[A/N: A shoutout to my latest patrons Zero0020, Atta and Mp4Life. I appreciate it.]
Chapter 21: List of Questions
The air in the cavern had changed. The tenth day had bled into the eleventh, and the inert, comatose form in the cage was gone, replaced by a presence. He did not move much, the cruel suspension allowing little more than the slight sway of his body, but his consciousness was a palpable force, a low-frequency hum of awareness that altered the very atmosphere. The bioluminescent fungi seemed to cast sharper shadows around his cage, the drip of water from the stalactites sounded like a ticking clock counting down an unknown deadline.
Kael watched him from across the cavern, her arms crossed over her chest. The children were kept in the far chamber, the hide curtain drawn shut. Lyra and Shera stood nearby, their bodies tense, weapons held not with casual readiness but with white-knuckled anticipation. The monster was awake. The talking was about to begin.
Kael picked up the waterskin and a small wooden bowl containing a portion of stewed meat and tubers, real food, not scraps. This was part of the transaction now. She approached the cage, her steps measured and silent on the stone floor. She did not speak immediately. She unlocked the door, entered, and stood before him.
His head was lowered, his face obscured by the fall of his dark hair. But she could see the glint of a single eye watching her from the shadows. He was tracking her, calculating.
She held the bowl up. "Can you eat this yourself, or do I need to feed you like an infant?" Her voice was neutral, devoid of mockery or compassion. It was a practical question.
A low, grating sound came from his throat. It took her a moment to realize it was a dry, humorless laugh. "Unbind one hand," he rasped, his voice raw from disuse and the lingering damage of inhaling superheated air. "Or are you afraid I will strangle you with a single limb?"
"Afraid? No," Kael replied, her tone flat. "Cautious? Yes." She weighed the risk. A single hand, while his body was still weak and his feet bound, was a manageable threat. She set the bowl down, drew her bone knife, and sawed through the thick vine binding his right wrist. The arm dropped like a dead weight, and he groaned, a sharp, involuntary sound of agony as blood and sensation flooded back into the tortured limb. He flexed the fingers slowly, painfully.
Kael picked up the bowl and placed it in his waiting hand. His grip was weak, his fingers trembling slightly from the strain of holding it. He began to eat, slowly, methodically, his eyes never leaving her. It was not the ravenous feeding of a starved beast, but the measured consumption of a soldier refueling. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of his chewing.
When he was done, he let the bowl clatter to the stone floor. He finally lifted his head fully, and Kael met his gaze. The arrogance was still there, a cold, hard diamond at the core of him, but it was banked, surrounded by a profound exhaustion and a new, sharp intelligence. He was assessing her, not as a victim, but as a opposing force.
"Now," Kael said, retrieving the bowl. "We talk."
She left the cage, re-locked it, and stood outside the bars. Lyra and Shera moved closer, flanking her.
"The why is simple," he said, preempting her first question. His voice was stronger now, fueled by the food. "Your planet was a resource. We had the orders to eliminate the sentient inhabitants of the planet and prepare it for take over. It was efficient." He said it with the cold logic of an engineer explaining a machine's function. There was no malice in his tone, which made it infinitely worse.
Lyra made a choked sound of fury. Kael held up a hand without looking at her.
"And the others?" Kael pressed, her voice steady though her stomach churned. "The ones you did not spare? The villages? The Sky-Born? The Reef-Dwellers? Why not keep them as a 'resource'?"
"Different assignments, different parameters," he answered, as if discussing crop rotation. "Prince Vegeta's orders were clear. The Southern Continent was mine to... manage. The others were his and Nappa's to purge. I exceeded my quota. They did not. My method ensured a long-term yield. Theirs was a one-time harvest." He tilted his head, a faint, cruel smirk touching his lips. "I was the better businessman."
The casualness with which he discussed global genocide was staggering. Shera spat on the ground in disgust.
