[Dragonball Z] Evolution Saga│MA (NC-17)│Vegeta
Title: The Evolution Saga - These are a series of vignettes that chronicle the evolution of Bulma and Vegeta's relationship starting on Namek and continuing through to the android saga.
Chapter 1 - Death
Author: Winter Ashby (rosweldrmr)
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Akira Toriyama-sama or DBZ.
Rating: MA. No children under 17. Mature readers only.
Summary: As his eyes watered and slipped shut, Vegeta recalls long ago memories of a past that still haunts him. Is there any hope of redemption?
Authors Notes: Warning: contains violence, yaoi, pedophile rape, and character death.
Hollow black eyes met the cold grey wall with a devastating clash of skull hitting metal. A large blue hand tangled in unruly thick spikes as his chest was slammed against the metal wall. He could feel the heat of another body press flat against his small back. The 15 year old refused to close his eyes. He had too much pride to let this lowly henchmen bring the mighty sayajin prince to bring him pain. Instead, he held his head high, as best he could, while the repulsive grunts floated through the thick air to reach his ears.
“That’s it, my little Vegeta-chan, be strong.” The sickening voice came from somewhere so far in the distance he thought it might have been a dream. But the older man’s body invading his own as he was held in place was no dream, and it was worse than a nightmare because it was real. The real metal slid under the slick skin of his face. It wasn’t tears though, but the perspiration from the concentration of trying to remain whole.
The searing pain that rippled though his body and tore at a vacant hole in his chest was real. The faceless horror that sat in the shadows, hovering, tail twitching, smug grin lining his impossibly evil face as he looked on and watched his beautiful minion violate his stolen prodigy with a glint in his eyes - that was real.
But Vegeta was strong, and refused to let this break him. He was all that remained of the royal line of sayajins, and surely the last hope in the universe to achieve the legendary super sayajin and defeat the tyrant that murdered his father and destroyed his race. He steeled himself against the cold metal and braced his hands as his tiny frame was rocked over and over again with the violent breach of his body.
He allowed his mind one glance from the side over his shoulder as he watched his assailant twist and contort his face in mindless abandonment while his demented king looked on with unbridled joy. Vegeta understood this was no about sexual arousal for the lizard king. He doubted that he could even comprehend the thought of sex. No, he’d figured out at an even younger age that this was about power.
He remembered the first night he spent alone in a cold cell on this tainted ship of fear and power because it had been the last night he was whole. After that, all that was left of the child who had arrived was a boy who hated. He hated himself because part of his bitter sayajin heart yearned for home. And he hated his father for being so weak, and his people for being such mindless cattle, and his new captor for being the monster he was, and his useless, childish hands for not being able to stop them from shaking.
Green, matted hair clung to the side of his face and the smell alone made him want to vomit, but the grunts and sickening words that the older man slipped into his mind as he ran his tongue down the boy’s ear made his heart harden even more. So he stood, the proud prince of the greatest warriors that ever were and let his horrible act happen. Because he was biding time, waiting, training, becoming strong. And then one day, he would be the super sayajin, and all this would fade away into the oblivion that he’d send their bodies.
He imagined dismembering them, piece by piece. He’d watch as they plead for their lives. He’d laugh then, that nearly insane, maniacal laughter that he was so good at because their supplications would be the sweetest music his bruised ears and cold heart would ever hear. Then he would crush their skulls with his booted foot and spit on their burning flesh and piss on their putrid ashes.
This is what Vegeta would imagine as he was being raped again and again, each night, every night that he was in that retched ship. The prince held his ground as the spasms that rocked the man behind him signified the end of just another day in the hell he lived.
“Oh, ho ho ho ho ho.” Freiza’s disgusting voice came from the darkness of the room and Vegeta didn’t have to look to know that he was licking his lips. He always licked his lips when it was done, like he was envious. “That was very good, was it not, Zarbo-san?”
