Hello, true believers!

	I suppose I should spank myself for almost completely
forgetting to repost this.  I feel so selfish. <sob>
	In any case, this is the last of the reposting for
Don Juan's soon-to-be-epic DBZ fic "The Three-Fold God's Path"
episode four.  Please, C&C can be passed through me, and I'll
try to get it through to my good buddy (who, like the rest of
us, is probably cramming for his finals).
	Thank you, and enjoy the in-flight movie. ^_^

						Switch, for Don Juan
						who plans to be back
						for the summer.

--------------------------------------------------------------
Hey, surely you know by now, 


The Three-fold God's Path

a DragonBall fanfic

by Nikholas "Don Juan" F. Toledo (the overseas correspondent)



is presented by NFT productions.


episode 4:  When Madness Strikes


	"YEEEEEEAAAAARRRGH!  SHIT!  SHIT!  SHIT!"  

	Arien screamed as he clutched at his guts, desperately checking if 
they were still all there.  

	He'd been experimenting that day on a technique he'd thought of 
based on some of the principles of chi that the Scroll taught.  
	It was a modification of what most of the fighters that could do it 
called teleporting.  Normal teleporting involves putting oneself into 
one's chi, and using willpower to move the chi to where one wants it to 
go.  The body just follows the chi, riding on the waveform of one's 
spirit.  Arien had tried adapting it into an attack.  

	"Stupid!  Soooo stupid!"  

	He cursed himself a thousand times over as he concentrated, 
repairing the extreme damage he'd done to himself with flows of his chi. 
 

	The theory he'd come up with was that he if he could convert his 
body to pure energy, controlling it with chi the same as in 
teleportation, he could ram into an opponent, passing through the 
opponent completely and doing massive quantities of internal damage in 
the process by disrupting the intermolecular bonds.  It was a technique 
that could potentially kill even the Saiyajin.

	After satisfying himself that he could partly change his body into 
energy and back, he'd tried the technique on a boulder.  

	It had worked.  The boulder had disintegrated, most of the bonds 
between its molecules disrupted by Arien's energy form passing through 
them.    

	Except that Arien had made a mistake.  Breaking those bonds took up 
energy.  Energy that had come from HIS body.  After that stunt, he nearly 
didn't have enough energy left to recreate his body.  He'd very nearly 
killed himself.  He'd known that he would inevitably lose some of the 
energy of his body, but he'd thought that he could pick up enough from 
the energy released by the broken molecular bonds to make up for the 
energy loss.  He'd very nearly been wrong.  The problem was that the 
energy released had just exploded outward, dissipating very quickly - so 
quickly that he'd only absorbed a fraction of it.  

	He cursed some more as he slowly regenerated the badly damaged 
tissues of his body.  He'd had just enough energy left over to properly 
re-create his nervous system, but other, less major organ systems hadn't 
reformed completely due to the energy loss.  

	His mind worked quickly on the task at hand.  Staying alive.  
Thankfully, he still had a large store of spirit energy from the power 
he'd gained by studying the scroll.  That reserve of energy was rapidly 
being depleted as he converted it to matter that his cells desperately 
needed.  

	He'd never had to heal himself so quickly before, and the effort 
was incredibly taxing.  It felt as though he'd been lying there in agony 
for hours, though it had really just been a few minutes.  Eventually, he 
finished healing himself, exhausted and totally drained.  

	He grimly thought of what would have happened had he been even 
slightly less powerful than he was.  

	Shakily, he stood up, naked except for the blood covering him.  He 
did one more check that he was all there in one piece.  

	That was one technique he wasn't going to be trying again any time 
soon.  

	"Huh.  If I were Saiyajin, I'd have had more than enough energy for 
the trick.  If only I were stronger...."

	
	"If only I were stronger..."

	"Goten, why do you need to become stronger?  There hasn't been a 
major menace threatening the world in years, and there's no indication 
that there's going to be another one in a while.  What's wrong?"  Gohan 
spoke as he juggled several dozen dishes in his hands, washing, drying 
and stacking them one after the other, keeping everything more or less in 
the air until it was all dry.  	
	Goten wondered just how out of condition his brother was if he 
could still pull off stunts that required that much hand-eye 
coordination.  

