Chapter 8 - Beast

Aliza

THE SUFFERER of humiliation was always her. Her, her and her! No one else. She had been the victim again: when they started, a beaked animal had interrupted her attack, and everyone laughed as she fell on her rear, the animal staring at her eyes before leaving her be.

The chortles was the only rhythm she would never get used to, despite getting laughed at by a group of people on her class almost every day. That sound, that same rhythm, would always manage to crawl deep inside her and embed itself in her mind, being something unforgettable that she would want to forget.

For that little incident, they had stopped the fight, and everyone had agreed to just continue the match outside the Capsule Corp. Well, she was lucky enough that there were no uninvited guests.

Or so she thought.

"What do we have here?" someone said, a turtle by his side. The sunglasses covered the expression on his eyes, but the drool on his mouth was enough to show what he's feeling. The Turtle Hermit, Master Roshi, had made his appearance, in the direst of time. "Sorry if I was late at the party, but my, my, didn't know you have a gift for this old geezer."

She wasn't sure if she was referring to her or what, but it soon came to light when his fingers wormed around its way for her breast. She recoiled, trying not to let his hands touch it, but he would only draw nearer.

"Get your filthy hands off her or I'll shoot you to bits, you hear me?" Launch strangled the old man, dragging him toward the circle, beside Tien, the turtle following suit.

Her breath came out with much force, and she let it out, before slowly pushing her leg forward, her hand held erect as if going for a karate chop. This time, she wouldn't make a fool out of herself in front of the crowd. This time, she wouldn't be a nervous wreck. This time, her other self, if ever she was real, would wake up.

In fact, she'd be putting on a show.

Two ordinary people, fighting in front of an extraordinary crowd (even that old man was a million times stronger than her).

Bushy moustache curled, Satan breathed out, and then had his knees bent, signifying that she should make the first move.

She dashed toward him, jumping and hurling like a spear as she readied for a kick, but Satan only blocked it with his two palms, managing to land on foot as she bounced off it and spun in the air. The crowd—mostly the adults—sounded a wave of awe in surprise, clapping their hands. She knew they were just clapping for support. There was no way they were impressed.

A short wisp of air warned an incoming blow, and she ducked before his fist managed to crash on her jaw, exhaling wildly. Her face would have gotten bruised there, which she didn't want to happen. This agility she had when she avoided his punch, and when he swept him off balance with his feet like a snake, that was not the speed most of the crowd possessed, but greater. Their speeds were unimaginable.

But Satan didn't hit the dirt on his back; instead, he went against that momentum and sprung back up, using his hands. "You're good," he commented.

She smiled, just realizing that her attitude was changing. "You're not that bad too yourself."

He laughed shortly after, a laugh a man would do who's blinded by pride, brushing his moustache with the tip of his thumb. "Now, come and show me everything you got."

She aimed to punch on his face, but was only blocked, grunting when pain seared on the gut from Satan's blow with the knee. All seemed lost, except for the adrenaline. She hunched, gritting while her hand wiped off the something from her mouth. Only silent reactions from the crowd. Blood mixed with lipstick was always bad.

She kicked him on his neck, succeeding, and he was pushed back momentarily. But it now burned as sweat trailed to her eyes, and she closed it, wiping the sweat away. Once done, she composed herself. Smear of violet mixed with the scarlet on her hands. She clenched it.

"Aliza, yeah! Beat the hell out of Satan!" Launch screamed, but no one joined her.

A short smile at her, she gazed at Satan. He stood up again, recovering quickly.

"Dad, you can do it!" Videl shouted. Still, no one joined her, not even her husband.

Satan charged, howling with the thirst of what seemed like victory, attacking her. She managed to dodge all of it, her reflexes even surprising her. *Whoosh*—and she avoided the punch too late, groaning. Only black when her eyes closed, she tried to ease the pain.

A sharp blow threw her away, and she bumped onto the grass, dirt marked and dug up in the surface. Shaking, she stood up, but only failed when one knee lacked the strength for support. She bent, heaving and looking at Satan. No emotion there at all.

Behind him was the moon, casting off a shadow that seemed to be taunting her. No sound could he heard, her heartbeat didn't know when to calm down, and the flow of her blood only rose.

