Chapter 84
The farmer's wife screamed when the scarecrow moved. Not the usual creak-and-sway of wind through straw, but a deliberate tilt of its burlap head toward the barn, where the lantern light flickered against the storm.
Inside, Bardock wiped blood from his lip, grinning as his youngest, Kakarot, bounced on the balls of his feet near the hayloft ladder. "Didja see that one, Dad? I hit it *so hard*
!"
"Quiet," Gine hissed, yanking James back by his wrist as the farmhouse door rattled. Raditz cracked his knuckles, tail twitching. "Those aren't just scarecrows
."
Outside, something scraped against the wooden siding—long, dry fingers, maybe. The farmer whimpered, gripping his pitchfork like it mattered. Bardock exhaled through his teeth. "Fasha's playing dirty tonight."
The lantern guttered out. Darkness swallowed the barn whole, thick with the smell of wet straw and ozone. Kakarot's breath hitched; James elbowed him sharply. "Scared?" he whispered, though his own pulse thundered in his throat.
Then the first scream came—not human, not animal, but a sound like wheat stalks tearing in half. Raditz lunged for the door, but Gine's hand clamped around his bicep. "Wait," she murmured, eyes flicking to the rafters. Something rustled up there, slow, deliberate
.
Lightning flashed. For half a heartbeat, the scarecrows stood framed in the barn's shattered windows—dozens of them, hollow-eyed and grinning, their straw fingers curled like claws. The farmer's wife made a small, broken noise. Bardock cracked his neck. "Finally," he said, and sparks danced along his fists.
Above them, the rustling became a skitter, then a thud as something heavy landed in the hay beside Kakarot. The boy whirled, fists up, but the thing was already moving—a scarecrow, yes, but wrong, its limbs bending where limbs shouldn't bend, its mouth stitched shut with what looked like old fishing line. It lunged. James tackled Kakarot aside just as Gine's foot snapped out, catching the thing square in the chest. It flew back with a dry
crunch.
Raditz was already at the door, wrenching it open into the teeth of the storm. Wind howled in, carrying the stench of rotted pumpkins and something metallic. "Fasha!" he roared, and the scarecrow army turned as one, their heads tilting at that same uncanny angle. The farmer sobbed
.
Then the lantern flared back to life—not from any match, but from Bardock's palm, the flame licking up his arm like a living thing. In its flickering glow, the scarecrows' shadows stretched long and jagged across the walls, twitching in time with the distant thunder. Gine's lips curled. "Showtime," she said, and the barn erupted into motion.
Kakarot rolled to his feet first, small fists glowing faintly blue as he shot forward, ducking under a straw-limbed swipe to drive his elbow into a scarecrow's gut. It folded with a satisfying *whump*, but two more were already closing in—until James' ki blast seared past, reducing them to smoldering husks. The farmer's wife screamed again as one of the creatures scuttled across the ceiling, its limbs bending like a spider's, but Raditz was faster. He leapt, caught its ankle, and slammed it down onto the barn floor hard enough to shake the raft
ers.
Outside, the wind changed pitch—a shrill, keening wail that wasn't the storm. Fasha's laughter, Bardock realized, just as the barn doors blew inward in a burst of splinters. There she stood, rain sluicing off her armor, her tail flicking like a whip. "You always did pick the worst places to die," she called over the gale, her grin all teeth. The scarecrows stilled, heads swiveling toward her as if awaiting orders
.
Bardock spat blood onto the hay-strewn floor. "Funny," he shot back, rolling his shoulders. "I was gonna say the same about you." Behind him, Gine's fingers brushed his wrist—just once—before she slipped into the shadows near the loft. A trap, then. Good. Kakarot bounced on his toes again, but this time, his grin was sharp as a sickle. "Dad," he whispered, eyes never leaving Fasha, "can I hit her *harder* than the scarecrows?"
The farmer chose that moment to swing his pitchfork at a creeping straw-limbed horror. It splintered through the thing's chest with a dry crunch, but the scarecrow didn't stop—just wrapped its fingers around the wooden handle and twisted. The man's scream was cut short as Raditz's fist plowed through the creature's head in a shower of moldy hay. "Stop helping," Raditz growled, shaking straw from his kn
uckles.
Fasha's laugh curled through the barn like smoke. "Cute family act." She flicked her fingers, and the remaining scarecrows surged forward in a rustling tide—only to freeze mid-step as Gine dropped from the rafters behind Fasha, her knee driving into the rival Saiyan's spine. Fasha hit the dirt face-first, but her tail lashed out, catching Gine across the ribs with a crack that sent her skidding into the far wall.
Lightning lit the scene in stark relief: Bardock already moving, James' hands blazing with untamed energy, Raditz roaring as he waded into the scarecrow horde. And Kakarot—small, fierce Kakarot—launched himself straight at Fasha's exposed back, his tiny fist crackling with power. The last thing Fasha saw before impact was the farmer's wife, of all people, swinging a rusted scythe at her kneecaps. "Oh, *come on*," she had time to snarl, before the world exploded in hay and pain.
The barn shuddered as Fasha's body plowed through three support beams, splinters raining down like shrapnel. Gine dragged herself upright, tasting copper, just in time to see Raditz grab two scarecrows by their straw necks and slam their heads together—hard enough to ignite the dry chaff in a sudden *whoomph* of flame. The stench of burning burlap filled the air as James backflipped over a lunging horror, his ki blast reducing it to ash mid-leap. "Mom!" he shouted, pointing at the rafters where shadows writhed—more of them, always more.
Bardock's answering grin was a savage thing, teeth bloody. He flexed his fingers, and the fire climbing Raditz's scarecrow victims surged toward him like a living thing, coiling around his forearms. "Kakarot," he barked, and the boy didn't hesitate—ducked under Fasha's wild swipe and planted both feet in her stomach, using the impact to flip backward onto his father's shoulders. The moment his tiny hands touched Bardock's, the fire roared higher, turning blue at the edges. Fasha's eyes widened. "You wouldn't—
"
The farmer's pitchfork hit her between the shoulder blades. Not hard enough to pierce Saiyan skin, but enough to make her stumble forward—right into Bardock and Kakarot's combined blast. The resulting explosion tore the roof clean off the barn, rain and straw and screaming scarecrows spinning upward into the storm. Somewhere in the chaos, Gine's voice cut through: "James, *left*!"—and the last thing Fasha heard before the darkness took her was the wet crunch of her own arm breaking.
Raditz whooped as the last scarecrow disintegrated between his fists, the hay bursting into sparks that danced with the downpour. The farmer's wife stood panting over Fasha's limp form, scythe trembling in her hands. "Is... is it over?" she whispered. Bardock opened his mouth to answer when the ground beneath them shuddered—not from thunder, but something deeper, something *alive*. From the ruined fields, a hundred more hollow eyes flickered open in the dark.
Gine wiped blood from her chin, watching the new shadows rise. "Kakarot," she said softly, "remember what I taught you about ki control?" The boy nodded, bouncing again despite the exhaustion in his limbs. James groaned, rolling his shoulders. "Aw, come *on*," Raditz muttered, but he was already grinning, cracking his neck. Somewhere in the distance, muffled by the storm, something that wasn't Fasha
laughed.
The farmer grabbed his wife's hand, backing toward the shattered barn doors. "We should—" he started, but Bardock's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Run," the Saiyan said, never taking his eyes off the advancing tide. "Now." The first of the new scarecrows reached the barn's perimeter—then split clean in half as Gine's ki blade flashed. Behind her, Kakarot's tiny hands glowed gold. The storm, it seemed, was just getting started