	"Well...  'Nii-chan...  It's Trunks.  I haven't won a single match 
against him in two years.  Ever since his father took him on that one 
training trip in the summer."

	By this time, Gohan had finished with the dishes and was now 
starting with the pots and pans.  He frowned.

	"So?  Nothing wrong with that.  You'll catch up someday, and beat 
him, then he'll catch up with you, and beat you, and the whole cycle will 
repeat.  That's how it's always been hasn't it?"

	Goten shook his head.  "That's the whole point, 'Nii-chan.  The 
cycle isn't repeating this time.  Trunks just keeps getting stronger and 
stronger, and I can't keep up.  And it's not just that he beats me all 
the time - I wouldn't mind if that was all.  He's changed.  He's 
gotten...  meaner.  Harder.  More like..."

	Gohan stacked the newly brightened, shiny cooking ware off to one 
side.  "More like his father?"

	Goten whispered softly, "Yes."  

	"Well...  You know how rough it must be to have a father like 
Vegita.  Even now that he's changed and is almost slightly showing signs 
of humanity and kindness, I'm sure it's still hard on Trunks.  That's 
probably all.  I mean, Goku is a pretty bad father, right?"

	Goten looked shocked.  "Gohan!"

	The elder brother smiled.  "Oh, I don't mean anything by it, Goten. 
 But it's true.  Our father really isn't cut out to be anything other 
than a fighter.  Well, maybe he's a good teacher too, but that doesn't 
make a good father.  Who acted more a father to you, me or 'Tou-san?"  

	Gohan dried his hands with a minor burst of chi.  "You don't have 
to answer, I know it's not a fair question.  Still, you know how absent-
minded Dad was about everything other than fighting.  It's not his fault, 
it's just the way he is.  Mother understands that, and doesn't try to 
change him anymore."

	"So what does that have to do with Trunks?"  Goten looked puzzled, 
arching his eyebrows in a way that nearly made Gohan laugh - he looked so 
much like their father sometimes.  

	"Well," he sat down beside Goten, placing his arm around the 
younger Saiyajin's shoulders, "at the very least, Father always gave us 
his affection and love freely, generously.  You could never doubt that he 
cared about his children.  Imagine how hard it would have been to have a 
father like Vegita.  Never a sign of affection.  Maybe a criticism about 
your fighting technique and a sneer all there was that said he cared 
about you.  Oh, he's gotten better since he died and was brought back, 
but he still has problems with showing any emotion other than anger and 
hatred."

	Goten looked troubled.  "So Trunks is acting more like his father 
to try to satisfy him somehow?"  

	"Maybe.  Maybe not.  Still, it's best to give him the benefit of 
the doubt, right?  He needs a friend like you, Goten."

	Goten sighed.  "Yes, 'Nii-chan." 

	Gohan examined his brother carefully.  "Look, if it bothers you so 
much, I could practice with you."

	The young college student was startled, blurting out, "but I 
thought you gave up fighting?"  He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, 
knowing that this was an uncomfortable subject for his brother.  

	Gohan stood and walked to the window looking out over the hillside 
where he lived.  

	"You were too young to understand when I stopped fighting, weren't 
you?"

	Goten answered, cautiously, "Well...  All I picked up from Dad and 
Mom was that your heart never really was in fighting.  And when things 
became peaceful, you just wanted to become the scholar."

	The other answered, slowly.  "That was certainly a part of it...  
What Kaio-shin did to me...  Well, there were quite a few consequences, 
Goten.  You know how it made me more powerful?"

	"Yes..."

	"It...  made me too powerful.  What did you think when I stopped 
transforming into a super-Saiyajin?"

	Goten twiddled his thumbs, troubled by this line of thought.  "I... 
 I thought it was a side-effect.  You became much stronger, but you 
couldn't transform anymore."

