Chapter 30:

Strength of Emotion

It was warm – one of the most disgusting attributes of the liquid. It was also deep and sticky, drying in the places where she managed to float above the lip of the pool. She could feel the crustiness cake onto her lips, her eyelashes and eyebrows. She was deaf now, her ears overflowing with the solidified blood. Her fingers became stuck together, giving her little leverage as she kicked and struggled in a panic.

And then all was dark. She was sucked down into a whirlpool of burgundy and black, unable to see anything at any distance from herself. Her fingers clawed at the empty space around her, straining to reach something...anything. Even the strange, invisible wall that had separated her from Vegeta would be a welcome change from this heady, carnivorous void. It was sucking her in...sucking her down to the deepest place she had ever been. Her heartbeat could not even sound through the thickness. It was just the same, she was probably dead, anyway.

Her fingers brushed against something. It was cold by comparison to what surrounded her, and so her legs kicked like a possessed frog's, propelling her toward whatever the object might be. Her nose touched it after a moment, hands racing over the flat surface as she struggled to feel what it was. Her eyes were stinging, burning, though they remained closed.

Something reached out through the blood, wrapping itself around one slender white ankle. Her eyes opened up just in time to see what she had thought to be impossible: Vegeta's face, frozen in fear behind the invisible pane. A scream parted her lips, allowing a rush of the warm, slimy, salty pool to barrel down her throat. She coughed and choked, but with every expulsion, new blood raced between her jaws to drown her more quickly.

She was pulled back into the darkness, her eyes already crusting from where the red substance touched them. She couldn't blink, she couldn't breathe.

And then, a voice broke the loud silence.

Come away, come away, to where even the sun hides at day, something crooned into her ear.

How could she hear them? How could she feel the warm rush of breath against her nape? There was something else closed around her ankle, and suddenly the world fell apart around her. Like the water in a draining bath-tub, the horrifying red pool that had been drowning her circled away through the floor. She screamed as she snapped upside-down, her feet tied up and leaving her hanging, dripping, crying. She was weak, feeble, ready to give up if only the nightmare would fade into the haunts of memory.

Sobbing, Bulma's hands struggled to reach the rope that held her like a bloody hock of meat, but she was unable to bend forward the few feet required to reach her ankles. Her stomach...it was whole again, she noticed finally, rubbing her hands over the familiar swollen bump. Her tears traced clean rivers down her face, washing away the streaks of blood that threatened to solidify her into a block of bodily fluid.

"Vegeta..." she cried softly, curling forward to cradle the gift still wrapped within her.

Voices broke through the black silence of wherever she was. One was gravelly and enraged, while the other was panicked and determined. She could hear her name, spoken fervently, like a mantra.

Bulma. Bulma! Bulma...find Him. You have the control now, it's your world.

And then they faded from her ears, and a sudden snap-crack sent Bulma hurtling to the ground. She managed to spin in time and landed on her back, groaning loudly at the impact.

- - - - -

"You truly are a meddling little fool!" Makai hissed angrily, a cruel smirk twisting up her lips as Leitiisa approached. "I would have simply ignored you, Ceqirian, once my plans came to fruition. Of course, being a wall-flower at the party never did suit you, now did it?"

"Can't say that it does," the cat-like creature replied cockily. "Of course, you're not exactly the best example to be talking."

Makai was still infused with the glow that had once possessed Bulma's child, but it was fading quickly as the human reasserted her control in the Illusion. She had power enough to take care of one particular interruption, however, and she would not waste such an opportunity.

"When I am done with you, I shall carry your head upon a pike to the dying remains of Gawl," she rumbled.

Leitiisa scoffed at the threat, but had no time to reply. Thegreatest threat to the universe at largewas upon her immediately, hands fisted about her throat and pressing her into the hard floor of the shuttle, crushing her wind-pipe. It was all Leitiisa could do to keep her wits about her, lifting a knee and launching it into the soft belly of her enemy. When Makai stumbled backwards, heaving in pain, the Ceqirian took her opportunity and sprang back to her feet, charging the hellion.

Sharp claws lengthened several times the norm pierced Makai's flesh, delivering a powerful blow that served to both disable and agonize. Makai leaned heavily against Leitiisa, only managing to stand through the continued puncture of her enemy's nails. The demon coughed and spat up a strange, translucent blue gel upon the Ceqirian's shoulder. Leitiisa sneered at the bodily excretion.

