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Gohan was bored.

The high councils were held once a week and lasted two or three hours. There were all sorts of reasons he was required to go, among them the fact that he was one of the most powerful saiyajins who had ever lived. He was also Goku’s son. Last but not least, Trunks was there, as prince, and if he could stand it, so could Gohan, no matter how long the speeches went on or how often the same topics got hashed out over and over and over again.

Yamcha had the floor at the moment. He stood easily and confidently before the gathering of people who had once been only his friends. The grizzled old warrior was impressive as hell when he spoke, even by saiyajin standards, but it was useless. The realities were what they were.

“Like it or not, this planet is the foundation of our war effort. Food, shelter, supplies, and almost all raw materials are coming from Chikyuusei for the foreseeable future, unless and until our so-called allies can recover. If you initiate the breeding program like this, we’re going to be facing world-wide riots. Do we really want to waste resources dealing with that kind of situation?” Yamcha finished finally, staring at Vejiita and his council.

Yamcha had become the Lord General of Chikyuusei almost immediately after the saiyajins had been freed from Hell. Two thousand saiyajins shouldn’t have been much of a logistical problem, but the ningens were also dealing with the death of roughly half the population at Goku’s hands at the time. Vejiita had appointed Yamcha to the position almost immediately after announcing that the planet had just joined the reborn Saiyajin Empire. The appearance of yet another saiyajin on their television screens had driven the ningens mad with fear. It had been apparent that the strongest ningen still alive should be put in charge of them.

Mr. Satan had still been alive at the time, but Vejiita couldn’t have been less interested. Yamcha was tough, far more powerful than the rest of his species, and didn’t need any lessons in the realities of warfare. He was also completely reliable, something that Vejiita had needed desperately at the time. Not that the Saiyajin no Ou would have admitted that.

“How do you suggest we do it, then?” Bulma asked. As the person in charge of science and technology in the young empire, the breeding program came at least partly under her control.

Yamcha smiled at his on again, off again lover, but his voice was serious. “Most people think the saiyajins are the real enemy, you know. First we have to convince them that the Kisei exist and are a threat to all of us. Then we move ahead with the in-vitro program, combined with various incentives. Depending on the success of that, we can either continue with it, or start up the breeding centers, as Vejiita-sama suggested.”

The situation was stark. Without the dragonballs or the kais, there was no quick way to replace any saiyajins who fell in battle. Without the saiyajins, there were virtually no warriors capable of defeating the Kisei.

Simply stated, the current population of saiyajins could not reproduce fast enough to sustain itself in wartime. Fortunately, there was a solution, one which perfectly matched saiyajin arrogance with ningen vulnerabilities. It went back to the foundations of their races.

The saiyajins were themselves the result of arrogance. The tsfurujins, the first civilized race on Vegetasei, had bred the saiyajins out of the native oozaru, creating a race of extraordinary strength and ferocity. The plan had been to use the saiyajins as troops to carve a tsfurujin empire out of icejin-held territory. Always methodical, the tsfurujin had also engineered another species, the ningens, and surreptitiously planted them on various worlds in strategic places.

The ningens were designed to be breeding stock for the saiyajin troops. High saiyajin casualties were predicted, possibly higher than the saiyajins could themselves replace. Thus, the ningens. They were weaker than the saiyajins, but more than genetically compatible. The offspring of a saiyajin-ningen mating were primarily saiyajin. The hybrids, as it turned out, were particularly successful. The breeding plan, at least, was likely to be a brilliant success.

The rest of the tsfurujin plan, of course, had been an utter failure. They had failed to consider whether their intelligent, dangerous cannon fodder wanted to fight for them.

Eventually, the ningens had been all that was left of the never-realized tsfurujin empire. All memory of their original purpose had been erased. They never imagined what destiny had been planned for them.

Now that the saiyajins were back, and at war, the ningens were plainly going to have to serve their original purpose. Whether they liked it or not. They could be forced, and if they weren’t careful, they would be, but the cost would be high.

“Maybe we should take a few of them with us on the next purge,” a voice said dryly, breaking the contemplative silence. “That might make patriots out of them.”

Gohan smirked, looking at the saiyajin no oujo. Bura sat at the other end of the table from him, leaning back as she nursed her baby. Vejiita’s first grandchild, a robust girl, was sleeping peacefully in her mother’s arms. Her mate, Hakusai, stood behind her chair. He was an older saiyajin, and an elite, a tough veteran of many wars. He hadn’t stood a chance against Bura.

