Krillin jerked to a halt, glancing back with a look of irritation. "You can't fly?" But then the pleading quality to the kid's words finally sunk in. "You really can't fly. Yet Trunks can take off just like that. You two make an interesting pair."
He looked to where the two had disappeared; he could barely even sense them anymore (not that that was saying much). With a sigh, he let his feet touch carpet again. "Too late now. Don't you know anything about--"
Krillin came to a sudden halt. His chi sense may have left much to be desired, but he wasn't deaf, nor blind. And he could certainly hear.
He spun about in an almost protective manner, his arms blocking (almost amusingly) the much-taller Goten - because for all his words, Yamcha's dogmatic beliefs had wormed their way into him. In a half-whisper, he managed to croak, "Gohan...!"
In Krillin's eyes, the man seemed to take up the entire hallway - exuding a dark, foreign air that even the supposed "possessed" Yamcha did not have. It was almost as if Piccolo himself had dropped through the ruined ceiling, except they were still breathing. Somehow.
The man simply cocked his head to the side, as if he were a scholar, studying some particularly interesting specimen. "You're always afraid of me. Why?"