"I was expecting more of a challenge, Makai," she purred sweetly, withdrawing her talons from the creature's flesh. Makai fell to the ground as the Ceqirian stepped away, but when she rolled over, she was grinning.

"I could say the same of you, Leitiisa."

Searing pain ripped through the guardian's arm with Makai's words, a burning, boiling sensation that felt like acid eating through her skin. Leitiisa grabbed the arm that was covered in the strange substance, crying out in pain as she fell to her knees, head bent away.

"You truly are a fragile bitch," Makai sighed, regaining her feet. "How could Gawl have paired with such a pathetic female? With his bed-manners, I should hardly think you an adequate candidate."

"We know what you do not, could not," Leitiisa hissed, screaming again as the powerful secretion burned deeper. She would not be swayed from her words, however, and continued. "But this pair knows what even Gawl does not."

"Oh? Self-sacrifice, maybe? Or perhaps you refer to that emotion of fools, love?" Makai suggested, clucking her tongue. "I'm afraid, my dear, dear little kitty-cat, that the only thing this pathetic lot knows is to give up. It's called self-preservation, Leitiisa. There's nothing noble, respectable or admirable about that particular trait."

Leitiisa allowed her eyes to drift over to where Bulma lay still and quiet. Yes, this pair of headstrong, determined, volatile lovers knew what no one else had the capability to comprehend. She could only hope that they realized such before it was too late.

- - - - -

Bulma was running. Her lungs ached to rest and her legs felt like jellied imitations of their former selves, but she kept running. One hand remained ever-wrapped around her stomach, her eyes bleary and sore from tears that had no end. And her voice, her voice was hoarse and cracked, like an old woman's. And still, she did not stop.

Something broke the darkness in front of her, a pile of who-knew-what with a shadow only slightly darker than the area surrounding it. Her heart leapt into her throat as she approached the crumpled form.

It was him.

Bulma would have fallen to her knees, had they not given out just seconds before she made the decision. She sank to the Saiyan's side and picked his head up into her lap. She cradled him like a baby, petting down the stray wisps of ebony hair that had escaped his strange flame-like style.

"No...this can't be happening," Bulma whispered, feeling her eyes water up once more. "I shouldn't have to choose, you were both gifts to me. What kind of deity plants two beautiful creatures on the world and then forces the one who loves them to pick? It's not fair..."

She stared down at his closed eyes and parted lips intently, expecting the lids to flutter and him to awaken. He'd give her his customary glare-and-frown, sit up and swat her trembling hands away, complaining about her silly human emotions. He would stand straight and...short, reach down and pluck her to his side like she weighed nothing more than a toy doll. And then, in his arms, he'd embrace her briefly, just to show that he was really there and that all of her crying had been stupid, pointless and unflattering.

But he didn't. No matter how many times she whispered his name, no matter how many times she shook his body, he remained motionless. He was an empty shell. Bulma felt her heart breaking into two uneven pieces, falling away and never to be found and mended again. She curled over him, sobbing.

How long she sat there, she could have no idea. He never stirred, and the cavity of his chest never rose with a breath...but still, she remained holding him. When at last she could bear to look down on his still features, she ran a finger over the smoothed brow. He looked so peaceful, lying there. She'd never seen the proud Saiyan Prince every look so...content. Maybe he was happier now, without fear and worry to burden him. Without her to burden him.

Just as Bulma feared she was to break down yet again, she felt warm arms surround her. Though she could not see him, she could sense him with every feeble fiber of her body. He was enveloping her in his strength, urging her to finish what had not yet been completed. His warmth, his confidence, his relentless spirit all channeled into her...and she could feel her will returning. Somehow, she knew he was there, smirking at her proudly and encouraging her to do what she alone knew was in her power.

Later, Bulma was certain she had imagined his voice. But at that moment, it rang out so clear and condescending that she knew it could be nothing of her mind's creation. It was him, and he was pushing her forward in the only way he knew how: by goading her.

Baka-onna...have you learned nothing? You can't get rid of the Prince of all Saiyans so easily, nor his mate. Show me why you are the one, why I should allow such a weakling human in my life.

His words gave her new resolve, and even as the warmth of his strong embrace faded from her skin, Bulma knew he remained. And he was watching her, expectant as always. She would not fail him.

