She cursed to herself. Yet another opponent who was stronger than her. She knew he'd been holding back.
And she hadn't missed the Elder's display of respect toward Trunks. Once she'd gotten over her shock at a Human offering a demi-Saiyin such reverence, her analytical mind had taken over. What was Trunks to those people? He'd seemed strangely companionable among them, much more so than she'd ever expected to see from him. His relationship with the Humans was puzzling, to say the least. And he'd stopped the old man from using the term of respect; what did that mean? She'd seen Saiya-jin masters who treated their slaves with a kind of false camaraderie, something like Trunks' manner . . .
So caught up was she in her thoughts that it was a few moments before she noticed that Trunks' ki had vanished from her senses. Startled, she slowed and then stopped, peering down through a break in the clouds. The mote that had been flying against the forest below was gone. What---
Something flickered at the edge of her vision, but before she could react, something hit her from behind with the force of a pile driver. Stunned, she fell, struggling to right herself, but then something else hit her from the side, sending her hurtling.
She was as vulnerable to a surprise attack as anyone else, but she had no intention of letting her assailant score another hit. Furious, she curled herself into a ball to regain control of her flight and righted herself immediately, then turned, letting her ki blaze into life around her, casting her awareness about wildly. There---!
Just to the right, she felt a flicker, and immediately sent a savage ki ball in that direction before she even turned to look. And when she turned to follow her attack, fist cocked . . .
Trunks floated before her, the pale aura shimmering about his frame highlighting the almost preternaturally sharp lines of his frightening expression. His hair stirred as if by the wind, but the wind was coming from the opposite direction; Shiatar was shocked to feel the unfettered violence in his aura. In his upraised right hand, he calmly held (?!) the crackling ball of energy she'd just thrown.
She stopped, feeling a sudden surge of fear as her own aura flickered and faded. Dearest gods, he'd never shown a ki this strong before. It was greater than the most she could muster--- And worse, more shocking, was Shiatar's sudden recognition of the familiarity she'd sensed in him . . .
"Ko. You'll have to do better than that, if you intend to return to your world and survive for any length of time. I could sense your presence easily." Trunks' voice was as ice-cold as his eyes; his smile was utterly without humor. Seeing that smile, Shiatar was suddenly thrown back to another day, when she and her demi-Saiyin friends had faced a golden-haired monster . . .
Trunks moved, negligently tossing aside the energy-ball; it flew off harmlessly into the sky. Shiatar got a grip on herself. Damn him; she'd faced worse than one arrogant demi-Saiyin's temper tantrum . . .
"I've done well enough before now," she replied, gathering her strength. She would have to get back, and fight a distance battle; with that ki she didn't dare let him get his hands on her . . . "And if you just sensed me now, maybe you're the one who needs to do better!" And she readied herself for his attack.
But he did not move. "Why were you following me?"
What? Was that what had him so pissed? "I saw you going somewhere. I wanted to know where."
"What business of yours is that?" He raised his voice only a little, but it carried. "What kind of honor is that, for a warrior to sneak about following people? What kind of warrior do you dare to call yourself?"
A flush of heat passed through Shiatar before she controlled herself. He was too dangerous and unknown an opponent for her to lose her temper. "I don't have time for honor," she spat, keeping her voice even. "Honor can get you killed. All I know is that you've been hiding something from me, something that I need to know about if I'm going to be living here for a while. Secrets can get you killed, too, and I'll be damned if I'll let yours endanger me!" She made a fist with one hand, and shifted into a combat crouch.
But to her surprise, he frowned but did not attack. "So. What secrets did you learn, then?"
His manner had changed, from anger to something else that Shiatar could not fathom, and for an instant it threw her off. But she did not relax her guard. "I learned that you did destroy the Cyborgs," she said slowly. "Which means that you're a lot stronger than you've shown me."
He smiled again, but this time there was a hint of dark amusement in the expression. "Perhaps," he said noncommittally. "Why does that matter to you?"
She drifted back a bit, completely thrown this time. She hadn't really considered that . . . "B-Because I need to know . . . if you're . . ." She hesitated, and he waited coolly. "If you're a threat, or a potential ally," she admitted at last.