	Gohan shook his head.  "I stopped transforming because I became so 
strong that I was afraid of it...  Afraid of all that power.  I didn't 
think I could control all the energy if I ever completed the 
transformation to super-Saiyajin again.  So...  I stopped escalating in 
power.  Didn't want to.  Too scared that the next step in getting 
stronger would make me lose control...  You know how hatred is the root 
of our power, right?  It's how we draw on the massive reserves of chi in 
our spirits.  Well," Gohan slowly began to glow as one by one he dropped 
the restraints he'd carefully built up around his power.  "I was afraid 
that becoming stronger would make me crazy.  That the blood-lust would 
take full control of me and make me the next monster earth would face.  
I'd become a creature of pure hatred and energy...  Goten, could you 
imagine what could happen if I became super-Saiyajin and lost control?  
Do you remember Brawley?  I would be far, far worse."

	Goten was awed.  His brother's aura... was growing.  And growing.  
And growing...  Not quickly enough so that it exploded out of his body in 
the blazing light-show normally associated with powering up, but...  The 
majestic golden light shining from his form was increasing, slowly and 
steadily, at a relaxed pace that was nothing like the fast, sudden surge 
Goten was used to from the others.  And now...  His brother was past the 
power level of the first stage of normal super-Saiyajin, and he was still 
just standing there, effortlessly containing it.  His eyes were still 
their normal dark brown, his hair their family's jet black.  Gohan was 
containing it so well that none of the catastrophic effects of powering 
up that Goten was used to were happening.  Not enough of his chi was 
leaking out to cause any disruptions in the natural chi of the earth.  No 
earth-quake, no hurricane force winds.  And Gohan wasn't even close to 
completing the transformation to his first stage of super-Saiyajin yet.  
Goten sensed that this was...  this was Gohan's normal level of energy.  
This was his resting-state...  This is how powerful he was without trying 
to charge up...

	"I never realized..."  It came out in a hoarse whisper.  

	"That's the real reason why I stopped training.  The only ones who 
completely understand my reasons are Father, Videl, and now you.  The 
nature of my training changed.  Instead of learning how to become 
stronger, I had to concentrate on learning how to keep my strength under 
control.  It was difficult learning how to restrain my chi enough so that 
nothing would happen while I slept, and dreamed.  So you see," Gohan 
turned around, facing Goten.  "There is a great deal that I could teach 
you about the power, if that is what you really want.  The question is, 
Goten, can you accept the responsibility that goes with such power?  You 
could already destroy the world if you wished, without even going super-
Saiyajin.  Do you realize now how frightening it is to have as much power 
as I do?"

	Goten nodded, disturbed.  

	"I could probably wipe out a galaxy at a time if I lost control," 
he paused.  "Besides, Goten, strength is hardly the only deciding factor 
in a battle.  Dad used to constantly fight people stronger than him.  And 
win.  It's not just a question of power.  It's a question of spirit.  
Would you take my power if you could, Goten?"

	"I...  No.  Not just to beat Trunks.  You're right.  It would be 
too scary, carrying all that power on my shoulders.  That's why you 
almost never get mad, huh?  You're afraid of what would happen if you 
really lost your temper.  I don't think...  I doubt I'd have so much 
self-control.  I'll find another way of beating Trunks."

	Gohan concentrated on bringing his power down again, careful not to 
move, afraid that a misstep would destroy his home.  When he'd fully 
concealed his chi again, he smiled, satisfied with his little brother's 
answer.  "Good.  It's more important how you use the power you've got 
than to gain more power that you don't have or maybe can't control."

	"Can you teach me how to use my power better, 'Nii-chan?"  

	Gohan shook his head with a regretful smile.  "I'm out of practice 
with the sort of techniques you want to learn, Goten.  My practicing the 
moves you want to learn...  could cause a great deal of damage.  My offer 
to spar with you and help you train...  Well, it still stands, but I 
can't really be a full sparring partner.  You understand the consequences 
if I don't properly perform a chi-technique...  So I'd be limited to just 
physical combat with you.  I'm sure you'll find someone out there who can 
teach you more..."  He cleared his throat.  "If worse comes to worse, you 
could try to find Father."

	Goten thought of...  what was his name?  Arien's words when he'd 
met him the other day.  Goten nodded,  "I think I might have an idea 
about that.  Not Father...  Someone I met..."  

	"In any case..."  Gohan stretched, various joints popping and 
creaking as he did so,  "Do you still want to come with me and Videl on 
that camping trip we're planning for winter break?  You can bring along a 
friend or two if you like.  I was about to invite Trunks, but since I see 
that you two aren't on very good terms..."

