Chapter 9, Invincible.

This feels new. Well, not entirely new. It feels… Completely distant from his being, if he is to be perfectly accurate. This, thinking about opening his eyes before he does it, not preceded by the ready memory of what his last thought before now had been, feels new to him. It's as if he's… What? He's waking up?

Is that it here?

His eyes are opening… So then... He is really waking up? What is this? His mind cannot grasp the concept behind his eyes coming into focus, without having a previous memory attached to it, because… He's never, not once, shut off and was unaware. He's always been distinctly aware; mind, cognisant, and eyes, vigilant. Nothing like this.

Nothing at all like this, where he doesn't remember ever feeling distant from himself. The very notion of being distant from himself, suggests a horrible disconnection between his body and his mind, which he finds extremely foreign to his existence. He surely needs a distraction from this new and distant feeling. If not, he might just start to doubt himself, and that he cannot have.

Yes, he decides, he needs a distraction.

A good distraction, seeing as he can't immediately recall what took place before this, would be to look around him, and find out just where he is. He lifts his head first, and then he follows it with his body, to stand on his feet. Although he notices that he had been lying down on a bed, he doesn't care much to explore that fact, more than he is interested in getting out of this unrecognisable room. With a set mind, he begins to walk out the room, and it's only when he approaches the door, reaching out for the handle with his left hand, that he realises that he is no longer dressed in the clothes that he is supposed to be dressed in.

That fact, has him halting against his will.

Where is the bagginess of his black trousers? What happened to his orange shirt with long sleeves, underneath his sleeveless black garment? And what of his boots? Why is he suddenly dressed in a short-sleeved tight-fitting shirt, close to the colour of Universe 7's Supreme colour, only tainted with a ridiculous swirl of a mark over the upper left side of his chest? And why, in divine history, is his lower half covered in a dull coloured grey of trousers, that aren't as baggy as he would like them to be? His boots as well... His exquisite white boots have also been replaced for a pair of thick combat boots that reach only just above his ankles.

What is the meaning of this?

He needs answers, and since his immediate memory has taken on the role of being unavailable, he'll have to force his feet to start moving once again, and push against the feeling of being stripped of an essential part of himself, to go about looking for answers to his questions. It's a little harder than simply telling himself to push through what he feels, than he believed it would be, but being the proud being that he is, he does it. He moves along the place, his eyes looking different ways around him, to find that he doesn't recognise any single part of it, until eventually, his ears catch words being spoken, before he sees anyone before him.

'Have you considered it again, my Lord?' a smooth voice asks. 'We need to take him back.'

That smooth voice, he thinks as he takes smaller steps towards the voice, is making it sound very much like he is conversing with someone, a higher in rank than himself. Not only that, that voice gave off the impression that whoever he is engaging in a conversation with, it is the normal thing for them to do. As though, at least once a week, they have a conference at a convenient time for them, to discuss the progress that's been made.

'Don't speak foolishness, Whis,' a new, slightly irritably voice says. 'Why would I consider such a thing such as allowing him to get his hopes up about destroying the Earth?'

'Would you at least consider it?' the first voice, belonging to that angel Whis, insistently asks.

'Trust me, Whis, that one is in a dangerous state right now. We can't trust him on Earth.'

Zamaku stops moving. Surely, they are discussing him?

He doesn't mind being anyone's topic of discussion, and much less now that he's identified the voices discussing him to belong to Lord Beerus and his attendant Whis. However, he doesn't like the manner in which they are talking about him. In his mind, they are comfortably sitting there, tossing the subject of him, back and forth from each other, with no real intention of reaching a consensus, but rather for the sake of having a topic of discussion to entertain themselves.


'He hasn't yet done anything, my Lord,' the angel argue, pulling him from his thoughts. 'Does that not, in some way mean that he's all right for the time being?'

'No. He's barely resembling himself. We can't take the chance, because if something goes wrong, we will be responsible for it.'

With something that sound like amusement to Zamaku, the angel says, 'Your care is unusual, my Lord.'

'Think what you want,' the god replies dismissively. 'I only care about the food. I can't have the Earth's food gone from existence. Nothing more.'

'You're right,' the angel agrees. 'However, I was merely concerned for that poor begging woman. She seemed completely distraught, do you remember? She didn't want us taking him, and now we have him here.'