Trunks folded his arms. "What will you do if I'm a threat?" he asked. "What can you do?"
Damn him. She tensed, and bared her teeth. "I'll do what I have to," she snapped. "Kill you, or die trying. I've done it a hundred times before."
"And if I'm an ally?" His expression did not change, but Shiatar sensed something---a tension in him, that she hadn't felt previously. What did that mean?
Warily, she responded. "That depends on whether you're stronger than me or not," she said. "If you're not, then you're no use to me. If you are . . ." She smiled, and felt her ki increase in response. "I'll use you in whatever way I can."
He snorted. "That's assuming that I'll let you." Abruptly she felt his ki decrease back to something approaching normal, and the pale aura faded from around him. He drifted away, turning so that his back was to her, and she tensed in anger at the implied insult.
He turned his head, not quite looking back at her over his shoulder. "So you followed me to gain information. Did it ever occur to you to simply ask?"
In truth, it hadn't. "Would you have told me?" she asked, more curious than wary now.
A low chuckle that only confirmed the familiarity she'd recognized earlier. "Maybe. You don't know until you try."
An invitation? Well, then--- She folded her own arms, now that it seemed that the moment for an attack had passed, although she remained tense. "Then I have a personal question for you. Will you answer?"
He shrugged. It depended on the question. She drifted closer, intent.
"A yes-or-no question, really." She gathered herself. "Are you related to the Vejiita of this world?"
Silence. The wind blew sharply, stirring her own hair from its braid. Then, after a moment, Trunks raised his head. Without turning, he said, "I am his son."
Gods--- She'd suspected, but she hadn't been sure until now. A hundred clues she'd observed about him fell into place in her mind, confirming what she'd half hoped to avoid, and she felt a strange shock, like a surge of electricity, move through her. Vejiita's son. Vejiita's son!
Sternly she controlled herself. He didn't need to pick up her unease.
"Does that bother you?" Trunks asked. Did she detect a note of amusement in his voice, or cruelty? How much was he like his father? How much had the Vejiita of this world been like the demonic prince she knew?
"It neither bothers me nor pleases me," she lied evenly. "I just wanted to confirm a suspicion. You resemble him somewhat."
"Hmmph." Definite amusement this time. "In appearance, or personality?"
At times like this, when he was angry, both, she decided. "I don't know. It was just a feeling." She said it casually, as if it didn't matter to her whether he'd been fathered by the Saiyan prince or a Nameckian farmer.
She heard rather than saw the smile in his voice. "I see." He turned. "So tell me, Ko Shiatar, what do you want most in all the world?"
She frowned, and narrowed her eyes at him, but his expression was completely unreadable. A difference, then, between Vejiita and this demi-Saiyin; Vejiita's face had always been contemptous, whether contorted in anger or bearing a haughty smile. Trunks could have been a statue, for all that his face revealed.
And what a question . . . Well. His reaction to this would be telling. "I want the power to kill Prince Vejiita," she said, as coldly as she could. His face did not change one whit. Damn him. "I want to be able to avenge my friends and my people, and free my world from the Saiya-jin cancer that's afflicted it." She straightened, and lifted her head with a chilly smile. "Does that bother you?"
To her surprise, he shook his head. "No. That's an admirable goal."
Admirable? She'd just said she wanted to murder his father! She frowned. But it was his next words that truly upset her equilibrium.
Trunks took a deep breath. "I can help you, Ko Shiatar."
"What?!"
He turned, and his smile was less cold, more cruel. "I said I can help you. If you let me teach you, I can help you have at least a fighting chance, when you return to your world."
Shiatar stared at him. Was he mad? Was she, to be listening to him? The only way he could help her was if . . .
. . . if he was a Super Saiya-jin himself.
She jerked back a few yards. "You are no Super Saiya-jin," she spat. He did not move, did not even acknowledge that she'd spoken. She felt herself growning angry, and this time didn't even try to control it. "I've felt your ki, demi-Saiyin, and you haven't got anywhere near enough power to be Super Saiya-jin! You don't even look like one!"
