| �Where are those pitiful creatures?� Trunks held his mother�s face to his chest, muffling her ragged breathing in his jacket. She held tightly to his arm, biting back sobs of agony as her mangled back and legs poured crimson blood onto the cracked and torn Capsule Corporation floor. Only moments ago, she had been working at her workbench speaking to Trunks when a beam of green energy cut through the five-inch concrete wall and seared her body. One of the monsters kicked a trashcan past the short slab of ceiling the two were huddled under. Trunks closed his eyes tightly, praying that they wouldn�t be found. After the initial blast had passed just behind Bulma the ceiling collapsed under a barrage of ki blasts. The man waited in a half-crouch ready to spring and make a break if they were found. �Who knows. It doesn�t really matter-- if they survived, we can easily kill them later.� �Yeah, let�s go.� Slowly and wordlessly, Trunks rose from under the slap of concrete and brought his limp, gasping mother with him. He lightly stepped across the remains of the front hallway and moved down the hellish ruins of his home until he found the relatively secret lower lab was. He eased a chuck of wall away before floating down the narrow stairway to the still intact basement. �Hang on Mom.� His voice was distant in his own ears. �I am,� she said weakly, still clutching her son�s jacket in a death grip. Her knuckles had gone white. He lowered her to the floor and stuffed his jacket under her chin. Bulma turned her head to the side as Trunks looked at the burns on her back. �So this is what it feels like to get fried with a ki blast?� �No, this is a clean burn. Just your skin. When you have to get up with half the muscles scorched out of your body and you�ve got to get up and keep fighting, then you�ve been fried.� She smiled at his shaken humor. �You just got the fringes of that blast. It lost a lot of energy passing through the wall and it was thrown off far enough you survived. An inch less of concrete and you�d be playing harps with everyone else.� �How comforting.� �I�ve got to get some bandages, wait here.� �Well you know I was planning on taking a stroll.� Bulma winced. Trunks returned moments later with one of his old training gis. He tore it in half without hesitation, refusing to remember the last battle he fought in it. Memories had no place in a mind that had work to do. Finished, he pulled a blanket up over his mother. �Try to get some rest.� Bulma didn�t argue. Morning found Trunks missing and it was nearly an hour before he returned. Bulma had waited in silence until her only son�s familiar footsteps brought her eyes open. Having sensed her low ki, Trunks knew she was awake. �They are purely evil. Very tall, humanoid but misshapen.� She heard him pouring something and the delightful smell of coffee drifted to her. She had no idea how Trunks had found coffee but then again, her son loved the junk. �They�re kind of tan with yellow blotches. They�ve got canine faces and some wicked looking tails.� A pair of intact cups were set next to her. Trunks helped her sit up and handed her one cup. Bulma sipped the lukewarm drink. �What about the humans?� �I didn�t see any� Well, none alive anyway.� He glared at his cup. �Why is this happening, Mother? Haven�t we been through enough already?� It had been three years since Trunks had killed the androids. Three years that had almost restored her son�s faith in happiness. Now these creatures, probably aliens-- possibly mutants, androids or any number of things-- were going to take it away. Bulma looked up at the tense, fuming man at her side. Hot tears ran down his face. �What�s going to happen when I�m dead? Who�s going to protect this planet?� �Trunks�� She pulled his head against her neck. �This planet is all but dead already. We estimate that there are only six to seven thousand left alive and if they killed us off no one would care. All planets die and Earth may be young but it�s people have become too old.� The last was true, humans had developed incredibly slow compared to other races. �I have to fight, but what can I do? I�m only one person and there�s a hundred of them!� �Shh!� Her command was short and soft but Trunks obeyed, becoming silent and still. The two sat frozen, listening to the nearing footsteps. Trunks move to block any attack on his mother with his own body and drew his sword, the glint hidden by his arm. Before he could react, a ki blast knocked him away from Bulma. He sat up, startled and watched the space before his mother ripple like water. With a panicked yell, Trunks brought his sword down between the distortion and Bulma, feeling the blade slice through something. Green blood oozed from the tip of his sword and the head of one of the creatures rolled by him. The body became visible and collapsed neatly into a heap. A huge hand wrapped itself around his head from behind and he felt the thing testing the strength of his skull. It lifted him off the ground with frightening ease. Snarling his rage, Trunks drove his sword over his head and into the creature holding him. He was dropped and the creature solidified, the sword firmly jammed through the left eye and into its brain. Another one of the creatures appeared and reached for Bulma�s throat. With an outraged cry, Trunks lept for the creature. He received a punishing blow directly into his face that stopped his lunge. Snarling, the thing brought it�s long tail around, catching his ribs. His impact with the wall sent him right through it and when he landed it took a full second for him to rise. Snarling, he powered up to super saiya-jin and lept again, sword pulled back to pierce the thing neatly between its ribcage. Another burst from the ceiling above him and landed on his back. His unarmored body was crushed against the concrete below. Trunk�s vision blanked momentarily as his body sent a wave of agony into his brain. Beside him, a brown hand pried the sword from his grip and lifted it without the slightest strain.Bulma cried out, ripping her son�s pain- hazed mind back to their danger. Ignoring the one standing above him, Trunks lunged into the creature that held his mother by the throat. It reacted to late and his momentum carried them both through another wall. Red fire arced over his shoulders and he gave an agonized yelp as blood seeped down his back. He spun to face his own sword, colored with his crimson blood. Behind him, his mother�s attacker captured him and wrenched his head up to expose his throat. Claws dug into his jaw and the arm around his torso began to squeeze air from his lungs. Trunks blinked rapidly to keep unconsciousness at bay and saw the creature with his sword raise it to drive into his heart. He dove from his waist and made a final, desperate dodge to the right, exposing the side of his neck and his shoulder. The well cared for and sharpened blade slid behind his right collarbone where it was buried half way to its hilt. Trunks� vision went white and an agonized moan slid from his throat. �Does that hurt little one?� The creature twisted the blade. |
| Locket Some joys are not meant for warriors |