Raised by her fierce father and genius mother to take her place as a true saiyajin princess, Bura no oujo had grown into a respected tactician, working closely with her grandfather on the front lines. She’d been highly sought-after once she came of age, but no suitor had proved good enough. Headstrong and feisty, there were those who doubted she’d ever be mated. Once she’d set her sights on Hakusai though, no one really had really been surprised by the results.

She seemed the very picture of sweet, gentle motherhood, sitting there with her baby in her arms. Appearances were deceiving. Motherhood hadn’t done a thing to soften Bura. If anything, Gohan thought, she was even more ruthless now.

Yamcha wasn’t particularly cowed by the woman he’d helped to raise from a girl. He smirked.

“If you want to scare the shit out of them, take them to a battle, not a purge. Show them the Kisei. Maybe that’ll light a fire,” he said.

Bura smiled, showing sharp teeth.

Vejiita had been silent during most of the council. His mind was focused on other things, despite his best efforts. For one thing, Kakkarot’s tail was hooked around his own, right near the tips of both. The tall saiyajin wasn’t even paying attention to it, he could tell, but that possessive, affectionate grasp had happened almost as soon as the meeting started. After last night, Vejiita wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the fact that it had happened at all, or that it felt good.

He had never liked having his tail touched before. Ever. It was a vulnerability that had been ruthlessly exploited while he was a child. Furiza had rarely bothered to touch Vejiita himself, delegating his punishments to Dodoria or, far more often, Zarbon. Zarbon had been more than willing to take the young prince in hand.

Such a pretty tail you have, Vejiita, and so delicate…

Goku growled softly and his tail tightened around the other. Vejiita realized that the tall saiyajin was picking up on his emotions. Again. Quickly, he banished thoughts of Zarbon the best way he knew, by remembering the simple sound of Zarbon’s blood splattering in the dirt, seconds before Vejiita had killed him. His old tormenter had begged for mercy just moments later, but somehow that was less satisfying a memory than the pattering of blood. Perhaps the begging seemed too much like any one of Vejiita’s many fantasies about it before it had actually happened.

The trick worked. The grip on his tail lessened, and a moment later he heard Kakkarot laugh at something Yamcha said. Vejiita hadn’t even heard it. Like it or not, he couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything or anyone other than his bakayaro mate this morning.

Damn him. Vejiita couldn’t function like this. With an effort he forced his attention back to the matter before him.

“Do what you want for now, Yamcha. Take three months. If there’s no cooperation by the end of that time, you know what has to be done,” Vejiita said abruptly. “And if I have to divert resources to governing this planet, the breeding centers will be the last of their fucking worries.”

There was silence in the room. Yamcha bowed in acknowledgment. “As you command, Vejiita-sama.”

“Anything else to report?”

Used to Vejiita’s behaviour by now, Yamcha took his apparent harshness in stride. “Nothing that impacts the war effort,” he said casually. “Oh, except that there was another Satanist uprising.”

There was cautious laughter. The Satanists were a religious cult formed around the belief that Gohan’s former father-in-law would soon come back from the dead to save Chikyuusei from the saiyajins. They did not believe in the Kisei or in obedience to the current government, and they had attempted to ‘rescue’ Pan twice so far. They had enough popular support to keep going year after year, occasionally staging uprisings that were quickly suppressed. The mere fact that there were religious fanatics praying to Mr. Satan to rescue them was enough to cause the laughter.

The caution came about from the fact that the Satanists had proclaimed Goku to be the source of all evil. Not actually without some justification, if you considered how many ningen deaths he had to his name.

Gohan glared at Yamcha. Stupid bastard!! What was he thinking, bringing those lunatics up after last night’s incident? Concerned, Gohan studied his father’s face as surreptitiously as he could. Goku showed no particular reaction at all, but there was no way of reading his ki. He habitually suppressed his ki these days, even here at home; only during his less lucid moments, such as nightmares, or in battle, was it readable. That left Gohan with one other choice, one he was reluctant to go with.

He wasn’t as adept at telepathy as the others were. He didn’t know whether that was a result of his mixed blood or of being raised as a ningen. His father had certainly picked it up easily when the other saiyajins had been released. Trunks wasn’t particularly good at it either, though he tried harder than Gohan. He was, after all, the saiyajin no ouji.

