster, Oob single-handedly—to be quite literal—tossed his foe over his shoulder and back away to recover from the frustrating barrage of jabs he had received.
“Kakarrot trained you well, boy,” Vegeta smirked. How much power Oob had, he was uncertain. Crouching down, Vegeta readied to dash back into the fray.
Finally catching his breath, Oob spread his legs, raised his arms high—fists clenched—and brought them down sharply as he unleashed a impressive kiai shockwave to signal his uncompressing of his strength.
“His ki…” Vegeta grinned, enjoying the fight, “…matches Cell in his second form…”
“This…IS NOTHING!” Oob made a mad dash for his foe, however Vegeta’s crouched stance allowed him to leap into the skies above Papaya Island. Stopping his dash with a skid that rightly chipped the tournament ring’s pavement, Oob shot a stare upward as his foe. Raising his hands, Oob unleashed a volley of blue ki blasts, each small, if however, mighty. Vegeta, still walking amongst the clouds, followed suit. Each of his purple blasts collided with Oob’s, almost as if intentionally. Oob used the generated dust cloud to his advantage. Cupping his hands at his side, he chanted a familiar chant, “Kame…Hame…HA!!!” thrusting his cupped hands forward Oob unleashed his KameHame-Ha wave, which surged through the skies, however the stream of blue energy was met by a similar stream of purple energy as out from the dust cloud came a roaring “Gyalic Hô!” from his foe’s familiar royal and pompous voice.
“Yowza, been a while sense Vegeta used that,” Son Gokû commented to his son as the two peered from the entrance to the actual out door ring.
All eyes were on the bi-colored spectacle unfolding between them as the two beams of energy struggled to overcome each other. Oob appeared to have the advantage as he steadily rose from the area floor into the air, pushing his foe back ever more slightly as the seconds past.
Vegeta had not calculated that his foes power would rise to such a level. This is a blast Cell’s perfect form could have produced! Taking advantage of the blind spot, Vegeta’s ki engulfed himself as his hair turned golden and his eyes teal. With a final, roaring grunt, Vegeta sliced through Oob’s blast and sent the greenhorn slamming right into the middle of the area, leaving the cloth around his six-pack incinerated. Vegeta promptly returned to his base form and reacquainted his boot’s soles with the area floor.
The crowds roared but that hardly stopped Mr. Announcer, Mr. Satan, and Junior from counting, “One, two, three…”
Vegeta stood tall as he peered over to his crater-acquainted foe. Not willing to believe for even a minute that his foe was down, Vegeta ordered: “Up with you, surely such a blow would not down you so swiftly?!”
The three MCs paused and than peered at the crater, out of it climbed a huffing Oob, ridding himself of his gi’s damaged top. “Keen, Vegeta-san, very keen. Son Gokû-sensei spoke of you as observant and sharp.”
“Don’t butter me up, boy,” Vegeta chuckled, “Save that act for when I defeat—” Vegeta stopped in midsentence, his senses catching onto a black ki. Was it the same ki he had sensed earlier?
Piccolo and the senior Son too had caught onto the ki. “Sense that?” Son asked his Namekian friend.
“I do,” he replied, cautiously. “A familiar ki, it is…”
Really now? Vegeta asked, sending his thoughts toward Piccolo.
The former god did not like what he sensed, not at all. Opening a three way channel between himself, Son, and Vegeta, Piccolo revealed what he knew. Garlic Junior has returned.
*****
I'll have it known that reformatting for the forum's is always a pain, considering the lengths of my chapters.
I'm taking my own route with the series and trying to focus more on character than anything else. While Satan can still be a blow-hard I think learning the truth would have seriously sobered him up a bit, call it abritray maturation but I wouldn't expect him to change too much.
Goten, Pan, and Gohan, as well as to a lesser extent, Videl, have one arc that seems to extend from Gohan's behavior.