The begging woman? Completely distraught, she was? Because of him? She didn't want them to take him? Meaning... They... Those two... They treated him as a commoner, as one with no power of influence, and chose do to him things outside his knowledge?

Oh, oh, oh!

He's not liking any bit of that conversation taking place, or anything of what it's making him feel within. He doesn't like that he is not voluntarily in charge of the actions and functions that his body is currently subject to. He doesn't like that those two, are apparently the reason that he feels a distant disconnection from his own familiarity, that he can't even recall what happened prior to this. Instead, he is here, dressed in atrocious clothing, with no memory what happened, all the while forced to listen to them talking about him so leisurely, as though he is such a subject of leisure.

'I don't care about her,' the god says. 'And besides, it's for her own good that we took him from her hands. Did you take a look at her, Whis? She hardly looks the part to manage someone as complicated as that fusion.'

'If you say so,' the angel answers, seeming to disagree with his tone, but accepting with his words, so that they don't have a debate about it.

Because he believes that they have finished making him their form of verbal entertainment, he decides to finish his journey to them. Anger in his belly, and aggressive strength forced down, in the form of clenched hands, he makes his appearance through the immediate entrance to where they are.

'Why am I here?' he quietly demands of the both of them.

Interestingly, neither of them direct their attention to him. It's interesting that they don't, but more than that, it's also vexing. Extremely. After making a show of him between them with their words, they should at least have the courtesy to acknowledge his presence. How more uncultured can they be, for a pair of deities?

'You're awake,' the god drawls, still not turning to meet him with his eyes.

Scowling at the god's audacity, also choosing to remain standing where he is, Zamaku looks around, to imprint into his being, once and for all, that he doesn't like being here. He doesn't appreciate the god sitting with his head lazily thrown back, not giving him his due attention, and he doesn't like the angel sitting across from his god, his ankles crossed and behaving as equally uninterested in his presence, as the god that he serves. He doesn't like any of this, and so, he makes sure to command his attention from them.

'Why am I here?' he asks in a tremendously raised voice.

After the question has left his mouth, he instantly hates that he had to lose his composure that way. That he had to dive down to the stature of a weakling, who's only power is to make a noise, to seem significant, is unbefitting. He hates that he got to this point. He hates that he particularly allowed himself to get to this point, when there could've been a better way to express his mind, and not commence that uncivilised ruckus for attention. His presence alone, being who he is, should command attention, and yet, here he is, succumbed to the lowly tactic of screaming, to express himself.

How does he forgive himself for that?

That aside, seeing as it's already done, he should rather focus on rectifying that mishap. More importantly now, he should attempt for an atonement within, by pulling himself together, into the well pressed being that he is, and present his question again, without losing himself in the process.

'I said,' he restructures his voice to be perfectly even, 'why am I here?'

All of a sudden, probably as a direct response to his question, the god appears right in front of him, bearing the most piqued expression on his face. If anything about his barred teeth, and his gathered eyebrows, is meant to be menacing, Zamaku doesn't fall into its trap. He is who he is, after all, and he is not subject to conform to the rules and ideals as the rest of existence.

'Watch how you address me!' the god growls at him.

How childish! How ineffective too!

Really, he's curious, did the god mean for that tone and those words, to scare him, Zamaku? The wonder, is enough to draw a smirk on his face at the colossal fail of the god's intent. Mockingly, Zamaku looks away from him. As much as he is unimpressed by the failed attempt, he also doesn't have time to entertain this. Either the god answers his question first, as it should be, or he reciprocates how the god is ignoring to answer him.

'You watch how you ignore me,' he hisses, turning his face back to the god.

As the god starts to growl, no doubt feeling insulted, his angel chooses that very moment to appear where they are standing.

'Now, now, you two,' the angel smoothes, 'this won't do. If you are going to be living together, you might want to start getting along.'

What was that?

Sharply, he turns to the angel. Did he just say living together? It certainly appears on his face, like he means every word of what he just spewed out of his mouth. And in that case, no, he does not think so!

'I am not living here,' he says to the angel.

As though he knows better than anybody else, the angel simply smiles at him, before saying, 'You are.'

'If only you could make me,' he evenly returns, fiercely staring at the blue one.

He means it. It's not a threat, or a dictation of terms, it's simply him exercising his dominant authority, to silently prove that he is not confined to the same things as the rest of existence. Evidently, though, judging from his soft laugh, the angel finds some word of what he stated, funny. Does that stand to mean, that the angel doubts him?