Gohan didn’t have those kinds of incentives, but he was Goku’s son. And he was worried. He had never used their parent-child bond much, preferring to talk with his mouth instead. It shouldn’t be too hard, though, to get some idea of what was going on without his father realizing it. As long as he was careful.

Delicately, he reached out.

/Back off, brat./

The words felt like hot metal sinking into his flesh. Gohan tried hard to conceal his surprise. How the hell…?

/Vejiita…??/

/No more warnings. /

Gohan was hard-pressed not to flinch. The dark, protective anger that accompanied that sending flared painfully in his head, and he recoiled mentally, losing contact. Outwardly he still seemed calm, but inside he was stunned by both the force of the sending and the fact that Vejiita had heard him at all. How was that even possible?

Goku showed no signs of being aware of either the implications of Yamcha’s remark, or of Vejiita denying Gohan contact with him. He rubbed his tail against Vejiita’s without thinking about, his eyes bright. Around him the meeting went on, regardless of how many were listening to it.

***

Trunks tugged the end of his braid out of his armor and finished shrugging the breastplate over his shoulders. No matter what he did, the end almost always managed to get caught under one of the shoulder straps. He supposed he should cut his hair, but he never got around to lopping off the long braid. Besides, Gohan liked it…

He scowled at himself in the mirror. Stop thinking about him that way, idiot!

He was going to meet Gohan at the launch pad. Another day, another purging mission. He had to have a clear mind for this.

Trunks sighed and attached the lightweight scouter to his ear. As numb as he’d become, the prospect of another mass murder disturbed him less than what it signified : they were losing ground to the Kisei. Again.

The harsh reality was that most species weren’t willing to accept help of any kind from saiyajins. The memories of Furiza’s saiyajin-led purges were too raw, and few species could look past their fear and anger to see that the saiyajins weren’t the enemy this time. The Kisei were too vague a foe for most to grasp; the systems they conquered simply went quiet and dark, without any signs of life or connection with the outside at all. Faster-than-light travel was still almost unknown, and the word of the Kisei spread slowly.

The sudden reappearance of saiyajins was enough to panic some planets. Trunks’ grandfather, Vegeta the elder, was often the one who first arrived on a planet. If the population could be convinced to accept saiyajin guardianship, they would live. That required cooperation and vigilance on their part, as well as acceptance of Vejiita the younger’s sovereignty.

If the planet did not agree, the elder Vegeta often left them in peace if there was no immediate threat to that system by the Kisei. If the war didn’t spread its way, such a planet might never suffer the consequences.

If the Kisei got too close, the planet was given a last chance if the dominant species had any value as fighters. If not, or if they still refused, the planet was purged. All sentient life forms, everything that could host a Kisei, would be destroyed.

They couldn’t afford to give the Kisei any more hosts. No matter how many had to die.

On their own, the Kisei weren’t particularly impressive. The biggest one found outside a host had been about the size of a dinner plate, if all the legs were spread out. There were a lot of legs. They looked something like spiders, though spiders didn’t have that many legs, with that many joints. Their young, the ones who actually infested other beings, were only about the size of a child’s palm. When these grew, they grew inside the host, who felt no pain from it, as far as anyone could tell.

They were hard to detect, and when an infested host managed to release a batch of Kisei young on a planet, only quick, drastic violence could prevent the whole population from being infested. Once in place within a host, the Kisei couldn’t be removed without killing them both.

And killing the host was harder than it sounded. Ki blasts didn’t work. No one was sure whether the Kisei deflected the energy or absorbed it, but the hosts didn’t suffer. Not unless you used your ki to collapse a building on them or something, and even in that case the hosts were much tougher than they had been in their former lives. Not invincible, but bad enough. Killing them was hard even for saiyajins.

That wasn’t quite the worst of it all, though. A Kisei controlled its host completely. The whole species appeared to be telepathically linked all the time, and they didn’t mind losing individuals for the good of the whole. It might be hard to tell if a single Kisei absorbed ki, but a group of them certainly did. A group could not only deflect your ki, but throw it back at you, magnified. Worse, a large enough group could generate its own ki attacks in battle.

All Kisei, singly and in groups, were relentless.

There was only one way to win : kill the current hosts and prevent new ones from being created.