Vegeta's...pretty much ready to continue fighting but for a new reason. He's chasing after not Kakarrot but rather his own limits, as he would later mention in the series proper.
*****
Dragonball GT: Rewrite
Original Story: Akira Toriyama
Fan Rewrite: Yûgi's Black Magician
Episode #2: “The Tenka’ichi Budôkai Opens! Oob versus Vegeta!!”
Mr. Satan chomped on his cigar jovially as he reclined in his chair, faithful dog Bee at his side, as he spoke with Son Gokû. “So,” Satan pondered, “You want me to have Boo rig the pairings, again?”
“Yeah,” Son replied, finishing off his ‘brunch’ bowl of rice, “I need Oob to fight Vegeta in the first round. I’d like to fight Piccolo for my first round match-up, as well.”
Grinding his cigar into his ashtray Mr. Satan rose from his reclined. The balding old man took a few paces forward and peered out his V.I.P. box window down upon the qualifying matches taking place. His eyes a now opened to the truth he would often get caught up in his self-shame. Sure, he played a most pivotal role in the original Majin Boo’s defeat but it was based upon a lie. He would never be Earth’s true hero, only the man who would be given the thanks. “Son Gokû-san…”
“So formal,” Son quipped, taking his gaze off from the qualifying round match-ups and placing on his friend, “I’m old. I age far easier than you Saiyans…I’m ready to give the next generation their time in the limelight…their time to be the gods the people of Earth look up to,” there was an uncharacteristically heavy tone in his voice.
“Mr. Satan…are you…?”
With a smile he returned his relative’s gaze, “The people will be far more willing to accept Oob’s presence as my successor if they were told we co-trained him,” his face scrunching up once more, taking a rather grim look, “This sick old man’s only got one gift left in him for the world…”
Son Gokû stared at the World Champion for quite some time…
Pan’s kick to her opponents left arm nearly dislocated his elbow. Fighting was the only activity that could get her mind off her homelife but often times her rage only fueled her fighting, making her fiercer and more dangerous, especially against those who were far weaker than her. After her kick had left her foe pleading for mercy Pan was left as her block’s representative in the final eight.
Leaving the ring Pan made her way to the waiting room where she found Goten hitting on one of the female competitors, “Uncle!”
“What now?” he shot back, annoyed by his niece’s constant interfering.
“Don’t you think you should be focusing on getting ready for the next round?”
“Ah please, I’m good,” he brushed her off; “I’ve spent the last few days training.”
“You haven’t fought or trained seriously in years, so I’ve been told,” she countered. “What if you have to fight Grandpa Gokû in the first round?”
“She’s got a point there, Son,” Piccolo chimed in as he meditated in the corner.
With a gulp Son Goten thought about her words. His old man had been training with Majin Boo’s reincarnation for five years, throwing aside the fact that he was in his fifties; he was still a formidable opponent. Aww crap, he thought, I will be screwed if I have to fight dad…chicks don’t like guys that lose. Parting ways with the female, Goten dragged himself to a quite area for some meditation of his own.
“So, the final eight are Son Gokû-sensei, Pan-chan, Son Goten-san, Piccolo-san, Vegeta-san, Mr. Satan, Mr. Boo, and myself,” Oob thought aloud. While he certainly wasn’t the nervous wreck he was five years ago we was still slightly intimidated. Following the trend, the teal dôgi-clad young man began to center himself with his own meditating.
Vegeta rested his back against the rather freshly painted looking southern wall of the waiting-room, right beside the entrance. Kakarrot had yet to appear in the room, as Vegeta could sense he was still speaking with Mr. Satan, but he also sensed something else was amiss, he simply could not figure out what.
A few more moments would pass before Son Gokû and Mr. Satan would make their appearance in the waiting room, in addition to Mr. Boo whom Oob greeted as ‘big brother’. Son took note of how all of this year’s final eight were either his friends or family, this made his smile. What did Son see in the coming future?