“Indeed, Freiza-sama, that was beautiful.” Then he would lean in and run his hot, rancid tongue down his neck and taste the salty sweat that accumulated at his high hairline. It was always beautiful, every night he was demeaned even farther to be ridiculed the way they addressed him and undressed him. “Didn’t you think so, Vegeta-chan?” he whispered in his ear as a free hand lingered up then younger man’s taught, muscular sides. Then they reached around and gently pinched his nipple.
He had to suppress the ripple of pure hate that threatened to overtake him then. He could feel his own power grow and desperately reminded himself, over and over, that one day he would he the super sayajin and then he’d have his revenge. Finally the body was gone, and his naked form was left cold, and bare against the walls of his chamber.
He reached for his suit and armor that lay in a neatly folded pile next to him. He genuinely hate himself then, for being so weak that he was already undressed when the clock rang midnight and the doors slid open. What a good little sex slave he was, ready and willing. He could feel the familiar, yet no less revolting tears begin to form in his eyes, and his tired legs wanted nothing more than to collapse and bring the cold floor rushing up to meet his face. At least then the pain would be his own, and the blood spilling would be from his own inflictions. But the trickle of red that oozed down his convulsing thighs was not his choice.
“Mateo, Vegeta-chan.” He could hear the subtle passing of the air in the room over the sleek pod that carried the false king. “Do you not wish to please your king?” he clenched his fists at his side and enjoyed the feeling of digging his nails into the calloused palms of his proud, warrior hands. He refused to turn - but his stomach sank to the depths of his feet at the knowing image this oh-so-familiar line.
“Eya, Freiza-sama.” His chilling voice was far too old for his age, and slathered with all the hate that he would never allow his heart to feel. Because he knew, if he ever allowed himself to full express the overwhelming hate that plagues the insides of his soul, he would shatter. And he was far too proud to allow his own hatred to be the thing that finally tore open his chest. So he stood and braced himself for the inevitable.
It didn’t matter how many times he did it, Vegeta would never get used to the revolting act that the demented ruler would often insist upon. He didn’t flinch a muscle as a cold, leathery tail slid up his inner thigh and caught his spilling blood and pooled it at the tip of the tail just before it pulled away. Vegeta only looked once as he’d lifted it to his lips and flicked his tongue out to taste the mortality of his pupil. But he just couldn’t bring himself to look after that first time. Just knowing what was happening behind him was bad enough. He would no longer shame himself at the sight of his own, intimate blood on the tyrant’s lips.
Vegeta swore that night, just like he had every other night since he first learned what it was like to be violated, that someday he would become the legendary super sayajin and then he’d finally make Freiza pay for the years of abuse and degradation he subjected him to. But even in the dazzling daylight of a foreign plant, he could feel this childhood fantasies slipping away as his own desperate hand blurred in front of his face.
The noble figure that stood in defiance of the weakness that clouded his heart was a welcome reprieve from the distant memory that should not have fired through his mind as he lay, dying. He would die this day, unfulfilled, broken, a failure, and he betrayed his own convictions one last time to weep and plead the last remaining vestige of his race to avenge his death and uphold the sayajin pride. The tears mounted, and slipped past his unwilling eyes.
Because he would never be the super sayajin and all those years of abuse were for nothing. All his hate and cold, dead heart had gained him nothing. In the end, it was a tainted heart of love and unwavering compassion that surpassed all expectations and stood against his childhood torturer. It would be the compassion from a stranger that would avenge his injustices, be he just wasn’t strong enough.
The pain was rippling, just like it had been that day on that ship so many years ago. But now he let the tears fall, because it didn’t make any difference now anyway. And as the sweeping blackness of oblivion overtook him, idly he wondered what hell would be like. His eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds then, so he let them slide shut as the blackness waited for him just on the other side.
But before he descended into the abyss for the last time, there was the faintest flash of bright blue that streaked across his mind and gripped at the inner tendrils of his heart. He felt like if he could just touch the blue, that somehow it would all be better, like the hole in his chest would be filled and the sun would finally shine for him as well. With that as his last thought, Vegeta, the great Sayajin Prince died.