	Hesitantly, Goten answered, "I... guess I'll go.  And I think, I 
think I will invite Trunks.  Maybe we can still work it out without 
fighting."

	"And?"  Gohan was smirking mischievously now.  

	"And what, 'Nii-chan?"  Goten looked completely bewildered at his 
brother's expression.  

	"And what about this girl with the blue hair that I've heard so 
much about?  I'm sure you could convince her to come if you could get a 
one or two of her friends to join us..."

	Goten blushed an extraordinary shade of red.  "Uh, well...  I don't 
know about that 'Nii-chan..."  He thought of Ami, walking closely beside 
Trunks.  The way she cradled the flower that he knew was given to her by 
Trunks.  

	"Goten, you're not giving up are you?  Like I said.  Strength isn't 
the only factor in a battle.  Ask her to come.  And if Trunks feels as 
uncomfortable with you now as you do with him, it'll give him another 
reason to join us despite his discomfort."

	"How..."  Goten looked fairly stunned at this point.  "How did you 
find out about Trunks and... Ami?"  

	Gohan smiled mysteriously.  "Trade secret.  Your big brother knows 
everything, right?"  He laughed.


	Trunks stood on the edge of a cliff, his light, lavender hair 
whipping about in the wind.  His breath was ragged, and his chest felt 
torn up inside as he tried to ignore the pain.

	"Are you finished already, boy?"  

	The mocking voice was like a lash across his soul.  He screamed, 
his hair becoming the bright, searing fire that reflected his heritage, 
his physique becoming slightly bulkier as his body compensated for the 
increased energy that it now contained.  He charged at the source of that 
cruel, whipping voice.  

	He tasted blood as an armored boot slammed hard and fast against 
his jaw, sending him crashing down against the cliff-side.  
	"What kind of warrior are you?  So predictable...  No wonder the 
son of a low-class soldier could defeat you.  Could you possibly be my 
son?  I know how you ran away from Brawley...  How could that be 
possible?  How could that be when Kakarott's two sons stood up against 
him, knowing they could have died anyway?  Did I somehow raise a coward?"

	Trunks was exhausted, physically and mentally.  But he had to get 
up.  He had to stand up, and fight.  It was the only thing to do.  He 
coughed blood, and struggled.  Deep in the fogged haze of his thoughts 
the harsh tones of that voice wrapped around his soul, and set it on 
fire.  A fire that consumed thought, ate up everything in his soul.  

	The island they were on shuddered as the natural flows of chi on 
the earth were agitated by the growing concentration of energy inside 
Trunk's heart.  A massive earthquake struck, causing the cliffs about 
Trunks to collapse...  And Trunks' aura flared, the force of his spirit 
wiping clean every feature on the island, reducing it to a flat, rocky 
wasteland...

	He gasped, struggling to speak.

	"Saiyajin!  I am a Saiyajin warrior and your son, Father!  
HAAAAAAAAA!"  With that cry, something inside Trunks broke, and madness 
flooded him with an incredibly sweet rush of hatred.  So much power!  He 
couldn't see, he could only feel.  His body grew even larger, and as his 
features became harder and more chiseled, his hair became a long, flowing 
mass reaching down past his waist.  Energy that could shatter a hundred 
worlds filled his form, and he glowed with the light and fury of 
countless stars.

	At that, half the island disappeared into the ocean.
 
	He blinked.  He'd lost track of several moments, it had seemed.  
All to a red haze.  His hands were covered in blood.  Not his.  
Horrified, he saw his father's broken body in front of him.
  
	The voice gurgled wetly.  "Yes...  I guess you are...  my son."  As 
Vegita fought for every breath, his eyes gleamed with something 
frightening, and compelling.
	
	Trunks awoke, covered in sweat, sweat that had soaked through the 
bed, sweat that told him that it was a dream.  Panicked, he desperately 
clutched at his face, his hair, trying to make sure that he hadn't 
transformed in the night, and killed.  

