Storm clouds resemble nothing so much as an angry ocean when one is looking down at them. They roil and twist like a tarp in the wind, they swirl into their own eddies, and, should a tendril of these clouds brush an arm, it is damp and chill. Thinner layers of clouds float above, effectively blocking the sky and any light that might come from it.

In the midst of this turmoil floated a platform, white and rounded like an island, with palm trees swaying nervously in the wind. A single peal of thunder set the trees to trembling, and then a particularly wild gust of wind sent a spray of water across the marble. Bits of cloud also came tearing across the floor of the heavenly palace, resembling dark water streaming across the deck of a ship.

Some of this water struck a greenish heap that was prone beneath one of the twisting trees. The figure leaped to its feet, a faint snarl curling across its lips. Now that it was standing, it could be distinguished as humanoid in form, most probably male due to his size and muscular condition. He was not human, though; neither his color nor his oddly shaped ears leant themselves to that conclusion.

Streams of cloud continued to weave around his legs and cling to his heaving chest. With a barely audible growl, the being straightened to his full, considerable height. As if contemptuous of this action, another gale tore about, setting graceful ferns to flight as their leaves were ripped free. The being who had stood bent his knees slightly, weathering the blast with the air of an accustomed sailor.

< What happened? > he wondered, glancing at his surroundings warily. He had only been living at the Tenkai for a few short weeks, but never in that time had he encountered a storm like this one. The night sky had always been clear before…wait, why had he been lying outside at night in the first place…

His eyes widened in alarm and remembrance: the dream, the dragon…

…the dragonballs.

The being turned slowly, seeking a gleam of orange in the multiple layers of gray, white, and black that stretched across his field of vision like pulled cotton. Yes, there they were, lying no more than ten feet from him. < Activating them must have taken more energy than I thought. It seems that I fainted…phe, there’s no excuse for that. > Perhaps it was the storm, perhaps something else, but a feeling of dread had lodged itself in the resident’s stomach. < What is wrong? >

"Kami-sama!" a resonant, bass voice cried out from the building part of the palace. "Are you out there?"

The being started, looking back over his shoulder. Popo was walking toward him with his distinctive, rocking gait, his pinto-bean eyes rounded in concern. "It is best not to be outside in weather like this, Kami-sama."

The "kami" blinked. "There’s no need for you to call me by my title all the time, is there?" he asked in soft tone that was almost warm, but not quite.

Popo shrugged his rounded shoulders. "What else can I call you?"

The kami was at a loss at this point; if he had ever had a name, he certainly didn’t remember it. "I don’t know. "Hey, you!" would probably work," he offered finally.

Looking as indignant as he could with the clouds streaming about him and the wind tugging at the white cloth of his baggy pants and turban, the short being shook his head. "That would be very disrespectful, Kami-sama."

Though he had to check a sigh, the other creature couldn’t help but smile slightly. "Can you shorten it to just Kami, then?"

Popo contemplated this for a moment, then shrugged again. "As you wish, Kami. Now, if we might be getting out of the wind…"

Kami nodded absently. "Hai, but first, do you remember the dreams I told you of?"

"As I said, Kami, just dreams. They are nothing to be concerned about." Popo sounded reassuring as always, but a hint of apprehension colored his words.

"Oh, I think they are worthy of consideration," Kami replied, gesturing toward the seven orange globes.

Popo’s jaw dropped. He spent a few seconds visibly trying to regain his composure before speaking again. "Kami-sama," he whispered, almost as if he were speaking a prayer…the Kami shuddered – he wasn’t ready for that aspect of his position, not in the least… "How did this happen?"

Kami shook his head slowly. "I wish I could tell you, but I honestly don’t know myself. One minute I was looking at a set of stone orbs – I think they were meant to crown those columns on the far side of the palace – and the next, I wake up in the middle of a storm with a vague memory of pouring energy into the things."

The dark-skinned being stepped closer to the dragonballs, watching the clouds swirl across their gleaming surfaces. "They are just as you described, Kami, but for one thing…the stars are dark."

Something about that statement sent a wave of frost down Kami’s spine. The newly christened deity advanced toward the things he had unwittingly created, a stone settling into his stomach. The stars were not just dark, they were black, pitch black, darker than a moonless midnight. Though there was no real light, the stars gleamed in an illumination all their own, like wicked eyes. "Something is wrong," he growled in a low, roiling voice that he hardly recognized as his own.

Popo jumped at those words, or perhaps the tone. Kami couldn’t blame him; there were times when he startled himself as well with the aspects of his personality that he wasn’t aware of. Brushing such thoughts aside, the Kami continued, "They were not meant to be black."

< I meant them to be. Dark stars, dark heart. It is fitting. >

Kami literally jumped three feet into the air, landing crouched in a fighting position. "Who are you?" he snapped, his head twisting from left to right. "Where are you?" His voice had built nearly to a scream.

The only reply to come was Popo’s. "I’m Mr. Popo, Kami. Surely you know that – and I’m right here," the rounded being said, his tone indicating bewilderment.

Kami shook his head fiercely, his eyes growing colder. "No, not you, the voice that…didn’t you hear it?"