'You're going to be quite entertaining, I suspect,' the angel answers his stare.

The angel seems to think it's funny to be laughed at, does he? He believes that he, Zamaku, will be entertainment for him? He is the owner of the name to be feared above all others, the one who no one can bear to hear, without quivering at the lip, for his magnificence, and yet the angel is degrading him this way? Reducing him to become an entertainment piece?

Well, he'll show him.

Acting quickly, to provoke the angel where it hurts, he swiftly lifts his knee upwards, to make impacted contact with the god before him, as he forces his own head to hit the purple god's forehead. As intended, the god is forced him back with great pain for company. An unexpected sound of 'oof' fills the air, right out of the god's own mouth, for his own discomfort. If Zamaku's being honest, he's amazed at what he did.

Then, he's shocked at the impact.

And finally, he feels a strong sense of pride.

How can he not feel all of those things, when his body has been doing all types of funny things from the beginning? He hoped it, but he didn't fully expect the attacks to pack that much force when they landed. He's amazed at how his body listened to him, not even that, it just naturally followed his thoughts and acted on them. He's shocked at the impact, because the god should've read that move, and avoided it, but apparently, he's just too fast to be caught even by the god's eye. That, he's proud of, that he looks at the angel simply to laugh in triumph.

'Like I said,' the angel inclines his head towards him, 'you're going to be quite entertaining.'

Following that, just like that, the angel leaves, confusing him a little bit. What, he doesn't care that his god was just hit? Wasn't he supposed to say something about his god being disrespected? It's not that he particularly cares, in any case, although, it would've been more satisfying to get a reaction. Nonetheless, he stands where he is, turning his back to the god, who is beginning to regain his composure.

'You hit me!' the god outrages, his hands still clutching his stomach in support.

'Your point?' he asks through a pulled face, because that isn't a secret.

To his visible glee, the god looks stunned and lost, and solely to leave him in that state, Zamaku decides to take his leave and look for the angel instead.


He'll admit that it's outside of his role to do the searching, for that angel no less, and yet, he feels an inexplicable burning to know something of what is going on, and why he doesn't have any recollection of anything. He hates to be the one on the needy end, however, he needs this, and so, he will do his best to make sure that he seems in perfect control throughout the entire conversation. He'll pose his questions, so that he doesn't have to ask them.

'The woman...' he starts when he finds the angel standing at the bank of the water.

He doesn't remember anything about her after displaying her lack of fear for him, once he returned from the future. The most that sticks out about her in his mind, is how she didn't bow in fear as the rest of the people who met him, did.

'Do you really care?' the angel asks, facing him for good measure.

All right, firstly, he will not be questioned, but... Since the question has been produced, he's inclined to analyse it in his head. What he knows so far, is that she's the one person who defied him, who didn't look afraid of him at all. In a sea of looks of fear that he got from everyone else, her unbothered face sticks out in his memory, and... He wonders, does she feel anything at all, now that he is here? If she wasn't afraid of him, she most probably doesn't care where he is... But still, the question remains, does he care?

'She is worried about you,' the angel tells him, using two of his fingers to trace a hooked v in the air between them, and then adds, 'You remember, don't you?'

Strangely, all of a sudden, he does have a vivid recollection now. What bothers him about the memories flooding his mind, isn't that he realises that the angel had tampered with his mind, it's actually seeing the insolent behaviour of the woman, and her nerve to challenge him, as though they are equals. And then... To make matters worse, she displayed the infuriating attitude of daring to show him compassion and worry!

Absolutely not! He already felt that at the time of her blatant disrespect, but being presented with the memory now, he thinks those previous thoughts all over again. Clearly, he needs to show her where her place is, because he can't have her treating him as one of the others in her life.

'She knows I'm here?' he wonders more to himself than asks the angel.

'Possibly not,' the angel responds. 'Would you like to see her?'

He hears the question, and frankly, he doesn't care much to answer it, more than he thinks that he will see her in any case. Naturally, thinking that way, he doesn't give the angel an answer, who in turn, silently looks at him, possibly contemplating something, from the looks of it.

'She was making me food,' he remembers, slightly redirecting the conversation.