---
There will be more...
Chapter 1 - Death
Author: Winter Ashby (rosweldrmr)
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Akira Toriyama-sama or DBZ.
Rating: MA. No children under 17. Mature readers only.
Summary: As his eyes watered and slipped shut, Vegeta recalls long ago memories of a past that still haunts him. Is there any hope of redemption?
Authors Notes: Warning: contains violence, yaoi, pedophile rape, and character death.
Hollow black eyes met the cold grey wall with a devastating clash of skull hitting metal. A large blue hand tangled in unruly thick spikes as his chest was slammed against the metal wall. He could feel the heat of another body press flat against his small back. The 15 year old refused to close his eyes. He had too much pride to let this lowly henchmen bring the mighty sayajin prince to bring him pain. Instead, he held his head high, as best he could, while the repulsive grunts floated through the thick air to reach his ears.
“That’s it, my little Vegeta-chan, be strong.” The sickening voice came from somewhere so far in the distance he thought it might have been a dream. But the older man’s body invading his own as he was held in place was no dream, and it was worse than a nightmare because it was real. The real metal slid under the slick skin of his face. It wasn’t tears though, but the perspiration from the concentration of trying to remain whole.
The searing pain that rippled though his body and tore at a vacant hole in his chest was real. The faceless horror that sat in the shadows, hovering, tail twitching, smug grin lining his impossibly evil face as he looked on and watched his beautiful minion violate his stolen prodigy with a glint in his eyes - that was real.
But Vegeta was strong, and refused to let this break him. He was all that remained of the royal line of sayajins, and surely the last hope in the universe to achieve the legendary super sayajin and defeat the tyrant that murdered his father and destroyed his race. He steeled himself against the cold metal and braced his hands as his tiny frame was rocked over and over again with the violent breach of his body.
He allowed his mind one glance from the side over his shoulder as he watched his assailant twist and contort his face in mindless abandonment while his demented king looked on with unbridled joy. Vegeta understood this was no about sexual arousal for the lizard king. He doubted that he could even comprehend the thought of sex. No, he’d figured out at an even younger age that this was about power.
He remembered the first night he spent alone in a cold cell on this tainted ship of fear and power because it had been the last night he was whole. After that, all that was left of the child who had arrived was a boy who hated. He hated himself because part of his bitter sayajin heart yearned for home. And he hated his father for being so weak, and his people for being such mindless cattle, and his new captor for being the monster he was, and his useless, childish hands for not being able to stop them from shaking.
Green, matted hair clung to the side of his face and the smell alone made him want to vomit, but the grunts and sickening words that the older man slipped into his mind as he ran his tongue down the boy’s ear made his heart harden even more. So he stood, the proud prince of the greatest warriors that ever were and let his horrible act happen. Because he was biding time, waiting, training, becoming strong. And then one day, he would be the super sayajin, and all this would fade away into the oblivion that he’d send their bodies.
He imagined dismembering them, piece by piece. He’d watch as they plead for their lives. He’d laugh then, that nearly insane, maniacal laughter that he was so good at because their supplications would be the sweetest music his bruised ears and cold heart would ever hear. Then he would crush their skulls with his booted foot and spit on their burning flesh and piss on their putrid ashes.
This is what Vegeta would imagine as he was being raped again and again, each night, every night that he was in that retched ship. The prince held his ground as the spasms that rocked the man behind him signified the end of just another day in the hell he lived.
“Oh, ho ho ho ho ho.” Freiza’s disgusting voice came from the darkness of the room and Vegeta didn’t have to look to know that he was licking his lips. He always licked his lips when it was done, like he was envious. “That was very good, was it not, Zarbo-san?”