* * *

Popo was worried by the distracted way in which his companion was speaking. Perhaps the newest resident of the heavenly palace was mad. He certainly hoped not; the place was hard enough to keep orderly without a raving madman wreaking havoc, and he was going to feel very lonely if the new Kami fell to conversing with voices in his head rather than him. "I hear nothing but the wind, Kami. Maybe if you get some normal sleep, inside, out of this weather…" the wind, as if insulted by Popo’s remark, immediately began blowing harder, "Please, Kami, the solitude of the Tenkai is often disorienting at first. Once you grow accustomed to it, you’ll stop having these strange dreams of dragons and outer space, and you’ll stop hearing strange voices in thunderstorms."

The Kami actually growled at him. Well, that was new; the old Kami had certainly never snarled when offered advice. "Popo," he said softly as if he was trying very hard not to yell, "I lived in Yunzabit Heights for decades before I came here for training. I know what wind sounds like, and that _ wasn’t_ wind."

"I’m sure you do, Kami," the turban-clad servant answered consolingly. He had often heard that those who spent the early parts of their lives alone are occasionally subject to talking to themselves. Perhaps that was the case. Besides, from what he had seen of the battle with Garlic, this new Kami was a great warrior. Years of observation of earth had taught him that fighters tended to be a bit eccentric. It was always best to humor them.

His companion made no reply, but he continued to look around the lookout. Droplets of moisture were condensing on the Kami’s emerald skin, running in steady streams down his well-muscled arms and dripping from his taloned hands. Popo found himself hoping that Kami didn’t catch cold easily.

* * *

Kami’s eyes narrowed. "What in the name of…"

"Great, now it’s mocking me," Kami hissed. "Popo, tell me you can hear something – anything!"

The little black denizen of the palace shook his rounded head. "I don’t think I can, but then, my ears are smaller than yours…meaning, of course, that you hear better."

"It’s inside me then, whatever it is. Otherwise you’d hear it."

That, at least, sounded reasonable, except, "But I don’t have a dark heart. Remember, I couldn’t have become Kami if I did. There was a purification ritual…"

"But I don’t…no, wait. I hated Garlic for what he tried to do to the earth…" Kami swallowed, forcing an inexplicable lump from his throat. "I was glad of it when the Deadzone swallowed him."

"I…it would bother anyone, I imagine, but…"

"Kami," Popo interrupted, "are you quite sure you’re all right? You look pale, actually, kind of yellow."

The voice continued relentlessly, ignoring Popo. < Don’t you lie to me. You hated them for it. You told yourself they couldn’t help it. You came to Kami-sama himself, not entirely to protect them, but to remove yourself from them, to finish the alienation that they began for you. >

"You’re the one lying," Kami barked, baring his fangs.

"Lying to whom, Kami?" Popo asked, sounding progressively more nervous.

A self-mocking smirk spread across Kami’s face. "Well, Popo, I have discovered the source of my problems. I think I botched the purification ritual."

Popo blinked. "How, Kami? I watched you perform it; you did everything correctly. The evil in you must have been separated from your soul."

"Oh, it was separated, alright." Kami was all seriousness again. Beads of sweat began to appear on his forehead, mixing with the droplets of rain. He had learned a fighting technique once that involved splitting into two parts…it was time to employ that technique for another use…

Something moved. At least, that’s what it felt like. Something was responding to his push.

It didn’t want to go.

Kami wasn’t sure how he sensed this, but the resistance was certainly there. It didn’t matter. If he was ever to be an effective guardian, then the evil within him couldn’t merely be isolated. It would have to be exorcised. Again, he focused on his heart, searching it. Yes, there, the thoughts he tried not to have, the feelings he discouraged, those must be the problem. He concentrated harder than he ever had…push it away, push it away…and he found more. Buried hatred, anger….push, get rid of it…no matter that it feels as if you’re ripping yourself in two…resentment….was that mine or his?…

With an abruptness that stole his breath, the things he had been pushing reversed their position. They went from clinging to him to trying with fevered intensity to free themselves – no, itself, himself, from his prison. In that instant, pain erupted like Mount St. Helens within Kami’s skull. A worse pain, fire creeping down his spinal column, followed this eruption. He was remotely aware of screaming, falling to the floor. Then his spine spit down the middle the way a wooden rail splits when a spike is driven into it.

If he had been in pain before, he was in agony now. Something burst through the skin of his back like a chick through an eggshell, but he could do nothing but crouch on his hands and knees and try to retain his feather-grip on consciousness. He could feel it – him – pulling away…and then it was free.

Popo’s voice came into focus again; Kami wondered how long the servant had been speaking. "Kami, are you…oh. There are two…"

"Two?" The whisper came out hoarse and bruised as Kami closed his eyes. He forced his body to heed, could feel the skin coming back together. Slowly, he stood again, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs.

"You…you would cast me out?" It was a voice that Kami had never heard before, deeper than his and more rich. Half-fearing to look, he straightened, and stared straight at a nightmare version of himself. His mirror image was easily his height, but his eyes were more slitted, his smirk far more lightless. His words, his expression, both lacked any form of warmth. They were mocking, arrogant, and, at the same time, very soft. Strangest of all, beneath the mockery, he sounded almost…hurt.