Standing up, Bulma stared up through the endless void of blackened shadows. She could see the barest hint of light above her, like a star in the heavens. Inhaling deeply, and with one final,saddened glance at the Saiyan Prince's limp form, she made herself known.

"This is my world. And in my world, there is no sacrifice!"

- - - - -

Makai was leaning over the woman's limp form, tracing one long talon across the cold features. Such a pretty little creature, it was a shame she had wasted herself on the Saiyan. But then again, looking over at the haughty prince, Makai knew well the draw that strength and pride could have upon another being. It was why she planned to take the Saiyan Prince for herself.

She stood up, rubbing hands over a lithe female body that was barely less than corporeal. Leitiisa lay unconscious on the other side of the ship, already missing the upper-most half of her shoulder. Slowly, Makai strode over to where the prince rested. She knelt down, cupping the corner of his firm, dark face and admiring the aristocratic grace of his features.

"Together, we can take what we like from this pathetic plane of existence," she purred sweetly, allowing her free hand to slide along the muscular contours of the Saiyan's chest, torso, thigh. A twisted grin pulled up her lips as those same fingers draped over an equally-enthralling part. Yes, he would make quite the perfect partner for her endeavor.

"Get your grimey hands the fuck off of my husband!" a voice commanded from behind the hellion.

Makai turned in time to have a fierce hand launch her face in the opposite direction, knocking her back onto the floor. She sat up and rubbed her jaw, her golden gaze darkening as it settled upon the disrespectful human filth.

Bulma's chest was heaving as though she had run a thousand miles, her eyes bright with anger and fear. She stood somewhat hunched, as though her spine could not yet take the strain of straightening itself out. One hand swung limply at her side, while the other gripped its upper arm. She hadn't planned on her foe having a cheek of bloody iron, and the reverberating shock had nearly split her muscles, she was certain. But still, she remained standing, glaring with all the ferocity of a mother lion protecting her den.

"Leave us the hell alone," Bulma demanded, her voice quavering and eyes flitting to and fro between Makai and the Saiyan. "I'd have thought you'd learned your lesson by now, Baita: don't mess with Bulma Briefs."

Makai parted her lips in a vicious grin, tilting her head back slightly to release a hearty laugh. She, too, regained her feet and stood with one palm resting upon a curvy hip. Gone was the façade of a young child, now she was all provocative woman. Her eyes bored holes into Bulma's defenses, and she clucked her tongue like a mother chastising her child.

"You truly are an idiotic species," the demon sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "Of course, if you're so eager to walk into your death, by all means. Who am I to deny the last request of a veritable princess, after all?"

Bulma's brow twitched in agitation at the jab, the hand clutching her arm fisting more tightly. She was weak, she stood no chance. Even with all her pride and moxie, Bulma knew when she was out-played...and that was how things were right now. Her furious slap had done little more than phase Makai, and when all was said and done, it was she who hurt the most!

"Must be nice to be immortal," Bulma chided back. "You get to spend all of eternity being a whoring little bitch."

The demon snickered at the insult, shrugging once more as she took a step forward. "It has its benefits, I'll not disagree."

The blue-haired young woman moved back with the approach, glancing forlornly at the new distance placed between herself and Vegeta. She wanted to get to his side, to see if any part of him still remained. Kami above, she would trade all semblance of happiness for the rest of her life to gain one more minute of the prince's goading. For one more of his smoldering glances set upon her. For one more caress by his calloused fingers.

Bulma closed her eyes to stem the flow of tears. She had a job to do now, and she would put her all into it. She would not fail the only person who, albeit often against his will, always had faith in her.

"For you, Vegeta. Aishiteru," she murmured, yanking her arms apart and taking a fighting stance she'd once learned from Goku. Her feet slid apart, her body crouching lower to the ground as she rested sharp eyes upon her opponent. "Come and get me, Baita."

Makai laughed long and loud at Bulma's challenge, surprising the woman when she launched herself with inhuman speed directly across the small room. Her fist caught Bulma beneath the ribs, and the human buckled forward, gasping like a fish out of water asa thin line of blood trailed down thecorner of her mouth. The demon leaned close to her stunned challenger, whispering a taunt into her ears:

"Now you will truly feel the pain of miscarrying, My Love. This is no dream."

When Makai withdrew her fist, Bulma collapsed to her hands and knees, coughing and sputtering. One arm wrapped around her stomach, and she screamed as waves of pain bombarded her from the inside-out.