She was making him food, his thoughts concentrate on that for a moment. Still, though, she angers him. His thoughts of her making him food, lead him to what the angel told him. In fact, it has more to do with his memory in the bathroom, than what the angel told him.

Why should she worry about him?

And why does he feel strange inside, when remembering her worried eyes, and realising the care that she carries for him?

Why is he feeling that and anger at the same time?

No, really, (he pointedly looks at the angel, as though waiting for an actual answer) he wants to know why does she have to feel like that about him?

He doesn't know what it is, but his inside, not his head, feels that she could spend her time doing something else, but she's choosing to be worried about him. It shouldn't be that way, his inside feels, and suddenly, he just wants to hit the angel.

That feeling, he doesn't like.

The part about hitting the angel yes, that he loves to no end, but feeling angry with her for being worried, no, he doesn't like. He wants that feeling to go away altogether. Perhaps, if he sees her... It will go away...? There's nothing like looking anger in the face...

'I want my food,' he says, putting it out there that he has every intention of going back to that woman.

'We have food here,' he is told by the angel. 'You are not a prisoner. You are free to do as you please. To an extent, of course.'

Added on to the previous rash reason, now he has another reason to want to hit the angel. Who does the angel think he is, telling him what rights he has?

'I don't need your permission, or approval to do anything around here,' he hotly retorts. 'You must not realise just how powerful I am, angel.'

'No,' the angel disagrees with him, 'I do realise it. Which is why you are here. I don't particularly want the same thing that happened to Zamasu, to happen to you.'

Zamasu. Of course! How did he forget about that one? Zamasu is... To him, specifically, Zamasu is fragment of something not particularly important. He doesn't know how to describe it exactly, although, at the moment, he can say that his only concern for Zamasu, extends only to curiosity. Curiosity, but in the form of enquiring what plan the angel and his god, have for him, that supposedly happened to Zamasu. Nothing more than that.

'What happened to Zamasu?'

At first, the angel only looks straight at him. His eyes don't give much away, that is until a small gleam runs over them, only to disappear the next second. All of a sudden, looking at the angel, he is inclined to believe that the angel is fighting with himself in his mind, whether to speak of one thing, or tell him the other alternative.

'All you need to know,' the angel speaks at last, 'is that you will never see him again. Nobody will.'

Well, what does he do with that information? Nothing at all, his head tells him. It's better that he focuses on something that he can rectify, not useless information.

'I want to eat,' he sighs, oddly feeling minimal effects of exertion. 'Take me to eat.'

'I'm sure you can find the kitchen by yourself,' the angel says. 'I already told you that you aren't imprisoned.'

'Take me to the woman to eat,' he clarifies, just barely managing to not raise his voice with impatience for his tardiness to understand.

He's not asking for permission, because he can just go to her. He only wants it clear that his feelings about that woman, are purely hostile. He doesn't want to it to be mistaken, that he has some fixation with her either, but the problem is, she is the only one so far who hasn't trembled in fear, and that, he takes as an insult. He has to scare her, and then only he will be satisfied.

'Well, I suppose I should,' the angel considers by tilting his head to the side. 'It was rather unfair how we took you from her. I suppose that I owe it to her, to say a proper goodbye to you. Stand behind me, please. And place your hand on my back.'


He should've thought of some scare tactic on the way here, Zamaku reprimands himself. Now that he's arrived with the angel, and he finds her heavily seated on the couch, he regrets that he didn't make a well showy entrance. That, at least, would've inspired a different attitude in her once she realised that he was back in the house with her. None of her looking drained, and remaining seated, would've happened, had he made a proper entrance.

'Where is my food?' he demands in the calmest tone possible.

He should be using a louder tone, a more frightening and threatening tone, in fact, however, he is not a barbarian. He is not uncivilized to that point of raising his voice to command fear out of her, least of all when she looks that drained. Perhaps that time will come, (with her, he cannot say that it won't come), but until it comes, he will not stoop to find it this early on. Fortunately, she finds the demand in his voice, and easily gets up from her seat.

Yes, she should serve without defiance!

Her energy is not lively, but somehow he just knows that she is not tired. She is the difference between exhausted energy, and non-existent energy. It's peculiar about her... Nonetheless, he watches her go to the kitchen and deftly go about bringing out what she needs to, in preparation for him to begin eating. He finds it peculiar, though, why hasn't she said anything all this time? She's looked at him, she's clearly seen him, but why hasn't she spoken one single word to him? And for the hatred of irritation, why does he feel that she should rather be clinging onto him, and expressing how glad she is to have him back? Just why?