"And us?" Lyra's voice was a razor blade, cutting through the conversation. She stepped forward, her feathered arms trembling. "Why did you choose me? Why her?" The personal violation was a wound that had not even begun to heal.
His eyes shifted to her, and for the first time, a flicker of something akin to genuine, non-hostile interest showed. "Aesthetics," he said, the word horribly clinical. "The contrast. The delicate one," he nodded toward Lyra, "and the strong one." His gaze returned to Kael. "A pleasing symmetry. I appreciate balance in my... collections."
Kael felt a cold nausea wash over her. They had been chosen like one might select two different fruits from a market.
"The one with the long hair," Kael said, forcing the conversation back to tactical ground. "His name."
"Raditz," Kakarot answered immediately, willingly. A bit confused on how she knew of him when they didn't even see him.
"The large one. The bald one."
"Nappa."
"And your leader. The one who did... this to you." Kael gestured to his scarred body.
A dark shadow passed over Kakarot's face. The smirk vanished, replaced by a look of pure, undiluted hatred so intense it seemed to suck the heat from the air. "Vegeta," he snarled, the name a curse. "The Prince of all Saiyans. The last of our royal line. A title he clings to like a child to a blanket." The venom in his voice was a startling contrast to his previous coldness. This was personal.
"Why?" Kael asked, seizing on the emotion. "Why would he do this to his own warrior?"
"Because I am not a warrior to him," Kakarot said, the words dripping with a bitterness that felt decades old. "I am a tool. A low-class tool that dared to look him in the eye. He reminded me of my place." He flexed the newly freed fingers of his right hand, staring at them as if imagining them around Vegeta's throat. "He is a fool. He thinks birthright is power. He is wrong."
The information was coming freely now, a torrent unleashed by his own simmering rage. Kael realized he wasn't just answering their questions; he was using them. He was venting, and in doing so, was giving them a weapon, a map of the fault lines within the Saiyan team.
"What are 'power levels'?" she asked, latching onto the term he'd used days before.
"A measure of life force. Combat potential. Your people registered as insignificant. Vermin. Raditz, Nappa, Vegeta... they are all stronger than me." He said it not with shame, but with a cold statement of fact. Then his eye glinted. "For now."
The two words hung in the air, a promise and a threat.
"And the one called Frieza?"
All expression bled from Kakarot's face. It was not hatred, not anger. It was a deep, primordial fear, the kind that is so ingrained it becomes a physical part of a being. His voice dropped to a near whisper. "He is the emperor. The source of all orders. He is... power. Absolute, unimaginable power. He is the reason we serve. He is the reason our planet is dust. He is death."
The silence that followed was heavier than any that had come before. They had learned of petty tyrants and brutal warriors. Now they had learned of a true god of death.
Kael absorbed it all, her mind racing. The hierarchy, the motivations, the weaknesses. She had what she needed for now.
She turned to leave.
"Wait," his voice stopped her. It had changed. The cold informant was gone, replaced by the voice of the conqueror making a demand. "The bonds on my legs and my other wrist. They chafe. They are... inefficient. Loosen them."
Kael turned back. She looked at him, at the arrogant set of his jaw even in his utter helplessness. He was testing the boundaries of their transaction.
"No," she said, her voice quiet but final.
His eye narrowed. "The food was adequate. The information was valuable. This is the price."
"The price was your life," Kael countered, her gaze unwavering. "You are breathing. That is the transaction. You do not make demands here. You answer them."
For a long moment, they stared at each other, jailer and prisoner, the air crackling with the unspoken shift in power. He had given them everything willingly, a show of cooperation to mask his attempt to regain control. She had just reminded him where the control truly lay.
A slow, dark smile spread across his face. It wasn't a smile of amusement, but of acknowledgment. The game had been recognized.
"Understood," he said, the word a low purr.
Kael left him then, hanging in his cage, one arm free, a small concession that felt like a monumental shift. He had played the perfect prisoner, compliant and informative, all to make one simple demand. And he had been denied. The negotiation was over. The war of wills had begun.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]