(Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing. If you wanna sue, please do. I can use you for target practice. Evil grin)

There was tension in the air. Vegeta had sensed it since midday and knew a storm was on the way. A big one. It had made him feel restless and violent all day. He sighed heavily and looked out into the darkening sky. The clouds were gathering, fast and black, and the wind was beginning to pick up. Outside, it was violent and wild. He could hear the sound of the approaching thunder in the distance and lifted his head into the wind, to smell the air. It smelt wet, damp with the approaching rain and heavy clouds. He had sat on top of the roof for well over an hour now. He was hugging his knees, pulled up underneath his chin, looking up slightly and his hair moved in the wind. He was thinking about his past. And the future. And his own failure.

There was no point in trying to deny it to himself any longer. He had failed. He was a failure. His life wasn't supposed to be like this. None of it had. He was supposed to have grown up, overthrown his father and taken the role of King. He was supposed to be the first Super-Saiyan in 300 years. It had been his destiny till Frieza. It seemed like yesterday, the downfall of his hopes. He had thought he was a Super-Saiyan. He was meant to be a Super-Saiyan. It should have been him. His temper flared and he stood up against the oncoming wind.

"It was MY birthright, Kakkarott." He yelled to the sky. "Why was I denied it? Couldn't the fates have at least given me that before sentencing me to this living hell? Frieza's life belonged to me. He took mine…why couldn't I take his?"

He stood there, fists clenched, head back and eyes closed. He listened, as the storm got nearer.

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Bulma was also listening out, but not for the storm. She was listening to the sound of Yamcha begging her to take him back. She had dumped him for the final time a few nights ago, after she had seen him go up to another woman and begin flirting with her in town. She had been making her way to his house when she saw him go up to her. They had ended up walking away, arms linked. She had confronted him, without yelling, told him it was over and walked off. She didn't cry for long when she got home. She had suspected that he was cheating on her a while a go and had had the full-blown hysterics then. She remembered that night.

*Bulma had run through the kitchen and into her bedroom, crying. She threw herself onto the bed and screamed her misery into the pillows. Her screams slowly tapered off into sobs and she wept till her eyes were red. She lay there, quiet, but tears still ran down her face. It was then that she heard the voice, soothing and comforting her. It was a voice she hadn't heard before, and she suddenly realized it was in her head. She looked up and towards the doorway and saw nothing but a shadow move quickly away. She was going to investigate when the voice started singing to her, in a language she had never heard before. It was a woman's voice, singing a soft lullaby and it lulled her to sleep. *

Bulma let the phone drop. She heard Yamcha's voice carry on begging her to take him back as she walked upstairs to her room. She left it behind like she left her old life. It was time for something new. She opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony, looking into the sky. She saw the storm coming and was slightly afraid. She knew she had storm proofed everything, but still… She heard screaming. She listened hard, slightly scared until she made out the words. 'He took mine…why couldn't I take his?' It finally dawned on her. Vegeta was on the roof! The storm was getting nearer. The wind began to moan. *Is he suicidal or something? * She asked herself, as she ran up to the loft and opened the skylight. He was stood there, head back, fists clenched. His hair flew back against the gradually increasing wind, like the mane of a horse. Her breath caught in fear and awe. The storm was getting closer. Vegeta's fury was almost tangible. Beneath it she felt an undercurrent of shame and sorrow that was so deep it cut. She called out to him. He had to get inside. "VEGETA!!!"

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Her voice, shrill against the on coming wind, still carried to his overly sensitive ears. He turned to see the woman, leaning half out of the skylight, her hair whipping in the wind. He could see her fear, he could even feel it. Why was she afraid? Of the storm? For him? Why? He didn't deserve it. He was a fake, a mistake, his whole life was a lie, he was nothing, it didn't even matter that he wasn't blown up with his planet. He was expendable, dispensable, unneeded, unwanted. A killer born of another's hand. He didn't deserve forgiveness. He deserved NOTHING. The wind howled.

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Bulma shivered as Vegeta turned an incalculable look on her. He seemed so angry, but even more desolate at the same time. She gulped more as his piercing gaze went right through her, as if he was focusing on something else. His aura began to grow. She could see it, blue first, then purple, blazing into white followed by yellow that silhouetted his body. Suddenly, he leapt off the roof. She screamed and then saw him shoot off. "VEGETA. BAKA." She yelled. He was heading into the storm?!?!?!?! The wind screamed.

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Vegeta flew through the rain, which did nothing to cool his temper. He felt nothing. His mind was clear. His anger had grown and broken over him, like a wave through a dam. He lost all conscious thought and instead let his instinct take over. He flew nearer the storm; the wind reached a crescendo, the rain pelted harder. The thunder rolled in his ears and he swerved to dodge the first chord of lightning the storm played his way. As he got nearer, he barrel-rolled and swooped, ducking and dodging the increasingly frequent strikes of lightning. He entered the tempest.

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Bulma stood shaking. She clung to the sill as the wind made the window creak. She watched as Vegeta sped towards the storm, his anger parallel to that of the raging tsunami's. He gained such speed! She gasped as he narrowly avoided a sharp bolt of lightning that earthed itself into the ground. She watched, mesmerized as he weaved through the random bolts flung at him from the steely gray clouds. It appeared that he was dancing among the bolts, with the random arrows of electricity flung his way. He suddenly caught a pang of emotion from him, what he was thinking at the time so strong, that it was transmitted to her. * OH KAMI. WHY? I'M NOT WORTH ANYTHING * She could only watch, blindly as the storm swallowed him.

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Vegeta screamed his feelings into the midst of the storm. He screamed the words in a long forgotten language, one that he had last heard before the devil had taken him. He used Saiyago, to express his anger, which was all he felt, all he could feel. It had been a language of warriors, royalists, a proud race, a tough race, and it reflected this in its dark syllables and proud inflections. It had become degraded, demolished, broken like he was. Empty and reflective. He screamed again, a curse against himself, his maker and fate. He then screamed louder, as an un-sensed bolt of lightning hit his left side. He was letting his emotions make him careless. He plunged through the clouds, up and up, till he hovered, panting, above the roiling storm.

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Bulma sat blankly in the kitchen. A cup of coffee sat in front of her, steaming slightly, untouched. Her hands wrapped round it. * Drawing out warmth? Keeping it warm? * She stared into it, not really seeing it, listening as the rain beat down on the rooftop. She thought of everything. She thought of nothing. * White swirls in the black. * She thought, absently. She picked up the teaspoon and stirred it, then watched as the milk marbling the coffee dispersed, mingling with the drink. She stopped and looked again. * White coffee. *

She stared out the window.

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It was quiet up here. The wind blew freely, flowing coldly. The storm boiled beneath his feet. Angry. Violent. Vicious. * When I die… * he thought, amongst the faint hum. * Will my soul be like this? * He thought longer. "No." he said, in Saiyago. "My soul is like this now." Unsettled. Unpredictable. Raw. "Does…" he said slowly, thinking it out. "Does my soul…exist? Now? In some…secret part of me?" This question didn't need to be asked. He already knew the answer. "No." The devil had taken that as well, long ago.

Vegeta shook his head. The pain had made him philosophical. Vegeta's energy lowered. The storm began to ebb.

(That's all for now, sorry. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as possible for you peeps okay? I also need a bit of help in the form of ideas for the rest of the storyline. I'm not really sure where it's going, tho' I have a vague idea. Suggestions would be greatly appreciated.)