The Announcer of past Budôkais, as energetic as ever, entered the room looking as old and grizzled as the tournament itself. Had he seen the first Tenka’ichi? It was hard to say. “So wonderful to see you all here again,” his eye caught Son Gokû, standing as a powerful as ever, “I wished I looked as good as you do when I was your age,” he laughed, ever so slightly bitter as evident in his tone, “But I must say, you’re doing wonders for the image of senior citizens!”
“Eh?” Son asked, not entirely sure what his old acquaintance was saying.
“Oh never mind,” Mr. Announce sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“Hey, who’s that?” Son Goten asked, pointing to the announcer’s cohort dressed in a similar fashion.
“Isn’t that…you?” asked Son Gokû, taking note of the familiar face.
“I am his grandson,” the young man spoke. He literally did look like the Tenka’ichi announcer once did shades and all.
“Continuing the old family tradition, I see…” Oob noted.
“Something like that…” the grandson replied with a nervous laugh as he scratched the back of his head, “My grandfather plans to retire this year so he’s finally preparing his successor, me!”
“Frankly, I’m surprised you ever that the time to settle down. You always seemed so…” Mr. Satan struggled to find right words.
“I’ll have you know I got married after the twenty-third Tenka’ichi,” the announcer shot back, defensively.
Fumbling, Mr. Satan manically recomposed, “Oh, well…not to say you couldn’t—wouldn’t!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” he droned on, “Damn, I must be getting senile in my old age, allowing myself to get so off topic; take note junior!”
“Yes sir, Senior Announcer!” the greenhorn snappily replied.
Damn, I feel old, the aging fight-personality mentally sighed.
Mr. Popo hurriedly pushed his master down the corridor, “Hurry, Kami-sama!” Huffing and puffing the two panicking made their way toward the exit of the Sanctuary’s Temple. The large doors in sight at last, the two overseers of Earth breathed a sigh of relief but their rhapsody was short-lived. A short, red-cloaked figure appeared before them, slobbering fangs unsheathed, “Thinking of escaping are we, Kami-sama?”
“Damn!” Dende grimaced, taking note of a second demon to his and Popo’s rear.
“That’s hardly anyway to thank loyal subjects that have from so far away to ask God for his forgiveness,” the second demon, a tall and frail-appearing teal-colored one, chuckled as he took a chomp out of an apple, “Mr. Popo, the apples you grow have always been so very delicious!”
“What do you want from us?” inquired Dende.
A third and fourth figure entered the temple from the large doors from which the pair had originally hoped to escape from. Of the two new entrants one was tall and muscle-bound and the other by far the shortest of the six. The short demon’s face was covered by his cloak’s hood however Popo still knew who it was they faced and this left him fearful more so than it would have years before for now he was mightier than ever, “Where is the previous God?” the small demon asked carefully, surprised—however unwilling to show such to be true—but in a cool and calm tone.
There was silence.
“Must I reiterate?!” the small demon snapped, his facial features still shrouded, save for a soft, general outline.
“He merged with Piccolo-san!” Dende replied, “Now, who are you?”
“Has he? So he left you as the new God? A relative, perhaps??” the petite demon walked forward toward the Namek and his cohort, finally delivering his face from the shadows.
“I knew it!” Popo gasped, “It is you, Garlic Junior!”
“Who?” Dende asked, turning to his man-servant, “Who is this Garlic?”
A palm swiftly rose to the level of Dende’s face and from it a blast of ki was unleashed. Dende’s corpse fell backward as the demon replied, “Kami-sama.”