No strings attached them both, but the connection between her and Satan were strong, palpable, and she knew from the look of his face that he felt the same. A natural consequence of the energies between two fighters of the same level, she supposed.

The same strength incomparable against the others within the crowd. Theirs were like ripples in a pond, but hers and Satan's were only a splash minute on a pond.

But she didn't care. All she felt was the excitement, and the will to win, and Satan sure had felt the same. She stood up, rubbing the dirt off the back of her jeans again, smiling, and Satan smiled back. The scent of iron from her blood tickled her nose, and dirt only colored her hands more.

"Having fun?" Satan asked, smiling.

"Yes." And she charged again, nothing in mind but to fight. She sent enough attacks that Satan dodged, spinning to make another kick at his stomach. Satan barely blocked it with his hands. He shook it in pain, groaning.

Everyone laughed, but she paid them no mind. "Go, Aliza!" Launch cheered again.

Aliza didn't say anything. Her eyes focused onto Satan's moving figure.

He chopped, but missed, only earning a poke on the eyes. He screamed. Another kick was at the level of her chest, but she made a back handspring, avoiding it. "Your moves are exceptional, Aliza. You should be proud."

No words came out, and so she just stood there, waiting.

"Mocking me with silence, huh. You cocky brat!"

So Satan charged again. They exchanged attacks, punch after punch, kick after kick, dodge after dodge. None of them giving in. The bruises marked Aliza's arms. The pain wore them down. Satan howled, gritting his teeth, increasing his speed and managing to hit her, but Aliza only drew her fist into his gut. Both of then staggered back, Aliza the only one who smiled.

She flicked her hair off her face, and made a move. Now they were immersed in their own world, their senses lost into the fight, not one of them acknowledging the crowd around them.

The sways of their bodies were like a dance, the music their own screams. But then the rhythm broke, as Aliza was pushed back, her arms against the hard ground. Her fingers dug against the dirt, sweat trailing on her skin, eyes into slits as she puffed huge breaths. Satan heaved, body limp.

"Aliza, are you still able to fight? You can just give up!" Bulma's voice was laced with concern, the type of emotion she needed the least.

She stood. "I'm fine."

Then she stomped right into him, spun, her back facing him, and leapt backward above him, landing behind him. His eyes beamed with surprise, before leaping and locking her waist as he gritted her teeth. The two of them off balance and onto the ground, a hard hit.

She squirmed, and she soon found herself being levitated. She felt the need to be released. His arms mustered pressure around her waist, but not enough to break it. Still, she wanted freedom. She needed to break free.

"Say you quit so I can release you," he whispered.

"Let. Me. Go!" Then she groaned, the pain slowly encouraging her to give up. She did this just a sort of act, an alibi of her lies, but she something inside her wanted more. "Aaaaahhhh!"

"Dad, that's enough!"

"No! Don't. I . . . can handle this." Aliza was surprised of her words, and at the same time, wasn't. She wasn't sure . . . She gritted her teeth. How could she . . .

Then femininity was lost, drowned by the flood of illusion between victory and loss, burned by the heat of the fight, and changed to a beast with no identity. To win was to live; to lose was to die!

"You can do it, Aliza. Woohoo!" It was Launch. That was the last sound she heard before everything drowned out, muted.

She kicked his groin and there he huddled, breaking his trap. She waited for Satan to stand up. His knees were wobbly. Then she kicked high enough to reach his head, and she did not fail. He was thrown off into one of the crowd.

The crowd silent, Satan's grunts inaudible.

His head twisted, but not enough to fracture the bone within. Waste of time and energy! Then she went for Satan, grabbing Satan from the crowd with his collar, and throwing him into the center.

He spoke but no sound came off.

Now, she could try again and finally break his—

Wait, what was she thinking? Why? Something within her coiled, seeking control. Her head ached, her eyes blurred, her limbs quivered. She didn't know what was going to happen. If this was the outcome of unleashing the beast, then she needed to let it sleep. She needed to gain control.

She needed herself back.

She brushed her hair, trying to sooth herself. Satan was still on the ground, all limp, but could still thankfully stand.