"I’m…who are you?" Kami narrowed his own eyes. He had actually been about to apologize for some misdeed he didn’t know he’d done? That wasn’t like him, at least, not the old him.

The other being looked as well, grinning in a way that sent shivers down Kami’s recently-healed back. "You could say I’m you. Then again, I’m not." His doppelganger put a hand to his mouth in mock thought. "Let’s see…not Kami, that’s for certain…well, that leaves the Daimao position wide open, doesn’t it?"

"Daimao?" Kami asked, his heart sinking.

"Yes, why not? We’re separate worlds now…separate world – that’s Piccolo in the other language, isn’t it? Very well, I will be Daimao Piccolo, the Demon King." The mocking grin grew wider. "Somehow, I doubt you’ll be glad to have met me."

Kami found himself moving between Popo and the newly named monstrosity. He was getting a very bad feeling from this creature; its aura was the same shining black as the stars on the dragonballs. "What exactly do you plan to do?"

Daimao shrugged. "Who knows? What do you plan to do about it? You’ll never be able to kill me. We’re opposite sides of the same coin. If I die, you die." Daimao’s tone had changed. He was speaking calmly, without inflection, and he sounded perfectly reasonable.

"I might not be able to kill you, but I can stop you if you’re planning on harming this planet, demon," Kami growled.

The self-proclaimed demon king actually chuckled. "Hmmm…can you, when I took half of your power with me? You might have been able to control me when I was inside you and dispersed, but you made the mistake of putting me together." At this point, Daimao dipped his head in a mock bow. "I really should be thanking you, but I think you kept the manners."

"I ‘kept’ more than manners," Kami said, preparing himself to fight. He began to charge his aura - wait, there should be more power than that…

"I told you, Kami-sama," Daimao stated matter-of-factly. "You can’t stop me. I wouldn’t worry about it too much, though." The demon began levitating, the swirling clouds combining with his dark green skin, pointed fangs, and elven ears to make him look almost ethereal. Only his eyes were concrete, hard and cruel as onyx stones. "After all, what can I do that would be worse than what you’ve already done? You’ve been this planet’s guardian for less than a month, and already you have succeeded in perverting an ancient tradition, creating an evil dragon who - unless I am very much mistaken - will destroy the world should he ever actually grant a wish, and unleashing a demon. It’s going to be very hard for me to live up to those standards. If I plan on ruining this planet, I’d better beat you to it, ne?"

Daimao raised two fingers to his forehead in a casual salute. "You’ll be seeing a lot of me, or at least my work. I hope you enjoy the show."

"Wait!" Kami snapped, starting forward – too late. Daimao was gone. He snarled yet again, clenching one fist until the blood flowed freely down his hand, glaring as if determination alone could part the clouds and show him which way his errant half had gone.

"Well, Kami," Popo remarked in a fine example of his quick recovery time, "I am quite relieved to find that you aren’t insane."

"No, I’m not. I may be incompetent, inexperienced, and incomplete, but at least I’m not insane yet, right?" Kami actually laughed, sounding only slightly hysterical.

Popo shook his head. "I’d hardly call you incompetent. Disturbed, perhaps, but not incompetent. It is normal for a new Kami-sama to experience certain – difficulties – in adjusting, but…"

"Difficulties," Kami muttered. "That’s a polite way to put it."

Smiling slightly, Popo continued, "Well, it’s hardly proper for me to relate to you some of the miscalculations earlier Kamis made, but believe me, some of them were considerable. I admit, releasing demons and such is hardly standard procedure, but I’m sure you’ll master the position eventually."

Strangely enough, Popo was sure. The being who stood beside him now was not the same person he had been scant moments before; even so, there was something about him that indicated fierce determination. He might not be a great warrior any longer, but that was probably for the best. "Sometimes strange things are meant to happen, Kami. At any rate, there’s nothing to be done about it now."

"Yes there is," Kami replied coolly. "Is there anywhere you can hide those…" he trailed off, staring at what had once been the black star dragonballs. They were now as gray as the clouds, save for the stars, which were as black as ever. "Oh, I see. The being who created those things no longer exists. They’re inactive."

Popo nodded. "See, things will work themselves out more often than not if you give them half a chance. I’ll hide them somewhere in the morning. Meanwhile…" the denizen’s voice grew slightly irate.

Kami smiled, the first genuine, open smile that Popo had ever seen from him. "Very well, Popo, I’ll be a good little watcher and go inside now."

"And…" Popo prompted.

"And remember not to track water throughout the palace."

"See, Kami, you’re learning already."

Popo continued to ramble on, but Kami paused for a moment, glaring one last time into the storm. He had started something – he wasn’t yet sure just what it had been, but he had a feeling that he would not see the end of it. Shaking his head, he continued toward the palace.

Miles away, a chill voice whispered in sparse amusement, "Of course not, Kami. There will be no end to it. Even I can see that far down the road of fortune."