	The dream came sometimes, whenever a day was particularly 
stressful, or whenever a day involved Goten.  The summer he'd spent 
training with his father hadn't really been like that...  had it?  Trunks 
struggled to remember, still partially caught up in the dream.  It hadn't 
been like that...  Not completely.  Vegita's words that summer hadn't 
really been that harsh...  And Trunks was sure that his father hadn't 
learned of how he'd wet his pants and run away in the fight with 
Brawley...  Had he?  What had he done to his father that summer?  He just 
couldn't remember...

	Sometimes, his thoughts grew so tangled up - the dream would mesh 
into reality, and he'd see flashes of scenes.  Scenes where, in place of 
the crowds of the city, hundreds of corpses he didn't recognize 
surrounded him, scenes where his parents lay crushed beneath his feet, 
where the earth was a dead husk consumed by his fire.  

	Somehow, he'd get his breathing under control, and as exhaustion 
would pull him back into a deep, dreamless sleep, he'd forget the dreams, 
remembering only a few fragments of how terrible they were.  

	It had been this way ever since Trunks had reached the level beyond 
the level beyond Super-Saiyajin.  Super Saiyajin 3.  He sometimes 
wondered if the power was worth the difficulty it caused him in his 
sleep.  Then he thought of what his father would say if he knew, and he 
just pushed it all down, deep in the greyness of his half-alien soul.  Of 
course the strength was worth it...  He'd get used to the dreams...  
someday.  He wondered if Kakarotto had ever had dreams like this...  

	He'd always fall asleep wondering just how much his father really 
knew. 


	"Aaaaarrgh!  I'm starting to go crazy.  It's a pretty bad sign when 
I start talking to myself."  Arien sighed.  

	It was difficult, the silent isolation of the caverns where he 
trained.  There was no one to talk to, there were only techniques to 
refine, and passages from the Scroll to translate.  And...  the memories 
of the dreams.  That slight, delicate touch, the kiss...  He hadn't 
dreamt of the voice in months, and...  he missed her.  It was strange, he 
thought.  

	When the voice had first started speaking to him those many years 
ago, he'd thought he was remembering old conversations with his mother... 
 but they weren't.  The voice had become more than just a vague 
recollection of his old memories, it had become his mentor, and more, it 
had become the closest there was he had to a friend.  

	Arien leaned back against the smooth coolness of the cavern wall, 
trying to remember every detail of his last dream of the voice.  She'd 
shown himself to him, and by God what a coward he'd been, he hadn't had 
the guts to finally look...  She'd even kissed him, and his lips still 
burned at the memory.  

	How could the voice in his mind be so real?  He'd asked himself a 
thousand times since that first time it had spoken to him.  Was he mad?  
It was something that had never stopped bothering him.

	He remembered the first time the voice had spoken to him, so very 
long ago...  in another lifetime.  When his name wasn't a cruel joke, 
reminding him of what he'd become.    

	He was a child.  Living in a perfect world - a world filled with 
hazy images of his parents, laughing and smiling, and his brother...

	He'd forgotten so much but it always surprised him when he'd dig 
through his memories, and sometimes turn up a sparkling jewel of a 
memory, clear and unblemished.  

	The calendar on the wall read December, and December meant 
Christmas.  

	A perfect day in a perfect world.  He was five, and his brother was 
four, and together they were invincible.  Just that morning, he'd woken 
up early, excited at the seeming newness of Christmas, excited that he 
was old enough to understand it, and what it really meant.  Toys.  It 
meant new toys.  He bounced out of bed and out of his room, almost 
dragging his little brother along.  The sleepy-head was still rubbing at 
his eyes when they finally got to the colorfully-wrapped boxes under the 
tree.  With the intense concentration only a five-year old could have, he 
was tearing through the boxes with careful, deliberate strategy.  Of 
course, it resembled sheer chaos to anyone else, but why would that 
matter to him?

	He was five, his brother was four, and together, they were 
invincible.  Together, they commanded huge armies of robots and tanks and 
spaceships and guns and things they didn't quite know a name for.  He 
commanded the Grand Legions of the Yellows, and his brother commanded the 
Endless Hordes of the Blues, and together, their little plastic armies 
marched over the huge wastes of the living room carpet, conquering the 
horrid little aliens in the way.  
	He saw their father watching them, with a gentle smile seemingly 
conflicting with his severe, hawk-like features.  He turned to look out 
the window of their small apartment to admire the view on that bright 
Christmas day.  