He shrugged.
Savagely, she shot closer to him. "You are powerful, I'll give you that. But I need more than power to defeat him. If power is all you have to teach me, you can't help me!"
Again, he shrugged, and this time closed his eyes. "Your choice."
Shiatar had a sudden urge to hit him, to rearrange his poker face into something more agreeable to her, to permanently mar his handsome looks. Realizing that she was on the verge of a complete loss of control, she took a deep breath and drifted back, calming.
Could he teach her? Logic dictated that he wouldn't have even offered unless he could make good on his words. That implied that he did know the secret of becoming Super Saiya-jin. He'd displayed nowhere near the raw, elemental power she'd sensed in Vejiita . . . but then, she knew very little about the Super Saiya-jin power itself. Vejiita had maintained his power throughout the two times she'd met him in combat; she'd assumed that the transformation was permanent. But what if the power could be hidden or dormant, sleeping within its owner until awakened? If that was the case, then it was possible that Trunks had such power and simply hadn't shown it yet. . .
She shuddered. First Vejiita, now Vejiita's son. Would she have to face Trunks also? Could she? If he was truly a Super Saiya-jin, she'd fare no better against him than she had against Vejiita. But he hadn't offered to fight; he'd offered to train her . . . What did she know, really, about Trunks? Not much at all, beyond what he'd told her. The only warrior of Saiyan blood on this world; he lived alone with his Human mother; he'd been trained by Kakaloto's son (!); and he was stronger than the Cyborgs that had defeated this world's Kakaloto and Vejiita. Or at least he claimed to be. All she had to go on, really, was his word . . .
She turned away from him. "What are the Humans of that village, to you?"
A moment of silence. Then: "What?"
His voice was as unreadable as his face had been. "What are they to you?" she asked again, angry. "Pets to be cared for? Slaves?" Her lip curled. "Faithful worshippers?"
Now she heard an answering note of anger in his voice, and she smiled to herself, pleased again that she'd ruffled him. "None of the above," he snapped. "They're people, like you and me. We've all suffered because of the Cyborgs. I help them because I can." His voice changed, subtly. "You helped the Humans of your world, when you could, didn't you? How did you feel about them? You, who never even knew your own Human mother, did you look upon them with contempt? Have you ever pitied them? Hated them?"
She turned back swiftly, angry again. He regarded her evenly. "I treated them with respect," she snapped. "As equals!"
"Even when they didn't treat you as equals?" he asked, his voice soft, sinuous. He drifted closer. "You're looking for signs of my father in me; what about your Saiya-jin sire? Have you ever wondered how much you inherited from him? Have you ever wondered how much of your 'respect' for the Humans is because you care about them, and how much is just because you use them to prove your Humanity to yourself?"
His words fell like acid on her mind, and she drew away, clenching her fists and her teeth in rage and consternation. How dare he . . . and how right was he?
She turned away from his too-Human face, sucking air through her teeth to try to calm down. Oh, he was good, this warrior; he'd turned her probing quite neatly back upon her, and almost diverted her from her purpose. Never mind whether Trunks was like his father; the bottom line was what his offer of training was worth. Nothing, unless he was really a Super Saiya-jin.
She raised her head. There was only one way to find out.
Keeping her ki level, she drifted a little further away, and gathered herself, keeping track of his ki to gauge distance. There would be no holding back this time.
"I don't know you, son of Vejiita," she said coldly, "and I don't trust you. But I'm willing to use you to make myself stronger. If . . . " and she looked down, watching as an energy ball collected and grew in the palm of her hand, "you can prove yourself!"
She spun with the speed that had earned her a reputation in the arena, releasing the ball practically into his face. He was not caught entirely by surprise; with a flicker he was gone, and the ball flew on through where his head had been, but she was tracking him. She didn't care about the missed shot; it had been only a feint, one that she expected him to see through. The real attack was on its way.