Trunks didn’t have a clue how many millions of beings he’d killed so far in the name of the greater good.

And now it was time to do it again.

“Dad got sent on another mission, so guess what? I get to go with you this time!!”

The feminine squeal not only interrupted the saiyajin no ouji’s brooding, but made him nearly cringe as well. Trunks sighed and then turned to face the whirlwind of misguided energy that was Son Pan.

If it wasn’t for the tail wrapped around her bare midriff, he would have sworn that Videl had lied to Gohan about who Pan’s father was. The differences between child and parent were astonishing.

For one thing, he never felt an urge to throttle Gohan on sight.

“Very funny, Pan,” he said wearily. “Your assignment hasn’t changed.”

A pout immediately appeared on her attractive face. In her late teens, Pan had not yet lost the childish quality that almost nobody but her father and grandfather found endearing. She had grown up in wartime and was an enthusiastic, if relatively low-powered fighter. Like Bura, she was heir to a genetic potential for enormous power; unlike Bura, she showed little sign of it.

She was currently assigned to combat missions with her eldest living relatives, neither of whom were inclined to coddle her. Pan was either blissfully unaware that Bardock and Goku were almost nothing alike, despite appearances, or she chose to ignore it simply to annoy Bardock. Pan was like that. She teased Radditz ruthlessly, enjoying the way he had to show obviously unfamiliar self-restraint. It was probably good for him, though, and she got away with it. If she’d been any less successful as a fighter, she wouldn’t have.

Her power was low, but her skills were improving rapidly. Fighting seemed to suit her. Her desire to go with Trunks this time had absolutely nothing to do with not liking her regular assignment.

“C’mon, Trunks! You always go with Dad! Let me go for once,” she said.

Dark eyes sparkled as she gave him a significant look. Trunks found himself blushing lightly, despite himself, as she let her eyes roam over his body. Pan had made her intentions clear to him some time ago. It was apparent that she considered herself the obvious answer to the question of who Trunks was going to marry.

It wasn’t a question that Trunks particularly needed answered. Now that Bura had an heir, the lineage of the House of Vegeta was secured one way or the other. His offspring, if any, would probably take precedence over Bura’s daughter, if they were strong enough, but he wasn’t in a hurry to see that happen. His father’s pressure on him to get an heir had slackened considerably since Bura had mated Hakusai. He was grateful nearly every day for their joining.

He was quite sure, however, that he would have already been forced to wed and bed the feminine firecracker in front of him if she didn’t genuinely annoy the shit out of Vejiita. Her perky, cheerful nature grated on the Saiyajin no Ou worse than her grandfather’s ever had, which was saying something.

Pan was oblivious of the fact that her services were not required by the royal house. She simply didn’t believe any negative comments, much as she hadn’t believed Trunks any of the times he’d told her to back off. She assumed he was being coy.

She was also blissfully unaware that the one person who made Trunks ache was her father. Trunks couldn’t decide whether he was grateful for her obtuseness or not.

“You know why Gohan’s my partner,” he said almost absently now. Orders were orders. No saiyajin went off-planet alone. There was always the risk, no matter how small, of infestation. With a saiyajin of Trunk’s strength, that would be a disaster. Gohan was there to watch his back. And, if necessary, to put him down. The deal worked the other way, too, of course. Cold equations.

“Because he has a cute ass?” Pan asked mischievously, smirking at him.

Trunks felt a sick thrill at those words, even though he knew they were innocent. Pan hadn’t a clue, and it was going to stay that way. She was the very soul of indiscretion. Goku would find out about the two of them five minutes after she did, even if she accepted the situation gracefully. He didn’t imagine she would.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said lightly. He went over and picked up a small bag of provisions, all neatly capsulated. “Any other shocking truths I can reveal to you, or can I get going?”

She laughed and leaned up against the doorframe. He smiled to cover his irritation. Damn her for being a demi-saiyajin, he thought. Any saiyajin would have taken his ouji’s cue and been gone already. The deference of his father’s race had come as something of a surprise to him, but he was accustomed to it now.

“Seriously, Trunks, why not take me with you guys? I could use the experience,” she said.

Because I have no intentions of doing anything with your father, but I still can’t wait to be alone with him.

“Because I’m not carrying dead weight with me on a purge that close to the front lines,” he said flatly, his friendly manner wearing off. She might be Gohan’s daughter, but he was neither bred nor raised for patience.

