Goku, Tien, Krillin, Yamcha, Master Roshi, Khami, and Mr. Popo stood in solemn silence amid the desolate wasteland. Before them, draped in a stark white cloth, lay the lifeless body of Chiaotzu.
Above, the night sky stretched infinitely, its stars flickering like distant echoes of forgotten battles. A half-moon cast a cold, spectral glow over the mourners. Tien, Krillin, and Yamcha bore fresh wounds from their recent struggles, their bodies wrapped in bandages. Goku, nearly encased in white, stood among them—a testament to sheer resilience. Despite his pain, he refused to miss this final farewell to his fallen friend.
One by one, they stepped forward, their movements deliberate and heavy with sorrow. Without a word, they began to dig, the rhythmic scrape of shovels against the hardened earth the only sound in the still night. Soon, the grave was ready.
Tien knelt, his hands trembling as he cradled Chiaotzu's small frame. With a quiet breath, he lowered him into the earth. His expression remained stoic, but his grief bled through in the way his fingers lingered before releasing their grip.
Together, they covered Chiaotzu with soil, each handful an unspoken goodbye. As the grave filled, they murmured traditional verses, their voices weaving through the night air: "From the earth we created you, and into it we shall return you, and from it we will extract you another time..."
When the task was done, Master Roshi exhaled a heavy sigh. "To God we belong, and to God we shall return. Rest in peace, Chiaotzu."
Tien's breath hitched as he fought to contain his sorrow. He turned away slightly, pressing his arm against his face. "Chiaotzu..." The name barely escaped him, raw with emotion. For over two decades, they had been inseparable—training, fighting, surviving. Now, that bond had been severed, leaving an emptiness too vast to comprehend.
Yamcha placed a steady hand on Tien's shoulder. "Hang in there, man."
It was rare to see Tien so vulnerable.
Krillin's thoughts drifted to his own past encounters with Chiaotzu. He recalled their match at the World Martial Arts Tournament, how intense their rivalry had been. Now, those memories seemed so trivial in the face of such loss. The weight of finality pressed down on him, heavier than he had expected.
Khami spoke softly, his voice carrying wisdom and reverence. "Chiaotzu was a good soul. For years, he served the Almighty with unwavering devotion. May he find peace and honor in the afterlife."
A quiet murmur of agreement rippled through the group. "Amen."
Tien nodded, his voice steadier now. "Since the battle with King Piccolo, Chiaotzu dedicated himself to bettering humanity. He always pushed for acts of kindness—digging wells, feeding the hungry—he wanted to atone for the past. He had a good heart."
Goku studied Tien's grieving face, his own expression pensive. He believed, with every fiber of his being, that Chiaotzu would find peace. Together, they bowed their heads, offering one final prayer.
Clouds gathered, swallowing the stars and moon in a shroud of darkness. Krillin glanced skyward as a single raindrop landed on his cheek. "Looks like rain's coming. We should go."
No one argued. They lingered a moment longer, each lost in their own thoughts, before turning away. As they departed, the first gentle patter of rain began to fall, washing over the fresh grave like a whisper of farewell.
. . .. . . . . . . . . . . .
Gohan lay in the hospital bed, the sterile white of the room a stark contrast to the vibrant memories of his recent battles. His mother sat beside him, her fingers deftly moving through the yarn as she knitted a sweater, the rhythmic click of her needles a soothing background.
Gohan's gaze softened as he looked at her, a smile forming on his lips. "Mom, it feels surreal to see you here like this. For a while, I almost lost hope of ever seeing you and Dad again."
His mother looked up from her work, her eyes reflecting a blend of warmth and wisdom. "Hopelessness is a sign of disbelief, Gohan. Remember that."
"Right, Mom," Gohan replied, his voice tinged with gratitude.
A soft knock interrupted the moment. Chichi rose from her chair and moved to open the door. There, framed by the dim corridor light, stood Goku, leaning heavily on Khami for support.
Khami stepped inside, carefully guiding Goku toward Chichi. With gentle precision, Chichi helped Goku into the hospital bed, ensuring he was settled comfortably. Goku's weary form sagged with exhaustion as he lay down.
"It may take months for Goku to fully recover," Khami said, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Please take good care of him."
"We will," Chichi assured, her voice firm.
As Khami left and the door closed softly behind him, Goku's breathing soon deepened into sleep. Within moments, the familiar sound of his snoring filled the room, loud and reassuring as ever.
Gohan's smile widened, a sense of relief washing over him. It was a sound he had missed, and now, hearing it again, he knew that everything would be alright.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Krillin, Yamcha, and Tien were in a small hospital room, each lying in separate beds. The room was dimly lit, and the occasional hum of medical equipment punctuated the stillness as they lay awake, lost in their thoughts.
Krillin's face was a mix of frustration and regret as he stared at the sterile ceiling. "I can't believe I let Yajirobe get kidnapped like that."
Yamcha, leaning back against his pillows, sighed. He too felt bad about their kidnapped friend but he hated being reminded about it after every five minutes. Wanting to quiet the shorter fighter, he responded with a wry smile. "Leave it to you to mess things up."
"Shut up," Krillin shot back, irritation clear in his voice.
Tien, lying still with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, offered a calming perspective. "I don't think you need to worry too much about Yajirobe, Krillin."
Yamcha grinned, his eyes reflecting a hint of amusement. "I'd actually be more concerned about the Saiyan. I can't imagine being stuck with Yajirobe for too long."