He reappeared a few feet away, and practically ran into her kick, which knocked him toward the ground so fast that his body whistled as he flew through the air. She shot after him, meeting him as he fell, and punched him back up, firing another ball after him. He dodged this with a speed that bordered on teleportation, but Shiatar was faster; she was behind him now to knee him in the back of the head, and then in front of him to fire a ki blast right into his stomach.
He dodged it, and was suddenly in front of her, fists flying. They exchanged a flurry of blows, blocking and countering so quickly that a Human observer would only have seen a blur. But Shiatar was using every trick learned from years of mortal combat; she caught Trunks' hands suddenly and flipped backward, kneeing him under the chin. This one connected, but he twisted as he fell, firing a blast of his own practically into her face. She wasn't there, of course; she'd already decided that this could not be a close-quarters fight if she was to succeed. She blurred behind him, shaped her hand into a living blade, and sent this at the spot just under his shoulderblade. She'd impale him, if she had to; by fighting to kill, she'd force him to show her everything he had.
He got out of the way in time, and surprised her with a savage kick in the head that stunned her for a second. Aware that he would take advantage of her vulnerability, she kept moving, shooting from place to place randomly until she recovered. Damn; one blow had almost incapacitated her . . . he was much stronger than her. But she was smaller, and that had its advantages; perhaps she could counter his strength with speed and skill.
He rose in front of her, a good length away, and said nothing, his eyes hard and focused. She flew at him full-speed; he shot at her as well. At the last second, she blurred away, and as she had expected, so did he. She blurred again, and again; he matched her move for move.
Damn! He was predicting her every move---but it was time for another arena trick.
She backed away, and sent a flurry of energy discs at him, raising a cloud around him. Before he could emerge from the cloud, she shot beneath it and then blasted herself upwards, shaping her ki around herself in a sharp-edged, diamond-shaped nimbus. She couldn't see as she passed through the cloud, of course, but that wasn't important. And she smiled as she felt her ki connect with something, and heard a muffled cry.
Emerging from the cloud, she let her ki return to its normal form, and slowed to gather another ball between her hands. This one was special; she focused on his ki and held its pattern in her mind as she shaped the ball.
The cloud began to dissipate, and as soon as she caught a glimpse of her foe, she sent the ball at him. He blurred, shooting up and away, but the ball followed, and she gauged his movements as he zipped from place to place, trying to escape it; he must have sensed that it was powerful enough to injure him badly. Timing his changes, she moved, meeting him when he reappeared at one point and sending a solid punch right at the middle of his startled face. He caught her fist, and she felt his fingers tighten, beginning to squeeze---and an instant later, her energy ball caught up with him, slamming into his back between his shoulderblades so hard that his chest bulged outward, his eyes wide with shock. A thin trickle of blood flew from his mouth.
Shiatar followed him as he fell upside down, taking the opportunity to pound him freely while he was half-conscious, hiiting him in the face, the stomach, the back. Inwardly she felt a bit of disappointment; she'd really hoped that he might be better than this. . .
She drifted back as he hit the ground in the middle of a clearing in the forest, his impact raising a cloud of dust and sinking a vast crater in the earth. For a moment, she was concerned; his ki had decreased drastically and she feared that she might have killed him. But how else was she to gauge his real ability? If he was still alive, she'd bring him back to Bulma's regeneration tank. If he was dead . . . she'd know that his offer to teach her had been useless. As it already appeared to be. She waited.
The dust cleared, and to her surprise, Trunks was still standing. Barely. His shoulders slumped, his arms hung at his sides, and a wide cut ran across his chest, visible through a long, ragged tear in his black tank-shirt. His head was lowered, lank hair obscuring his face, and his whole body heaved with the effort of drawing breath.
With a sigh of disappointment, she powered down, dropping toward the ground so that she could take him back to his home.
He looked up. His lip was cut again, and the blood had trickled down to his chin; the rest of his face was scratched and cut in a dozen places. But she stopped her descent, startled, at the look on his face. For Trunks was smiling, and the sheer vindictive pleasure on his face confirmed his parentage more clearly than anything else. And there was something more in his face, something she hadn't expected to see. Triumph.
