EP. 0 - Ruined*

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Trunks cried out as he crashed onto and stumbled across the ground. When at last he settled, he laid on his back panting heavily. He was covered in cuts and bruises, his whole body burning, pulsing, in pain.

Still, he would not give into the pain.

He would not die yet.

Trunks slightly sat up to look around, groaning but ignoring the pain.

Where was it? It had to be around there somewhere. He scanned around, feeling like time was running out until he at last found what he was looking for.

His sword.

It was a few feet away, so close, yet so far.

Trunks tried to rise to his feet, but he groaned and fell flat on his chest. His heart began to pound. Time was running out. He knew it was. He rose to his forearms and began to crawl.

The sword was only a few feet away, but why did it feel so far? Every second that went by was agonizing, and worst of all, his fear was growing.

The sword. Get the sword, Trunks kept telling himself.

His relief almost exploded as his bruised hand hovered over the handle, when suddenly, he cried out as he felt a flaming crunch on his hand.

It was a foot, a blue and white tennis shoe that twisted and into his hand, breaking it and digging it in the ground.

"Please," the owner of the shoe almost scoffed, "we both know it wouldn't have helped you anyway. I figured you would have learned by now, but I'll gladly teach you that lesson again." He chuckled sinisterly.

Trunks grit his teeth, the wave of burning pain fading away, before looking up to those narrow, ice-cold, blue eyes. In those cruel eyes was a twinge of amusement. At that, Trunks felt so unbelievably furious. He knew he was nothing but a plaything for them to torment.

The man leaned closer, his small, golden hoop earrings jingling and his straight, black, shoulder-length hair falling forwards making it so his blue eyes burned further into Trunks'.

"What's wrong? Nothing left to say?" the man smirked, stepping hard on Trunks' hand.

Trunks grit his teeth harder, his anger burning and fueling him, and brought his other fist up to punch the man straight across the jaw.

The man grunted and took a few steps back. His eyes were wide with surprise, but as he wiped a few drops of blood from the corner of his mouth, he glared at Trunks. "Now you've really done it," he held a hand out, blue energy forming and aiming at Trunks.

Before he could release a voice called out and landed behind him, "Seventeen!"

Android Seventeen froze and turned to the voice, "Niya."

Niya was a young woman about the age of Trunks. She had large, black eyes, wavy, black hair just past her shoulders, a loose crimson shirt, jean shorts, white and yellow tennis shoes, and most noticeably, a brown tail wrapped around her waist.

A frown was plastered on her lips as she stepped closer and past Seventeen towards her dear friend, Trunks. As she looked at his injured body and his bloodied and broken hand, Niya grew upset and snapped to Seventeen, "You said you would stop!"

Seventeen frowned and clenched his fists, "He came at me first. He was asking for it."

Niya shook her head and slowly helped the groaning Trunks to his feet. "You didn't have to," she insisted. "You could have walked away. He wouldn't have been able to find you, and you know that."

When she looked over to Seventeen, she saw he had his head turned away.
Niya didn't have anything else to say, and Trunks' condition was worsening by the second.

"We're leaving now. Don't follow us, and don't even ask about seeing him," she said firmly, knowing Seventeen knew who 'him' was.

Before Seventeen could protest, the saiyans were taking off into the air. Just before flying off, they were met with Seventeen's piercing, cold glare.

× × ×

"Trunks--! Oh, I'll get the room set up," Bulma gasped as Niya was mostly carrying him to his room at that point. She hurried ahead and pulled the covers back. Once Trunks was laid down, she began to pull off his boots, but Niya stopped her. She gave her a look that Bulma nodded to, and she left.

Niya sighed, and the weak Trunks looked up at her. "What... is it?" he asked.

She sat down, removed his shoes, slowly pulled his jacket off as well as his torn white shirt. "You can't keep doing this," she said at last. Her eyes were sad as she stared at his injuries.

Trunks looked up at the ceiling, "I have to."

Niya placed her hands over his chest and crimson energy gathered and spread around his body, healing him. "We could use the Time Machine," she suggested once the energy faded.

Trunks sat up without a problem. "No, that won't work," he refused. "I just..."

"You what?" Niya asked, searching his baby blue eyes.

"I need to train more," Trunks replied. "I'll get strong enough to defeat them. I can do it. I'll do it. I have to."

Niya searched a few moments before standing. "You almost died today," she reminded him. "Think about the machine. Please."

Trunks looked away and grabbed a clean shirt, slipping it on. "Okay," he replied quietly.

Niya gave a light nod. "Well, I'm going to go calm Seventeen down. I'll... see you soon," she told him before walking out the room.

The half-saiyan looked down at his hands. He hoped he would see her soon.

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For more background on Niya and Trunks, check out my prequel with them called "Light of Willpower". It's also being edited right now, but still has the main points! :)

Anyways, I hope you guys will like this editing I'll be doing on this story!

Edited on 05-02-2020.

x_Alex_chan_x

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