Krillin snickered, the thought of Yajirobe's antics clashing with the Saiyan's temperament giving him a momentary distraction from his worries. Despite Yajirobe's difficult nature, Krillin couldn't shake the fear that the fat man might already be in danger. "Tomorrow, we'll discuss the matter with Khami and the others," he said, determination creeping into his voice.
. .. . . . . .. . . . .
Far away...
Piccolo stood alone in the rain, his clothes heavy and dripping, clinging to his form. The downpour seemed to merge with his deep contemplation as he knelt, absorbed in prayer. He had declined Gohan's offer to stay in the hospital, preferring the solitude where he could rely on his regenerative powers. He reasoned that Gohan would be better off spending time with his parents rather than with him.
Yet, despite his attempts to find solace in prayer, a sinister thought gnawed at the edges of his mind. Whenever this dark presence emerged, he sought refuge in prayer, but tonight, the feeling was too intense to ignore.
As Piccolo concluded his prayer, he looked ahead, his focus faltering as his mind remained clouded by foreboding.
'This is my chance.'
...
Piccolo floated silently outside the hospital window, left ajar by Goku's family. The rain pattered softly on the glass as he peered inside. The room was dimly lit, with Goku's bed situated farthest from where Piccolo hovered, near the door.
With the grace of a shadow, Piccolo glided into the room, his presence imperceptible. He moved with deliberate stealth, every step measured to avoid detection, until he reached Goku's bedside.
Piccolo's resolve hardened as he looked down at the injured Saiyan. This was his moment for retribution, his moment ...to avenge his father.
Just as he prepared to strike, Goku's eyes fluttered open, meeting Piccolo's gaze with a calm, unwavering stare. "What do you want, Piccolo?" Goku's voice was steady, devoid of fear.
Piccolo's face twisted in a scowl. "So calm and confident, even in the face of death?"
Goku's smile remained. "Go ahead."
Piccolo raised his hand, his eyes narrowing on the vulnerable jugular vein exposed on Goku's neck. Yet, his body trembled, caught between anger and hesitation. Goku's serene expression seemed to only deepen Piccolo's internal conflict.
As Piccolo struggled with his resolve, he felt a small hand tugging at his leg. Looking down, he saw Gohan, confused and looking up at him with innocent eyes. "Mr. Piccolo?"
Piccolo closed his eyes, battling with himself before abruptly turning away. He moved swiftly to the window, leaping out into the night.
Gohan watched, puzzled, as his master disappeared into the darkness. "What's wrong with Mr. Piccolo?"
Goku, with a faint smirk, replied, "Nothing, son. He just wanted to pay a visit." He knew that Piccolo's wouldn't kill him, not with Gohan around.
...
Piccolo's aura blazed fiercely around him as he soared through the rain-soaked sky. Sweat streamed down his face, and his teeth were clenched in a grimace of frustration and rage.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Khami's place..
Khami and Mr. Popo stood in quiet prayer, their senses alert to the disturbance on the lookout. As they concluded their rituals, they turned to find Piccolo standing before them, visibly agitated and breathless as though he had just returned from a fierce confrontation.
Piccolo stormed forward, his fury evident as he seized Khami by the collar. "I want the borrowed water... now."
Khami met Piccolo's glare with unwavering calm. "Over my dead body."
Mr. Popo's face reddened with anger. "Put Khami down, Piccolo."
Piccolo, his patience exhausted, snarled and roughly shoved Khami aside. "I've had enough. If you don't give it to me now, I will destroy this place and both of you."
Mr. Popo's fists tightened. "I'd like to see you try."
Khami cleared his throat, his voice steady despite the tension. "I'm sorry, Piccolo, but the borrowed water cannot be used by someone whose mind and heart are at odds. For it to be effective, you must achieve harmony within yourself—mind, heart, and spirit."
Piccolo's teeth clenched in frustration. "At least tell me where you've hidden your spaceship!"
Khami turned to Mr. Popo. "Popo..."
Mr. Popo's eyes widened in shock. "But Khami..."
"Do as I say, Popo. You will manage this place after my death, but for now, I am in charge."
Mr. Popo, sweating and visibly uncomfortable, nodded reluctantly. He faced Piccolo. "You should be grateful to Khami, Piccolo."
Piccolo advanced menacingly toward Mr. Popo. "Make me."
Mr. Popo swallowed hard, opting for silence as he led Piccolo to the edge of the lookout. They jumped down together, with Piccolo following closely.
At the base, Piccolo and Mr. Popo arrived in front of a large, oddly shaped object.
Piccolo scrutinized the spaceship with a narrowed gaze. "So this is it?" The craft seemed oddly familiar.
Mr. Popo handed Piccolo an instruction manual. "Take this and don't forget to fasten your seatbelt. Otherwise, you might end up as a pickle."
Piccolo scowled but took the manual. "Don't worry. I won't."
...
Mr. Popo watched as the spaceship ascended, disappearing into the vastness of space. "I wonder where he's headed. Could he be searching for a she-Namekian? I hope he doesn't have much luck."
The bitterness in Mr. Popo's gaze was palpable. Mr Popo hated Piccolo.
...
Piccolo gritted his teeth, his fists clenched beside him. As he looked out into the blackness of space, rage overcame his heart. "I will kill you, Goku. I will kill you. "
To be continued...