"You're not bad," he said, startling her more. "Maybe I shouldn't have held back after all. If this had been a few years ago, I might have been in real trouble."
"W-What?"
He straightened, ignoring the blood that ran from the cut on his chest. "I know what you're trying to find out. Let me confirm it for you now; I wasn't boasting when I offered to train you. I know the 'secret' you've been seeking."
Shiatar had backed up higher inadvertently, now she stopped, trying to fight off the sudden sense of foreboding that surged through her. The secret? Of becoming . . .
Trunks screamed. A vicious wind blew out of nowhere, lifting his pale hair above his head and whipping his clothing about his frame; his eyes almost seemed to glow with fury. Shiatar cried out in shock as she felt his ki explode to levels she hadn't even imagined. It was only the first flare of the fires that took hold in him as she watched.
A glowing aura blazed to life around him, like a great golden bonfire; so powerful was this aura that it burned away his jacket, leaving his arms bare. To her utter horror, he had grown, just a bit, as if his body hadn't been enough as it was to contain the power that he was manifesting . . . And as his scream finally ended, his hair seemed to catch fire as well, each lock separating and standing up straight, stiff with a life of its own, finally settling into a color as golden as the aura that whipped about him.
She'd only seen this kind of power once before. Vejiita . . . And Trunks was Vejiita's son.
Super Saiya-jin Trunks lowered his arms, the transformation completed. The poker-face was gone; in its place his expression was one of pure, cold anger. He smiled a thin, chilly smile.
"Well, Ko Shiatar?" he asked. He spoke softly, but his voice carried easily, sending a shock through the very core of Shiatar's being. "Am I qualified, now, to teach you?"
She had to fight every instinct not to turn and flee. The last time she had seen this kind of manifestation, she had almost died; a being like this had slain all of her friends, great warriors themselves, in seconds. But Trunks was not Vejiita. If he'd wanted to hurt her he could have done so a dozen times before now. In fact, he'd offered to train her---to be like him? She tried to imagine herself glowing like him, her own hair and eyes ablaze with enough power to destroy a world, and could not. Her mind had simply faced too many shocks on this day.
But even this did not obscure the bottom line. Here was the secret she had sought, the weapon that could win her her vengeance, her world's freedom. This was her only chance.
She knew better than to ignore opportunity when it knocked.
Dropping down to the ground before Trunks---she could feel the sheer force of his aura making it difficult to approach him---she walked toward him. He watched her approach through eyes that were unnaturally blue, and when she stopped to face him, she had to swallow down a lump of trepidation; he was taller, now, than he'd been before.
Steeling herself, she kneeled before him, lowering her head. "I swore I'd never kneel like this again," she said, her lip curling in bitterness. "On my world, all slaves must do this, to all Saiya-jin. It's just another of the humiliations they forced us into. I'm not a slave anymore, but . . ." She looked up into his strange, glowing eyes, and her calm broke.
"Teach me." Her fists clenched, she felt a strange feeling, not quite desperation, not quite hope, surge through her, and it made her heart pound harder. She shut her eyes tight. "Teach me to become what you are, so that no one else on my world will have to kneel to anyone like this! Teach me so that I can avenge all of those who have died! Please---" Her breath caught in her throat, and she stood again, shaking with the strange feeling. "I need this!"
He moved finally, reaching out to take her shoulders; when his hands touched her, she felt a kind of shock. He smiled slightly. "I'll help you," he said. "But it won't be easy. I won't be gentle with you."
She took a deep breath, calming, and managed a smile. "You don't know me," she said. "I don't work well with gentleness. The hard way is the best way, for me."
He let go of her, and she was fascinated to see and sense the change as the blazing aura faded, and his hair settled back into its familiar straight curtain. He released a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes they were their usual darker blue again.
Trunks nodded, solemn. "We'll start tomorrow."
Trunks begins Shiatar's training; can she learn to lose control? Meanwhile, Bulma wrestles with demons of her own, both real and imagined, in BULMATECH VS. SHIATAR'S ENEMIES: TRUNKS' MOTHER FIGHTS THE OTHER WORLD!!