“Don’t be mean!” she said, pouting. He knew well enough that it was supposed to be a sexy look, and that he was supposed to relent now, or to compliment her to make up for it. That was how flirting went, and he was supposed to be flirting with her, wasn’t he?

He walked to the door and stood just a hand’s breadth away from her. He leaned a little closer, and her breath caught. Damn, he was beautiful, with that hair and those eyes… so different from any other saiyajin.

“Pan…” he started, his voice low and sincere. “I’m about to murder an entire species.” He stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “How badly do you want to piss me off right now?”

Eyes as cold and hard as sapphire looked into her own for a long moment, and then he was gone.

Pan watched him walk away, feeling numb. Why was he acting like that? It was just a purge… He didn’t have to be so mean. Must be genetics, because Bura was a bitch too, and Pan didn’t even want to think of what an asshole Vejiita had turned out to be. Give the guy his throne back and he went all power-crazy and stuff. It had to be rubbing off on Trunks. That was too bad, because she knew he really did have a thing for her… She liked to tease him.

Eyes lighting up with her customary good cheer, she watched appreciatively as Trunks’ hair flared brightly in the sunlight as he passed a window. Then he turned a corner and was lost to view.

Nice hair. Nice ass.

The harsh hand that came down on her shoulder a few moments after Trunks disappeared made Pan jump and spin, lashing out at the owner of it. Her fist was caught neatly, stopping as suddenly as if it had become embedded in stone.

Son Gohan stared at his daughter for a moment before slowly baring his teeth at her. He had the sharp teeth of a saiyajin, she saw; his canines were much longer than her own. Why hadn’t she ever noticed them? Had he displayed them before?

His hand increased its pressure around her fist and she gasped a little in pain before he pulled her towards him. Their chest plates touched, and he stopped pulling, but he bent forward instead. She tensed as his cheek grazed hers. There was a movement of air, and she realized he was sniffing at her.

She’d never seen her father like this before – he was a loving and genial parent, usually – and she felt a rush of fear. What the hell was this? Dad never hurt her. Dad wasn’t like this. She opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced by the low, raspy voice that suddenly sounded in her ear.

“I think it’s best if you leave our prince alone, don’t you?”

She shuddered and started to pull away, but he had already released her, pushing her back against the wall. She could do nothing but watch him walk away from her, following in Trunks’ wake.

Confused and hurt, her eyes wide, Pan gathered herself together and went where she always went for comfort when her father was gone. Grandpa Goku would know what to do.

***

Goku watched Vejiita hungrily. He could do nothing to prevent the hunger that overwhelmed him just watching the saiyajin king move through the dance that was his kata.

Muscles moved smoothly under black clothing and silky skin. Dark eyes were half shuttered as Vejiita concentrated on the technique and the martial flow of his practice. His tail was neatly wrapped around his trim waist, and there was a graceful precision to every movement. It was an elegant display.

Goku smiled faintly and made himself look down at his hands. His palms itched under the skin. He flexed his fingers, wondering if it was going to be time again soon. He didn’t really mind, but he knew that it would upset Vejiita if he found out. So far the only one who knew was Gohan, but he knew Gohan understood. Gohan missed Goten too, after all. After Goku, no one else held Goten’s memory as sacred as Gohan did.

Goku’s smile deepened as he thought about the loyalty of his eldest son. Gohan knew, but he would never tell. He could always trust Gohan.

Letting his thoughts drift back to more pleasant things, he watched his mate move faster than eyes other than his own could see. There was such a rhythmic rightness to every kick, thrust, or spin; it made Goku want to leap into the air and match him. Splendid, handsome man… Gods, if only…

He ached. His entire body seemed to pulse with it.

This morning had been such bliss, waking up in his mate’s arms. Vejiita had been warm, and he had smelled so good. The twining of their limbs had been everything Goku could ask for. Almost everything. The sensual lures of it overwhelmed his gratitude soon enough, and he would have begged Vejiita to roll him over and take his pleasure in him, if he could have.

He could never ask, though. Vejiita had said ‘no’ once, and Goku didn’t want to hear it again.

His desires were sad and terrible, consuming him sometimes. These were the times when he needed Vejiita the most, when he couldn’t bear to be apart from him. For a kiss he would sell his soul. For the bliss of being claimed again, of having his mark cut deep again by razor teeth, he would give everything. Everything.