Pan’s cold and attentive eyes scanned her grandfather who had placed his entire attention on the role call. Pan failed to remember much about her grandfather, he had left with Oob five years before when she was but four and so had very little recognition of who he was. He seemed like a simple enough fellow, but his child-like attitude toward everything left her irritated and only made the burn she felt when he left all the more bothersome. Beyond it all, Pan remembered something her father once said:
“Father is a fight-junkie. He lives to improve himself, to transcend his present-self. No matter how often he tried to pass us the torch, he always came back. He couldn’t help it, I suppose. If there was a strong foe to be fought, he’d take him. He gave me Cell; something he must has struggled to do. He took Boo and now he’s training him! The fight never ends for dad…”
Pan often wondered why her father was so cold and distant from his family, was it because of his own daddy issues? Despite it all, his attitude left her bitter and in pain; she lashed out, did anything to get attention! Even if it meant purposelessly getting bad grades and getting into trouble with the law. She realized she was caught in a psychological cycle of sorts, she was totally aware of her faults and inabilities to communicate, however she lacked the emotional maturity to break the cycle. Being so acutely sharp—an attribute no doubt acquired from her father—only added to the torture. How much longer would their respective Hells last before finally they admitted what they felt within?
“Well now,” ‘Mr. Senior Announcer’ spoke up, “How about we commence the match-up selections?” With his trusty—if worn and weathered—clipboard in hand the seasoned pro read off the first name, “Son Goten, please come forth for your number!”
Goten picked himself up off of the waiting room couch and made his way toward the monk holding a small box with a hole atop it big enough only for a man’s hand to enter.
“Remember the match ups,” Son Gokû whispered to Mr. Boo who replied with a serious nod. Mr. Boo always took this duty seriously.
Once the match-ups were decided upon Son Goten exhaled, relieved his match, the third one, was but against Pan-chan, “I’ll get my revenge for the last Tenka’ichi!” he growled in a low whisper.
Oob stared at the display screen on the large flat-screen television set. The second round was his master’s first fight and it would be a rematch with his old archrival, the now reformed Piccolo Junior, entered as Ma Junior in this tournament as he was in all others. The third round would be Son Goten-san against his niece, Pan-chan. The final round was Mr. Satan against his supposed ‘student’, Mr. Boo, however of greatest interest to Oob was the first match; this match would feature Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans, against…himself. Oob was to face Son Gokû’s greatest rival, a man who even his master had never truly defeated in battle. He’d have been a damn good liar if he could tell his friends he wasn’t nervous, conversely that wasn’t the case. Allowing his eyes to wander towards the ego-maniac prince, Oob saw that his foe’s own gaze was upon him. Was he simply trying to read his foe or did it occur to him he would be fighting the reincarnation of the one who had hurt his family and nearly killed him for a second time? Oob remembered his master’s kind words:
“You ain’t Boo, Oob. You got his power within you but you got yer own mind, yer own heart.”
Learning of his own past life was difficult for the boy. To be told he once was a demon that destroyed billions was quite jarring; however the preceding five years had matured the meek boy into a strong man. With a deep breath, Oob opened his eyes and approached the ring as his name was called out.
Vice-President Trunks Briefs of Capsule Corp. was unhappy. Hurryingly refilling his pen for the second time that day Trunks groaned as papers and contracts to be signed constantly hit his desktop. Trunks often spilt ink on his suits as he would refill his pen’s ink conversely the twenty-three year old president had learned to work through the mishap. “Damn it,” the purpled haired wonder fumbled, “Why won’t this damn thing get inside this damn cartridge?!” Trunks was particularly on edge today for it was the day of the Tenka’ichi Budôkai, one he could not—to his despair—enter, or even attend. Trunks hadn’t had a day off from work since he got the position of VP and it was killing him. The stress during the actual work day was bad enough but as of late his employees had taken to calling him in the middle of night, one particular case being Asaji-kun.
“Mr. Vice-President, are you sure I can use the quantum mechanics of Pandaman for this particular engine model?”
“Yes, yes,” Trunks would mumble, whether to actually answer his studious employees question or just to get him off the phone even I the narrator do not know.