	With five-year old curiosity, the boy stopped to examine his 
father's face in the morning light.  The morning light.  But the light 
was suddenly strange, and it grew brighter and brighter, and the perfect 
world turned into noiseloudpainpainloudblackness...

	He woke up covered with scrapes and bruises, and some adult's voice 
was talking.  Not his father's, or his mother's.  Why couldn't he hear 
everything?  It was all coming in static and fragments.

	"Team 5 thi-...  team 4... surviv-...  kid...  Every-... -lse...  
crushed..."  

	His next memory was beside their graves, distant relatives watching 
him as he cried next to the stones, voices tight.  He was still only 
hearing in fragments.

	"...sorry...  Don't worry...  I'll take care of him..."

	"Arigato...  sensei...  his parents..."

	He'd never felt so alone in his life.  That night, he slept in a 
new room, alone, surrounded by dozens of shiny new toys, in a big, big, 
empty house.  Even in his sleep, he could feel the tears about to come.  

	That night, he dreamed of a voice, a soft voice of such unknowable 
kindness, the gentle whispering seemed to embrace his soul.  "Don't cry. 
 Please.  I will always be here for you, Arien...  Even if your family's 
gone, I will be with you..."  

	"Who's Arien?  I don't understand...  Where's Dad, and Mom?"  He'd 
asked in a shrill, complaining tone.

	"After Ares, the God of war.  Your true name.  The heritage you 
must fight for.  I'll always be here for you...  Trust me.  I can't bring 
your brother or your parents back, but here, in your sleep, I'll try to 
be everything to you - friend, family, parents...  Believe in me, Arien. 
 I'll help you understand."

	He had believed in her.  And she had been there for him through the 
tears.  At the end of every difficult day of training, every painful 
battle he'd won or lost, the weeks he would spend as a cripple after 
several of his worse fights, she'd been there, sharing her gentleness and 
wisdom, talking with him, teaching him understanding him.
  
	And now...  Irrationally, Arien almost shouted at the thought...  
She was gone.  For the first time in three decades, Arien was truly 
alone.  

	Arien sighed again, from deep within his spirit.  She'd said that 
he would find the power he sought...  She'd promised.  And he had a 
feeling that she'd return to him, someday.  

	He blinked, noticing the wetness on his face.  He burned it off 
with his spirit, letting the cold anger fill him.  It made it easier.

	He pushed off from the rock.  It was time, Arien decided, for him 
to pay a visit to the Facility, and maybe find out some answers about the 
assassination attempt.  He'd had a few months of constant training and 
practicing the theories and moves written on the Scroll, interrupted only 
by the basic physical necessities of his body.  His power, and more 
importantly, his control, had grown significantly more.  Especially since 
with this isolation he'd managed to give over nearly all his 
concentration to the training, uninterrupted by lab sessions at the 
Facility or having to spend the time going over lecture material for a 
class.  It was time for a test.  Or at least, time for him to do 
SOMETHING with all these new techniques.    

	
	Silhouetted by a flash of lightning against the dark, gloomy night, 
a short, pot-bellied figure laughed maniacally, striking fear into the 
hearts of squirrels and cute little furry animals everywhere.  

	"At last!  At long last!  My genius has triumphed at last!"

	In his long, claw-like fingers, he held it, as a faint, darkly 
violent aura began to fill it...  

	"At last, Mr. Satan, for the dishonor you did to my clan by 
ridiculing our illustrious school of martial arts, you shall pay..."

	With blinding swiftness, rainbow light reflected off the man's 
bald, bright, shiny head as he rifled the colored coils of his ultimate 
weapon from hand to hand...

	"Mr. Satan, now you PAY!  The day is coming when you shall cringe 
at the delicate sound of the coils slapping together...  The day when the 
Ultimate School of Martial Arts Slinky Combat shall be vindicated!  AH 
HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH..."

	To the relief of kawaii little animals everywhere, the laughter 
died out in a fit of wheezing and coughing.  


----end episode 4