The darkness of the night shielded the face of the unknown man, sat cross-legged in a corner, in a cave where a constant dripping and a hypnotised Namek were his only company. The drip was never seen, only constantly heard through the decaying walls in which it was sheltered. As for the Namek, Piccolo stood on the rocky ledge, his eyes glowing red, searching for danger. Dried blood sat on his face, the mark of his last defeat.
 "Oh, Piccolo. It's training time." called the man who now stood, stretching his now rested leg. He cracked his knuckles, and the helpless being turned and walked to his master. The fight was about to begin under the moonlight.
 They faced each other. Piccolo immediately positioned himself in fighting stance. The man's spiky hair glistened in the moonlight as he condemned Piccolo's behaviour.
 "Dear me, Piccolo. Have you not learned nothing in your time with me? We always bow before we fight, remember." The voice told him, almost sarcastic, but always scornful.
 Piccolo bowed to his master, and was greeted with a swift blow to the stomach for his troubles.
 "That's for disobeying our rules," The man said. Without warning, a right footed roundhouse kick to the head swiftly took Piccolo off his feet. "and that is for making me waste my time." The man told him, now angry. Piccolo remained silent throughout. He stood up, bowed, and the real fight began.
 They launched at each other. Piccolo raised his left leg, prepared to take out his master. However, under his master's control, he didn't realise that he could be easily misjudged. The man simply took Piccolo by surprise, before knocking him into the wall with a powerful left hook, cutting open Piccolo's lip, purple blood seeping out. He fell to the floor.
 The man walked over to him, dragging Piccolo from the floor, and began slapping his face.
 "Wake up, God damn it! Stop being such a weakling!" Piccolo's drowsy eyes opened on command, the once glowing red now dulling to the colour of a human's dried blood. He leaned against the wall, weakened.
 The being had had enough. He began to pummel Piccolo, an eternal series of hammer-like left and right punches battering his gut area, Piccolo groaning in agony. The punches seemed to be at the speed of light, racing into Piccolo's stomach, returning to the man's waist, and back to his stomach in the blink of eye.
 The man stopped, and Piccolo slumped to the floor. The man spat on him.
 "I thought you would be a challenge to me, but you are pathetic. I'd kill you now, but it is even more pathetic to die when you can't even stand up."
 The man walked away, back to mediate. Piccolo lay crumpled on the floor, clutching his stomach, and groaning in pain.

 

* * * 

 

 "Master Dende! What is wrong." Mr Popo said alarmed, breathing heavily after rushing to the room of his master, where Dende was being tortured by a nightmare.
 "Oh no!" were the only words Dende could utter as Mr Popo wiped the cold sweat from his master's green gleaming head.
 "Speak to me Master Dende. Speak to me!" Mr Popo told him, becoming increasingly worried.
 It took a few minutes to settle Dende, but finally, he was ready to talk.
 "Mr Popo, my dear friend. I hope what we have been told of this boy, Akira is true." Dende told Mr Popo, lying on his bed and breathing heavily.
 "Why do you say that?" Mr Popo whispered.
 "Because if not, no-one alive will be able to stop the evil being which just battered Piccolo to a pulp."