Trunks finally got the accursed pen refilled and recommenced reading and signing contracts but his mind continued to wander to Papaya Island, I wonder how Goten’s doing…
Finally one too many contracts topped the copious towers of papers on the good Vice-President’s desk as finally way was given; hundreds of sheets of paper crashed onto their VP.
“Why me?” he whimpered, wanting only to play.
“So, do you think Son-kun’ll wind up fighting Vegeta in the finals?” Bulma pondered allowed as she, Chi-Chi, Videl, and Bra made their way through the crowds to their seats. This year, as opposed to the previous tournament, the friends and family of Son Gokû sat amongst the non-V.I.P. personnel.
“He’d better make it to the finals! We need the money!!” cried Chi-Chi, looking far more her age than her husband.
“But you married into money when Gohan married Videl,” Bulma pointed out, quite literally, by pointing towards Videl who sat to Chi-Chi’s right as opposed to Bulma who found her residency to the Gyû-Maô’s daughter’s left.
Chi-Chi hushed her cohort, “She and Gohan’ve been on the rocks lately. Just in case anything happens I want to be covered!”
“I can still hear you, you know,” Videl revealed, throwing Chi-Chi into a panic to comfort her daughter-in-law, “I’m sorry, it’s just—”
“Forget about it,” she muttered, “Gohan and I are just in a rough patch is all…”
“You know,” Bulma offered, “Maybe you two should go to couple counseling or something. ‘Stowing away’ on Vegeta’s little camping trips to other words has done wonders for our marriage, if you can call it that.”
Videl, hunched over with her two arms propping her up, cheeks grasped in her palms, sighed. “Gohan’s always busy with work. He always comes home late and than comes to bed.”
“Ever tried talking to him in bed?” queried Bulma, “It pisses Vegeta off ‘cause there’s only two things he wants to do in bed and talking’s not one of them, but maybe with Gohan…”
Videl shook her head wearily, “No…I don’t know if it’d work with Gohan…”
“You know mom, that ‘two things he wants to do in bed’ comment was totally gross,” Bra commented.
“Well, you wouldn’t have had to hear that had you won your matches, now would you?” Bulma countered, drawing a giggle from her two older cohorts.
Bra huffed. “It’s not like I wanted to come here in the first place! Dad made me enter!!”
“Considering the things he does for you, I’d say he’s earned some sort of right to have you train. Look at your brother, he’d love nothing more than to be here right now but as you can see he’s stuck pushing paper!”
“That’s because you never go to the office anymore!” Bra countered, evoking an unpredicted response from her mother.
“I know, hilarious…isn’t it?!” Bulma laughed, “Poor boy doesn’t realize he’s doing both the work of the VP and the work of the President!”
“Don’t’chu think that’s a wee-bit evil?” Chi-Chi muttered under her breath.
Thinking about it for a moment, Bulma answered frankly: “Just a little…” before bursting into laughter again, leaving her cohorts sweating it out as her outbursts drew attention their way in the stands of the Tenka’ichi Budôkai stadium.
Standing tall and proud, Oob faced Vegeta, staring him straight in the eye. They were within an enclosed area in this stadium and many overlooked the two fighters, all expecting an entertaining battle, but Vegeta expected more, he expected to make a statement about who he was. Kakarrot had been his goal for so many years, now his goal was different, he was different.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the final quarter-finals of the thirty-first Tenka’ichi Budôkai! Today we will see history in the making as the Great Defender of Earth, Mr. Satan, battles to retain the belt!”
The crowd roared furiously as they chanted Mr. Satan’s name. Jogging at a light pace out from the waiting room came the aging great one. His stride—oblivious to the loving horde of fans—was no longer what it once was. Hiding the weakness in his body, the World Champion cried out “Thank you, my loyal fans! I, your great champion just want to say it’s been an honor!! This tournament will regrettably be my last!”
The crowd grew hushed ever so quickly, each of it wearing an almost blank face. Mr. Announcer too was a little stunned.
