Piccolo's voice rolled low as he started down.
"Looks like I'll handle it myself."
He dropped from the sky and touched the ground without ceremony. No shockwave. No display. He simply stopped floating and stood there, as if the earth had always been waiting for him.
Then he walked toward her.
One step.Then another.
Chi-Chi turned to face him. She didn't raise her guard right away. She didn't reach for Kumokiri. She just watched him come closer, her breathing still uneven, her eyes fixed and unreadable.
Inside, something tightened.
The moment his feet hit the ground, everything felt different. The air pressed in, dense and stale, like a place that had seen too much blood and never let it go.
This wasn't like his sons.
This was something older.
Tambourine and Cymbal had been strong, but in a rough, careless way. Loud. Unstable.This wasn't like that.
Piccolo's Ki was quiet. Heavy. It sat in the air without moving, and that alone made her skin prickle.
He's on a different level
She realized, her hand tightening without her noticing.
Piccolo stopped a few meters away. He loomed over her, cape hanging still, eyes calmly tracing her face. Not angry. Not rushed. Just… assessing.
What caught his attention wasn't what he saw — it was what he didn't.
No fear.
She was looking at him the same way she'd looked at his sons.
Something dry passed for a laugh in his throat.
"I see, you don't look at me like someone who expects to lose."
He smirked, his fangs showing.
"It's obvious, you don't know who I am."
He folded his hands behind his back, voice calm, almost bored.
"If you did, you wouldn't be standing there like that."
He stepped forward. The grass beneath his boot darkened and died.
"My name has done the work for me long before you were born. I am King Piccolo."
He stopped in front of her, his shadow falling over her face.
He waited.
He expected fear. Shock. Anything that proved she understood what stood in front of her.
Chi-Chi looked at him. The silence lingered.
Then she blinked.
"And?"
Piccolo's brow twitched.
"And?" He echoed.
She shrugged, unimpressed.
"King, demon, god... pick one. I don't care. I don't follow legends."
She lifted Kumokiri and leveled the blade at his throat.
"To me, you're just the person who ordered my father killed."
The air tightened, like the world was holding its breath. A muscle jumped at Piccolo's temple.
For the first time in centuries, something sharp cut through his composure — not divine contempt, but plain, personal anger.
"Insolent brat, I won't just kill you. I'll make you understand despair."
He didn't move fast. He didn't need to.
He raised one hand and snapped his wrist.
BOOM.
The blow came without warning.
Something slammed into Chi-Chi—hard and unseen. No time to move. No time to think. She threw her arms up on instinct, and the impact sent her flying.
The ground tore beneath her boots as she was dragged backward, crashing through a dead log before skidding to a stop.
She stayed crouched for a beat.
Smoke curled off her arms.
Chi-Chi straightened, shaking out the sting. Her arms trembled—not fear, just the shock of it.
…He barely moved.
She looked up.
Piccolo was still where he'd been, lowering his hand as if he'd done nothing at all.
He started toward her again.
Chi-Chi moved first.
She exhaled once and shot forward, dirt spraying under her heel. The distance vanished in a blink. She was on him before the air had time to settle.
She struck—clean and direct—driving a straight punch at his face.
Piccolo barely reacted. He lifted an arm.
The impact rang through her bones.
It was like hitting something that didn't move, didn't care. His arm stayed exactly where it was.
Chi-Chi didn't pull back. She rolled with the stop, turning in close, already shifting into her next move.
Second strike.
She snapped an elbow toward his head.
Piccolo caught it. Just… caught it. Her momentum died in his hand. He glanced at her like she'd failed a test.
Chi-Chi yanked free and dropped low without thinking.
Third strike.
She swept at his legs, fast and sharp.
He lifted his foot an inch.
The impact jarred her all the way up the leg. He didn't budge.
Three hits. Nothing.
She didn't push it. Chi-Chi kicked back, flipping away and landing in a low guard at a safe distance. Her breathing was heavier now, but her eyes never left him.
Piccolo dusted off his forearm where she had punched him, looking at her with a mixture of boredom and pity.
"Not bad… now I see it. So this is the power that allowed you to kill my sons."
He lowered his hand, and for the first time, his muscles tightened perceptibly.
"Alas… this is as far as you go."
ZWOOSH.
He vanished.
It wasn't like Tambourine at all. No rush of air, no blur.
Piccolo was just… gone.
Chi-Chi's focus fractured. Her senses flared and found nothing—no Ki, no trace, just noise where certainty should be.
She spun and threw a backfist on instinct. Empty.
CRUNCH.
A knee slammed into her stomach.
The impact stole everything at once—air, balance, thought. Her body folded around the strike as she was lifted off the ground, breath tearing out of her in a broken gasp.
"Gah...!"
Piccolo didn't stop. He grabbed her by the ponytail with one hand, holding her suspended in the air.
"Your anger is meaningless to me." Piccolo whispered, bringing his face close to hers.
He didn't let go. He spun once and drove her into the ground.
BOOM.