Mostly because he doesn't want his mind to dwell on his feelings, he goes to sit down at the table. Not so long after that, she places an empty plate in front of him, silently telling him to start with the dishes laid out on the table, while she takes a seat across from him. Although he does spare her a look to see if she will finally say something to him, he doesn't urge her to, when he realises that she simply plan to watch him.

No matter, he shrugs away and returning to his plate, she may watch him, and may take in all of his magnificence as he eats in the meantime. He won't deny her the privilege.

Halfway through his meal, which he is inelegantly, against his will, gobbling down, he feels her softly place her hand over his, before he lifts his eyes from his plate to her hand. From the sharpest corner of his mind, he feels the urge to outrage at himself for putting his free hand on the table, and allowing her the opportunity to touch him. Except, her still small voice pours a volume of water on that particular flame of his.

'Do you like the food?'

He had been about to swallow the food in his mouth, when he stops just like that. He'd been looking at her before, but now that he's not chewing his food anymore, he can finally see her in her completeness.

He should close his eyes, he thinks.

Just as he regretted putting his hand on the table, he immediately regrets keeping his eyes on her, because there are all types of telling features on her face. Her eyes speak the loudest to him. He would've liked for it to end there, with her eyes, only, her crooked smile does more than speak, it paints a distorted picture. Much more than her crooked smile, though, her reddening nose tells a deeper story than that surface picture. And then her coloured cheeks... They emboss more prominently that she is not happy.

He can't tell what she is, but he just knows what she is not at the moment. Obviously, something is wrong with him, because he doesn't feel invincible anymore.

Looking at his hand under her soft and gentle touch, he concludes that something is wrong with him indeed. That's just completely wrong. He then shifts his gaze from his hand to the angel, waiting to see how he'll handle this, and perhaps confirm once more that something is wrong with him. The angel does nothing, not in movement, not in speech, so he returns his attention to the woman. He hasn't yet said anything to her, because he doesn't know where to start. Much less now that...

A deliberate clearing of the throat from his side, interrupts his concentration on her, but he doesn't look away from her. If he is to look away from her, she should do it first.

'Miss Chi-Chi, is it?' the angel speaks, making her turn to him. 'I think it's time to go.'

In response, she quakes at the announcement. That observation, makes him hastily turn from her, to the angel. From what he sees, the angle doesn't appear to be making a light joke, which is why he looks back at the woman.

But how?

How can she look so distraught about what was said, without making the effort to do anything about it? Just how? And how does she just lift her hand off his, leaving him with the strangest cold in her hand's place?

'I'm not finished,' he angrily growls over his shoulder to the angel, not all that sure why he is suddenly very angry.

'This was never for you,' the angel softly reminds him.

He's not complaining for himself either, a soft voice in his head says.

He would've given time to contend that voice, but right then, the woman turns away from him. She does is so expertly, like she had been expecting to do it, but not before he's caught the shine of tears in her eyes. It's only that instantly after that, the angel touches him, and they are suddenly gone from that setting, that he doesn't get to investigate this attitude of hers.

'What do you want with me?' he demands of the angel, fiercely turning around to be eye to eye with him.

They are no longer in the presence of that woman, but they haven't started their travelling journey yet

'You must separate as a fusion, before we allow you back on Earth again,' the angel tells him. 'It is said that a fusion for those not gods only lasts an hour, but it has been more than that for you, which is worrisome. And so, until you can separate into two beings again, you will have no access to the Earth again. That was a small courtesy that I owed that poor woman, but no more. You will never leave Lord Beerus' planet again. Your hand on my back, please.'

How was that a courtesy for her, if he didn't even get to hear her say anything to him? She clearly turned away from him, not saying anything, and again, he was left feeling that he isn't invincible, and the angel claims that to be a courteous thing?

'I'm not going back with you,' he announces, mentally preparing himself to go back into the house.

'Try anything,' the angel warns him, 'and I will have you back here sooner than you can run. Do not make me lose patience with you, sir.'

Through his anger, and feelings of incomplete business in that house, he somehow manages to find a great thrill in the angel's warning, setting him ablaze with curiosity to test that statement.

Chapter 10, Jellyfish In The Sky.