“I am old; my youth has left me, but fear not, my apprentices Mr. Boo and Mr. Oob shall take my place as your great champions!” a tear ran down his cheek, They’ll be far better champions than I ever have been.
There was silence, until a lone voice roared: “MISTER SATAN!!!”
Videl too began shed tears; the pain on her father’s face was ever so evident. Learning the truth about Son Gohan’s family and friends had truly matured him, but the truth often carries a sorrowful pain.
Oob gazed at his ‘master’, feeling the weight he carried in his eyes, in his soul. If Mr. Satan was anything, he was a hero, a figure of inspiration for the people and a true champion. If he could inspire such greatness as his successor, he’d die a happy man. Resetting his sights up Vegeta, Oob took a fighting stance, powered by conviction.
Vegeta felt his foes new sense of purpose, took his own familiar stance, and whispered under the roar of the crowd, “I will defeat you.”
Both men grinned; fire may literally have been in their veins.
“Let’s get this fight started!” Mr. Satan roared, acting as a quasi-MC, to Senior and Junior’s surprise.
Pilaf, Shû, and Mai may very well have been gulping in synchronization as they hauled the former God and his companion’s corpses through the vestibules of the Sanctuary of God Garlic. Only hours earlier they had made a pact with Garlic Junior to dethrone the previous God and use the Black Star Dragonballs to wish Garlic immortality but now they were not so sure.
Shû, well beyond his youth, asked his master what he already knew, “We’re not going to get half the world to rule, are we?”
Pilaf cleared the sweat from his brow, “What do you think?! Why did I ever let you two talk me into this?”
“Milord, never did we once agree with this plan of action!” cried Mai, attempting to refrain from allowing Garlic or his men from hearing their spat.
“Oh, I’m too young to die!” Pilaf whimpered.
“We’d better dispose of these corpses like they said or we’ll really be done for!”
The trio recommenced their dragging of the corpses until Mai finally had an epiphany. “What if we make our wish to the Dragon first?”
“Brilliant!” Shû congratulated.
“I’m glad I thought of it!” Pilaf…agreed? His two cohorts were less than impressed with his behavior. “We’ll ask the Dragon to destroy them!”
“The Black Star Dragonballs only grant one wish, though!” cried Shû. “We’ll hafta be real quick about it!”
Garlic Junior’s dreams were about to become a reality. All of those years of planning his revenge had finally begun to come to fruition. While the god who killed his father was now one with Piccolo he still had the utmost confidence in his prospects, especially with the power of the Dragonballs in his hands. Using his telekinesis, Garlic lowered the seven orbs to the space before him. The Black Star Dragonballs were similar to the normal Dragonballs of Earth; however this set’s stars were black. According to the scrolls of God, this set was created when Kami split from Piccolo Daimaô, Garlic thought to himself. “I do wonder,” the small demon cackled aloud, “What face will Piccolo wear when he discovers I hold immortality?”
As the sky grew dark, a thunderous roar came from the clouds.
Vegeta, to Oob’s aversion, appeared directly behind the young man. Sensing his foe’s course of action beforehand, Oob swung his left elbow backward, powered by the force of his quick reflexes; however he fought not a greenhorn, but a true master of battle. The Saiyan Prince caught the elbow with his right hand, acquired a firm grasp, and then began to pummel Oob’s left ribcage with his left. Momentarily stunned by the impact of the rapid jabs, Oob soon overcame the shock and drove his left leg backward; however Vegeta was already one step ahead. Lifting his left knee upward, Vegeta stopped the kick midair and held the teal dôgi-clad warrior’s foot in place by the young man’s own sole.
Damn, Oob cursed to himself, Vegeta-san is by far the most challenging of foes. He’s…right up there with Gokû-san! Resolving to use his remaining arm, Oob reached back and caught Vegeta’s right arm—which had steadily kept his left elbow in place. Using what strength he could muster, Oob single-handedly—to be quite literal—tossed his foe over his shoulder and back away to recover from the frustrating barrage of jabs he had received.
