Trunks's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

The gold drained out of him an hour after Cell left. Trunks stood in the dark gym, hands empty, hair fallen flat and purple again. He had held the power. Now he couldn't find it. He closed his eyes and reached for the heat in his spine. Nothing came. He punched the wall until his knuckles bled, but the number on the machine stayed small. The transformation had come from a death threat. He could not threaten himself. So he went looking for a fight. He grabbed his sword from the rack and left the tower. He found Kazan in the training yard, another Saiyan who drifted in and out of the tower looking for sparring. Kazan outmatched him in every match they'd ever fought, and he never let Trunks forget it. "You again," Kazan said. He didn't rise from the dirt. He spun a stone on his knuckle and watched it. "You've got that look. Like you want something from me." "Fight me," Trunks said. "Try to kill me. I need the edge." Kazan laughed and stood. "You want me to scare the gold out of you." He cracked his neck. "Fine. But I don't fake it." They hit the dirt hard. Kazan was faster. He broke through Trunks's guard and drove him down, then pinned his throat under one boot. Trunks clawed at the leg. He reached for the heat again. He told himself he was dying. But part of him knew Kazan would stop. The lie wouldn't hold. The power stayed buried. Kazan stepped back, disgusted. "You're chasing it backward," Kazan said. He spat in the dirt. "Rage isn't a trick you pull. It comes when something you can't stand to lose is on the line. You had it once. What did you lose that day?" Trunks sat up, breathing hard. He had lost nothing that day. Cell had threatened his life, and his body had answered on its own. That was the trap. He could not manufacture the moment, and he could not wait for Cell to come kill him. He picked up his sword and looked at the blue hilt. His father had carried a blade too. His father had turned gold in a fit of loss, not training. Trunks finally understood the thing he'd been getting wrong all week. The power didn't obey fear for himself. It obeyed what he refused to let happen to someone else. "I've been asking the wrong question," Trunks said. He stood and sheathed the sword. Kazan frowned. "Where are you going?" "To stop guarding my own life." Trunks turned toward the tower. Cell was still out there, measuring, choosing a target. If Trunks waited to be the victim, he'd lose before the fight began. He had to find the person Cell would threaten next, and be standing in front of them when it happened. That was the only trigger he could trust. The golden power had a key now. He just had to put someone he loved in danger's path to turn it.