The earth gave way beneath her. Chi-Chi bounced, coughing, blood on her lips. She barely had time to move before a kick caught her in the ribs.
It was effortless—almost careless—but it sent her flying. She tore through trees, wood snapping around her, until a boulder stopped her cold.
She slid down and stayed there, shaking, trying to pull air back into her lungs.
Chi-Chi's hand shook as she found Kumokiri's hilt.
She leaned on the scabbard to pull herself up. Her legs barely listened, pain biting deep into her side.
"Yes. Show me the power you used to kill my sons." Piccolo said.
She took a shaky breath and held it, pulling her Ki back into line. Her eyes closed for a moment—not to shut out the pain, but to ground herself in the sword's weight.
Kumokiri answered.
A quiet hum ran through the blade, deep enough to feel rather than hear. It felt aware. Awake. Not eager—focused.
Chi-Chi opened her eyes. The warmth around her faded, replaced by a pale, unstable blue that crackled along her arms. The air cooled fast. The grass near her boots stiffened, a thin frost creeping outward as she settled into her stance.
"That sword...It's not an ordinary blade." Piccolo narrowed his eyes, sensing a shift.
Chi-Chi drew in one clean motion.
"Jirai!"[1]
She cut across the air.
For a split second, it looked sloppy—just a pale arc of lightning snapping forward, uneven and wild, chewing up the ground as it went.
Piccolo snorted. "That's it? You can't even—"
He shifted aside, casual, already bored.
The bolt didn't pass him.
It hesitated. Then it turned.
The lightning snapped sideways with a sharp crack, locking onto him like it had made up its mind.
"What?!" Piccolo's eyes widened.
He lifted an arm to knock it aside.
The bolt dipped, slipped under his guard, and snapped forward like it had a mind of its own.
CRACK.
It hit him square in the chest.
There was no fire. No blast. Just cold—sudden and brutal.
Piccolo's breath caught. His body locked up, every muscle freezing mid-motion.
Frost spread across his chest in a jagged bloom, his Ki stuttering as if it had been yanked out of rhythm. For a heartbeat, the Great Demon King couldn't move at all.
Smoke curled from the impact point. His eyes burned with shock… then rage.
Chi-Chi didn't charge.
She tightened her grip instead, steady and patient, the blade's pale light reflected in her gaze.
She pointed the vibrating tip of the blade at his chest, right where the frost was beginning to crack.
The sword hummed louder, as if agreeing with her.
"This is the Kumokiri." Chi-Chi declared, her voice rising.
"Master Korin gave this to me at the top of the tower."
CRACK.
The layer of ice on Piccolo's chest shattered. Shards of frozen Ki fell to the grass like broken glass.
Piccolo exhaled, a cloud of cold breath escaping his lips. He didn't look angry anymore. He looked... nostalgic. And cold.
He slowly lowered his gaze to the sword, his eyes narrowing into slits.
"Korin..." Piccolo murmured, the name rolling off his tongue with a mix of amusement and ancient venom.
"So, that senile cat is still alive, interfering in the affairs of the world below."
He took a step forward, ignoring the electricity still crackling in the air.
"That blade… I know it. Centuries have passed, yet I still remember its smell. The metal itself is foul with sanctity."
He tapped his own chest, right where the frost had been.
"A legendary blade, crafted to execute spirits and demons. Its edge does not cut flesh, but the very flow of energy."
He smirked, a terrifying expression that showed far too many teeth.
"So he entrusted a God-slaying weapon to a mere human child… How truly desperate he must be."
Piccolo's voice trailed off, hanging in the air like a dark cloud. He uncrossed his arms, the purple fabric of his gi rustling softly.
"However… no matter how divine or cursed a weapon may be, it is nothing more than an extension of its wielder."
He looked at Chi-Chi not with anger, but with a terrifying pity.
"Wielded by a god… or perhaps even that decrepit cat, Korin, Kumokiri could endanger my existence. It may actually be capable of cutting my soul apart."
Piccolo took a slow, deliberate step forward.
"In your hands, however, it is nothing but a sharpened stick, clutched by a child shaking in fear."
Chi-Chi's teeth clenched, her knuckles whitening as she gripped Kumokiri. The sword vibrated violently, almost as if it were struggling against her frustration.
With a shout, she poured every last ounce of her Ki into it. The blade flared with blinding blue light, electricity snapping wildly as she swung it down in a lethal arc aimed at Piccolo's head.
CLINK.
Her eyes went wide. Her breath caught.
The blade had stopped—dead. Not blocked, not dodged. Stopped.
Piccolo held it effortlessly between thumb and forefinger, the electrified sword barely an inch from his forehead.
Sparks hissed and danced, but his Ki—a thick, oppressive purple aura—suffocated the attack before it could touch him
"You see?" Piccolo whispered, leaning in close, his face looming over hers.
"The sword screams for blood. It wants to destroy me. But you..."
He applied a tiny amount of pressure with his fingers.
"You lack the hatred necessary to feed it."
[1] (Thunderclap)