“Kakarrot trained you well, boy,” Vegeta smirked. How much power Oob had, he was uncertain. Crouching down, Vegeta readied to dash back into the fray.
Finally catching his breath, Oob spread his legs, raised his arms high—fists clenched—and brought them down sharply as he unleashed a impressive kiai shockwave to signal his uncompressing of his strength.
“His ki…” Vegeta grinned, enjoying the fight, “…matches Cell in his second form…”
“This…IS NOTHING!” Oob made a mad dash for his foe, however Vegeta’s crouched stance allowed him to leap into the skies above Papaya Island. Stopping his dash with a skid that rightly chipped the tournament ring’s pavement, Oob shot a stare upward as his foe. Raising his hands, Oob unleashed a volley of blue ki blasts, each small, if however, mighty. Vegeta, still walking amongst the clouds, followed suit. Each of his purple blasts collided with Oob’s, almost as if intentionally. Oob used the generated dust cloud to his advantage. Cupping his hands at his side, he chanted a familiar chant, “Kame…Hame…HA!!!” thrusting his cupped hands forward Oob unleashed his KameHame-Ha wave, which surged through the skies, however the stream of blue energy was met by a similar stream of purple energy as out from the dust cloud came a roaring “Gyalic Hô!” from his foe’s familiar royal and pompous voice.
“Yowza, been a while sense Vegeta used that,” Son Gokû commented to his son as the two peered from the entrance to the actual out door ring.
All eyes were on the bi-colored spectacle unfolding between them as the two beams of energy struggled to overcome each other. Oob appeared to have the advantage as he steadily rose from the area floor into the air, pushing his foe back ever more slightly as the seconds past.
Vegeta had not calculated that his foes power would rise to such a level. This is a blast Cell’s perfect form could have produced! Taking advantage of the blind spot, Vegeta’s ki engulfed himself as his hair turned golden and his eyes teal. With a final, roaring grunt, Vegeta sliced through Oob’s blast and sent the greenhorn slamming right into the middle of the area, leaving the cloth around his six-pack incinerated. Vegeta promptly returned to his base form and reacquainted his boot’s soles with the area floor.
The crowds roared but that hardly stopped Mr. Announcer, Mr. Satan, and Junior from counting, “One, two, three…”
Vegeta stood tall as he peered over to his crater-acquainted foe. Not willing to believe for even a minute that his foe was down, Vegeta ordered: “Up with you, surely such a blow would not down you so swiftly?!”
The three MCs paused and than peered at the crater, out of it climbed a huffing Oob, ridding himself of his gi’s damaged top. “Keen, Vegeta-san, very keen. Son Gokû-sensei spoke of you as observant and sharp.”
“Don’t butter me up, boy,” Vegeta chuckled, “Save that act for when I defeat—” Vegeta stopped in midsentence, his senses catching onto a black ki. Was it the same ki he had sensed earlier?
Piccolo and the senior Son too had caught onto the ki. “Sense that?” Son asked his Namekian friend.
“I do,” he replied, cautiously. “A familiar ki, it is…”
Really now? Vegeta asked, sending his thoughts toward Piccolo.
The former god did not like what he sensed, not at all. Opening a three way channel between himself, Son, and Vegeta, Piccolo revealed what he knew. Garlic Junior has returned.
*****
I'll have it known that reformatting for the forum's is always a pain, considering the lengths of my chapters.
I'm taking my own route with the series and trying to focus more on character than anything else. While Satan can still be a blow-hard I think learning the truth would have seriously sobered him up a bit, call it abritray maturation but I wouldn't expect him to change too much.
Goten, Pan, and Gohan, as well as to a lesser extent, Videl, have one arc that seems to extend from Gohan's behavior.
Vegeta's...pretty much ready to continue fighting but for a new reason. He's chasing after not Kakarrot but rather his own limits, as he would later mention in the series proper.