There was a certain languorous satisfaction to suffering as he did.

He wouldn’t trade it for anything. Longing for Vejiita was better than never having had him at all.

Goku tried to stop himself, knowing that Vejiita would disapprove, but he felt his thoughts begin to slip into the well-worn groove again. He struggled quietly, trying not to let Vejiita know it was happening. Vejiita disapproved. Vejiita didn’t call it weakness; Vejiita rarely said an unkind word to him, but he knew that Vejiita would call it that if he…

If he wasn’t tied to Goku.

If Goku hadn’t lost himself when Goten…

He didn’t remember what life had been like before. Bulma told him he wasn’t the same, but he didn’t know what had changed. Before he had had Goten, and now he had Vejiita. That was the difference, wasn’t it? The Kisei, and the war, yes, but they didn’t really matter. There were always enemies. He would see to the death of every last one of them, but it was almost a reflex now. It was what he had always done.

There had been Goten.

Now there was Vejiita.

If it hadn’t been for Goten and his… If Goten hadn’t been…

Would he have even this much of Vejiita if he still had Goten?

The itch began to spread up his arms, needling him under the skin. His thoughts became more chaotic as he brooded, as if static was overtaking them.

He was horrible. He needed Vejiita so much, and every second he thought about him was like pissing on Goten’s grave. If Goten hadn’t been killed, Vejiita wouldn’t have bound Goku. Never ever. Not in a billion years. He owed everything he had and didn’t have now to Goten.

He was a terrible father. He had forgotten about Goten. He should still be mourning Goten. He shouldn’t ever be enjoying something that came from Goten’s death.

The itch spread upwards like electric current racing under his skin. Goku shifted uncomfortably, trying to stop the wild beating of his heart. If he couldn’t control it, if he couldn’t gain some handle on his thoughts, bad things would happen again. He didn’t want that, even as his mind shied away from what he’d done. He had to stop this.

Fortunately there was a way. The mellow gleam of a knife’s edge came to mind, and he let his eyes drift shut, envisioning it. It could make things better. It could release this painful, fractious energy from his body, splitting his skin and letting it bleed out until he was calm again. It could help him. It could absolve him for now.

Smiling brightly at Vejiita, he stood up and said something about a shower. He’d already had his afternoon workout, after all. The words didn’t even register in his mind; they just came out of him. Without waiting for Vejiita to answer, Goku was gone. He sought the knife and the pain and the scalding, cleansing water. When he was calm, he would find Vejiita again.

Perhaps, if he didn’t take too long, they could spar later.

He didn’t notice the troubled black eyes that watched him go, or see the look that crossed Vejiita’s face. It was just as well that he didn’t look back.

Vejiita dropped to the ground as soon as Goku was gone. Alone, he let his face sink into his hands. He needed to think, to banish this from his mind. He couldn’t sense the details of Goku’s anguish, but the emotions pulsed unbearably in the back of his mind. It threatened to overwhelm all the careful and long-established controls he’d developed over the years. Why? Why was it so hard to block him out?

How could the younger saiyajin bear to live like this?

One moment Goku would be fine, almost the saiyajin he’d always been. Then he’d be almost drowning in guilt and pain. Usually the moments simply ebbed away. More and more often, though, Goku fled. Something about being away from Vejiita helped him regain his balance.

Yet he always came back. He couldn’t bear to be away from Vejiita too long.

Vejiita found that easier to handle than his need to have Kakkarot close to him.

Breathing harshly, he fought to find his center. He stared at his hands, making himself notice the fine lines and whorls, the calluses and scars. Detailed observation was an old and usually reliable method of meditation. He tried to control his breathing, willing his breaths slower and deeper.

His hands, though… They tingled oddly, as if the blood had been cut off. He flexed them, willing the strange feeling away.

It persisted.

He smirked, wondering if he should be grateful for the focus it was giving him. He shoved the feeling down and away. Defiantly, it grew, almost burning him. The buzzing, frantic feeling seemed to grow, moving up his wrists. His brow furrowed in concentration as he fought. A faint whisper of fear touched him.

What the fuck was this?

With a sudden flash of biting heat, the sensation was gone.

Vejiita rubbed his hands together tentatively. There was nothing but the rough feeling of skin brushing skin.

Had it been real?

Maybe he was losing his mind without Kakkarot’s help.