“...One and all, in attendance tonight,” the banquet announcer was saying, “We once again pay tribute to Grace itself, to the Throne, and to the Divine.”
The portly man turned, holding a chalice towards the five thrones in the front of the room.
“To the Divine Secondborn, Lord Goten! Protector of Festivals, One Whose Right Hand Holds The Cup of Abundance!”
“To the Secondborn!” the crowd echoed. Goten raised his cup symbolically, grinning.
“To Our Vision...The Jewel In The Dragon's Eye,” the announcer continued. “Our Beloved Lady was born and the world finally knew Beauty.”
Bra smiled, her gaze demure.
“Our Holy Daughter of the Throne, Blessed Guardian of Purity and Innocence!”
“Our Holy Daughter of the Throne!” everyone called back.
Yamucha smiled, still standing beside Bra. He looked past the announcer, eyes unfocused. As if he thought he saw something. Shaking the feeling off, he turned his attention back to the dais.
“And Our Lady Fair, who halves the Union between Throne and Divinity. With poise and serenity, she watches over all warriors, and those who would sacrifice their lives for freedom. To Holy Lady Pan, Wife of the Throne-son and Sentinel of the Battlefield!”
“To Our Holy Lady! To the Great Sentinel!” The roar of the crowd tingled around Pan, melting together excitement and dread. She felt a cold sweat roll down her back.
What was wrong?
Yamucha was the one that saw it first.
The hooded figure was standing right beyond the edges of the crowd, not 20 paces from the dais. And it regarded its target with flat, monotone eyes.
Out of the corner of her eye, Bra saw Yamucha spring forward. Goten was rising from his chair, his face knotted in concern. Everything was happening all at once, at the speed of sound. But to Bra, it was as if the air was thick, and everyone was inexplicably slowed.
Except the hooded figure, its hand now raised.
Yamucha was still in air, moving towards Goten now.
The fingers on the hand gnarled, broke, and turned back on themselves.
Bra turned her head to the last chair on the dais.
Pan was standing to her feet, unsteady.
The maw that opened in the hand whirred and glowed.
Bra leaned forward.
The shot rang out, travelling its laser-like path past the heads of the attendees, and through Pan's chest.
Screams rang out amongst the crowd. The momentum of the blast sprayed dark blood on Pan's chair and knocked her backwards. Goten's mouth opened, and out came a shout of rage Bra knew she would never forget.
Somewhere, far on the east wing of the palace, Trunks violently whipped his head towards the banquet hall.
The figure turned, unperturbed by the masses around it, and fired again. Goten went down, a web of shiny black wrapped around him. He screamed like a tortured animal, going down on one knee, before finally collapsing in pain.
Bra was frozen in her chair. Her hands gripped the armrests. She thought she heard Yamucha, and she was quickly surrounded by a wall of blue and black.
“Establish the perimeter around the hall! Seal the main doors!!” Yamucha was yelling in the commlink he kept in his collar. “Do not open fire, do not engage the suspect! Move to secure the Throne-son!!”
Bra slid out of her seat and crawled on the floor, the train of her dress covering her legs. She heard a painful groan, and looked up to see Krillin and his wife dragging a prone Goten next to Pan.
Pan...
Pan lay convulsing on the dais, medics futilely trying to monitor her vitals. The marble floor around her was covered in more dark blood. Too much blood.
Yamucha looked up to where the hooded figure stood, unmoving. Juunanagou and his squad stood their ground, training their weapons on the target. Moments went by like eternity before the figure squirmed, making more whirring sounds and went on all fours. Its heavy limbs left cracks in the stone where it stepped, almost clumsily.
“Containment shots only—Fire!!” Juunanagou shouted, sending a ki blast that bounced off its body. The singed part that lay beneath shone metallic gray.
The squad fire close-range. The crowd screeched, scrambling over each other to get away from the scene.
Yaumcha put a hand up to his ear and kept screaming orders. “Make a tighter formation—for Gods' sakes do NOT let the crowd see Pan and Goten!!”
“Yaumcha, we have to evacuate! Now!” Krillin's voice was strained amongst the screams and firing.
The mechanized assassin turned again, shaking off ki blasts and laser bolts alike as if they were droplets of water, and ran towards the stained glass window. It reared back its hind legs and jumped, sending glass over the panicked audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen, follow the markers to the nearest evacuation areas!” Juuhachigou's usually soft voice carried across the expanse of the hall. “Do not panic!” She cast a ki shield over an elderly couple as more glass shards fell from above.
Bra crawled closer to Goten. His body twisted and he bit his lip until blood trickled down his chin. The net constricted around his midsection, and Bra could hear his bones snapping.
“Stay back, Holy Lady,” a medic warned. “This net is made from some foreign alloy—it responds to Lord Goten's struggling. Please don't touch it, I beg you.”
Bra eyed her brother's friend helplessly. She half-walked, half-crawled to Pan's side. Yaumcha was on his knees, feeling the familiar rush of Trunks' ki as the Throne-son slammed into the earth near the dais.
“What—what has—“ Trunks broke off as he saw a pale unconscious Pan laying in a pool of blood.
“Juunanagou and his squad are in pursuit,” Yaumcha fought to keep his voice from cracking with tension. He looked up at Trunks and checked the young man's forward motion with a hand on his shoulder. “The weapons they used...the medics said they look to be responding to Saiya-jin body chemistry.”
Trunks stared at the dais, his chest heaving. Then, as if a switch was thrown in his head, his eyes widened and his jaw clenched. The surge of his ki washed over Yaumcha like a wave, leaving him dizzy. Fearful. Because he had only seen that look of absolute rage on one other in his lifetime. And it wasn't Trunks.
Trunks turned and shot out of the window with a deep growl of primal intent.
“Trunks, no!!” Yaumcha shouted. He immediately looked to the nearest squad commander. “After him!” The commander and a few officers quickly followed on foot.
Pan's eyes were rolled into her skull, and her arms and legs were still wriggling weakly as the emergency staff shot her with needle after needle. The hole in her chest, lightly cauterized, was covered in gauzy bandage strips. Bra edged closer. Hana, who had stayed and made her way to the dais after the evacuation, grabbed her mistress' hand.
“Lady Bra, they said it's dangerous—“
“It's fine,” came the terse reply.
Pan suddenly reached her hand from the floor, her words warped by her own tongue and blood.
“Fa...fa...fath...er...Gr...fa...Gra...Grand...”
Bra looked down at her own hand, and grabbed Pan's fingers. She held Pan's hand, staring down into her increasingly lifeless face.