"Dad!" Videl shouted, and near her was Vegeta with his stern gaze, looking back at her. Piccolo did the same. The gods eyes were always fixated, never leaving her. The turtle hermit was motionless.

She took a huge breath, and eased her mind, closing her eyes. She needed to focus. "I'm okay, Videl; just a little scathed," she heard Satan say.

"A little scathed? She's trying to kill you!" She made a run for them, but Vegeta just restrained her with his arm.

She shouldn't mind her! She needed to gain control.

Focus. Inside her, it churned, gradually getting slower. It was getting tamed. Focus. A crunching on the grass. Perhaps Satan was already standing. Focus. The beast fought back. Fast footsteps were approaching.

"Get ready for my final punch!"

"No, don't!" Her hands outstretched. A heavy explosion howled, a strong gust blowing from behind the Capsule Corp. Satan only stood, unable to move. The crowd's attention diverted.

"What was that?" Marron asked. Almost everyone dispersed, breaking the circle and moving toward its source, the remnant of the beast's ferocity fading away.

She looked at Satan, who bent against the grass with his knees. She bent down, looking at the bruises on his head, on his arms.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Never been better." Satan muttered, facing her. "You're strong."

Vegeta and Piccolo only stayed, their gazes weighing her with tension. Vegeta had his arms crossed like the usual. The turtle hermit walked near her, studying her. "You're quite strong for someone physically inept in appearance."

She was a former gymnast, and her dad trained her. But she guessed that wasn't an enough answer. So she remained quiet.

"You're a better fighter than I thought." Satan rose, a string of mucous under his nose. He sniffed it back inside. "Please, I wish you won't try to destroy my reputation."

"Mr. Satan, just rest for now. You've done enough." Piccolo's ordered.

Both Vegeta and Piccolo already knew she could fly, so they shouldn't wonder why she was this adept in fighting. Her heart beat, faster again, for reasons she didn't want to know. What are they suspecting now?

"Hey, guys, mind explaining what's happening," a familiar voice spoke.

"ChiChi," Piccolo started, "it's not the right time for explanations."

"What do you mean it's not the right time—Who is she?!" She looked at her, her eyes dilated when she saw Satan limping to stand near her.

"We'll explain to you when we're settled inside."

"Where's Goten, Gohan, Goku?" She asked, getting nervous.

"Relax, ChiChi," the Turtle Hermit said.

Well, at least there were people to hold her back. For now, what she needed were answers. What was that explosion? What was hiding inside her? Why was she losing control?

"A tree exploded, but why didn't we sense any energy?" Yamcha flabbergasted.

"Yeah, it's weird. 18, did you?" Tien asked.

She just shrugged. Of course, she was only watching her fight with Satan, so it wasn't her.

"Dad," Videl screamed, scampering for his father. She hoisted up his father's arm, putting it on her shoulders, both of them slowly treading toward the Capsule Corp. Piccolo called her, throwing a Senzu Bean to her, and she caught it. Then s jerked her head, directing toward Aliza. "You, why are you trying to murder my father?!"

Aliza couldn't answer that, not that the answers to her own questions were just a blur. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry can't fix anything . . . If you try to lay a hand on him again, I'll get rid of you myself." They walked to the building, no more words left to utter, while just leaving something sharp to pierce her chest.

She didn't know why . . . how—someone's arm clamped against her shoulders, it's green skin giving her a sense of warmth.

"Don't worry about it too much. She'll get over that pretty quickly." Piccolo's voice, despite being gruff, had a comforting tone.

She just nodded.

Seeing Videl and his father now gone, Tien seemed to inquire something again, glancing at the gods furtively. Yamcha followed his gaze. From the looks of it, he wanted some answers from them, but couldn't.

"Not 18, not Lord Beerus, and not Whis. They weren't the one who caused this!" Vegeta scoffed. "I can sense god energy, and so I can tell!"

"So who did it then?" Tien asked again.

Then someone behind her spoke, chills emanating from the voice of a feline. Beerus . . . "That's what I want to know."

She turned, and a smirk was displayed on his face, his yellow eyes staring right into her.