“Indeed, Freiza-sama, that was beautiful.” Then he would lean in and run his hot, rancid tongue down his neck and taste the salty sweat that accumulated at his high hairline. It was always beautiful, every night he was demeaned even farther to be ridiculed the way they addressed him and undressed him. “Didn’t you think so, Vegeta-chan?” he whispered in his ear as a free hand lingered up then younger man’s taught, muscular sides. Then they reached around and gently pinched his nipple.
He had to suppress the ripple of pure hate that threatened to overtake him then. He could feel his own power grow and desperately reminded himself, over and over, that one day he would he the super sayajin and then he’d have his revenge. Finally the body was gone, and his naked form was left cold, and bare against the walls of his chamber.
He reached for his suit and armor that lay in a neatly folded pile next to him. He genuinely hate himself then, for being so weak that he was already undressed when the clock rang midnight and the doors slid open. What a good little sex slave he was, ready and willing. He could feel the familiar, yet no less revolting tears begin to form in his eyes, and his tired legs wanted nothing more than to collapse and bring the cold floor rushing up to meet his face. At least then the pain would be his own, and the blood spilling would be from his own inflictions. But the trickle of red that oozed down his convulsing thighs was not his choice.
“Mateo, Vegeta-chan.” He could hear the subtle passing of the air in the room over the sleek pod that carried the false king. “Do you not wish to please your king?” he clenched his fists at his side and enjoyed the feeling of digging his nails into the calloused palms of his proud, warrior hands. He refused to turn - but his stomach sank to the depths of his feet at the knowing image this oh-so-familiar line.
“Eya, Freiza-sama.” His chilling voice was far too old for his age, and slathered with all the hate that he would never allow his heart to feel. Because he knew, if he ever allowed himself to full express the overwhelming hate that plagues the insides of his soul, he would shatter. And he was far too proud to allow his own hatred to be the thing that finally tore open his chest. So he stood and braced himself for the inevitable.
It didn’t matter how many times he did it, Vegeta would never get used to the revolting act that the demented ruler would often insist upon. He didn’t flinch a muscle as a cold, leathery tail slid up his inner thigh and caught his spilling blood and pooled it at the tip of the tail just before it pulled away. Vegeta only looked once as he’d lifted it to his lips and flicked his tongue out to taste the mortality of his pupil. But he just couldn’t bring himself to look after that first time. Just knowing what was happening behind him was bad enough. He would no longer shame himself at the sight of his own, intimate blood on the tyrant’s lips.
Vegeta swore that night, just like he had every other night since he first learned what it was like to be violated, that someday he would become the legendary super sayajin and then he’d finally make Freiza pay for the years of abuse and degradation he subjected him to. But even in the dazzling daylight of a foreign plant, he could feel this childhood fantasies slipping away as his own desperate hand blurred in front of his face.
The noble figure that stood in defiance of the weakness that clouded his heart was a welcome reprieve from the distant memory that should not have fired through his mind as he lay, dying. He would die this day, unfulfilled, broken, a failure, and he betrayed his own convictions one last time to weep and plead the last remaining vestige of his race to avenge his death and uphold the sayajin pride. The tears mounted, and slipped past his unwilling eyes.
Because he would never be the super sayajin and all those years of abuse were for nothing. All his hate and cold, dead heart had gained him nothing. In the end, it was a tainted heart of love and unwavering compassion that surpassed all expectations and stood against his childhood torturer. It would be the compassion from a stranger that would avenge his injustices, be he just wasn’t strong enough.
The pain was rippling, just like it had been that day on that ship so many years ago. But now he let the tears fall, because it didn’t make any difference now anyway. And as the sweeping blackness of oblivion overtook him, idly he wondered what hell would be like. His eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds then, so he let them slide shut as the blackness waited for him just on the other side.
But before he descended into the abyss for the last time, there was the faintest flash of bright blue that streaked across his mind and gripped at the inner tendrils of his heart. He felt like if he could just touch the blue, that somehow it would all be better, like the hole in his chest would be filled and the sun would finally shine for him as well. With that as his last thought, Vegeta, the great Sayajin Prince died.
---
There will be more...