The great barrier of light still shimmered faintly above the arena, reflecting in countless wide eyes. On the floating terraces encircling the coliseum—sections carved for families, allies, and dignitaries—silence reigned. Even the rowdiest voices from earlier seemed strangled now, buried beneath the weight of the impossible spectacle sprawled before them.
The brackets hung like a cosmic prophecy in the sky, names etched in golden flame across an endless lattice of fights. Every soul in the stands had read them. And every soul had felt their heart sink.
Timeline 1 – Earth's Family Section
"Oh my gosh… oh my gosh… oh my—"Bulma's voice tumbled over itself as she clutched the edge of the glowing railing, knuckles white. Her eyes darted across the board—Android 17 vs Baby Vegito Black. Goku vs Turles. Future Gohan vs Frieza. Each pairing hammered against her skull like a war drum. "This… this i can't watch it!"
Future Bulma, seated two spots away, didn't even flinch. Her face was pale, lips pressed so tight they'd gone colorless, but her voice was steady—a brittle kind of calm."They'll manage. They have to." Her gaze lingered on one name, glowing like a scar across the board. Future Gohan.Don't you dare die on me again.
Chi-Chi had both hands locked on Pan's tiny shoulders, fingers trembling. "This is insane! INSANE!" Her shrill voice cracked like glass, drawing glances from nearby spectators. "Why didn't Goku tell me this was life or death?! No rules?! Kill if you have to?! He's going to get himself killed—he's going to—"
"Ma." Goten, seated behind her, placed a hand on her arm, though his own face was taut with unease. "Dad's… Dad. He'll be fine." He tried to smile, but it withered fast.
Videl sat quietly, her fingers laced tight, knuckles ghost-white. She wasn't trembling—yet. But her jaw clenched so hard it ached.Gohan… fighting Frieza. That monster that killed so many… He'll win. He has to. Her stomach churned at the thought of what "winning" might mean in this blood-soaked format.
Beside her, Mr. Satan dabbed his sweaty brow with a silk kerchief, muttering prayers to no god in particular. "Th-this is fine. They got this. They're pros! Heh—heroes of Earth! Y-yeah, piece of cake…" The lie soured on his tongue even as he spoke it.
Back at the Massive Arena-
Goku's grin hit before his thoughts did. "Whoa…" His eyes darted from platform to platform, lighting up like a child at a carnival of gods. "So many fighters! This is gonna be awesome!" His voice was breathless, almost giddy—until his gaze locked on a shadow far off, a presence so heavy it bent the void around it.
The grin faltered.
Beside him, Vegeta's scowl deepened into something sharper. Arms crossed, he swept his gaze across the assembled titans like a king surveying rivals for his throne. His jaw tightened when his eyes met a version of himself—prouder, colder, wearing royal Saiyan armor gleaming under alien suns.
"Tch." His lip curled. "So that's what I could've been." He didn't like it.
Future Gohan said nothing. His gaze lingered on familiar faces wearing unfamiliar scars. A young Gohan laughing on another platform—alive. His throat constricted. Then his eyes found someone else. Turles. And Bojack. Monsters long buried in history now breathing before him. The memories hit like a gut punch.
Uub gripped his fists until his knuckles burned. So many warriors—each one radiating a pressure that made the void feel smaller by the second. He swallowed the lump in his throat. I'm… supposed to fight them?
Piccolo's narrowed gaze swept over a mass of green. Namekians—scores of them—standing shoulder to shoulder behind a towering figure whose calmness was almost divine. Gast, Piccolo realized. His ki was oceanic, vast but tranquil, like the stillness before a tidal wave. Piccolo's antenna twitched. For the first time in decades, doubt crept in.
Across the coliseum, other eyes drank in the sight of their prey.
On a platform rimmed with frost, Frieza smirked—thin and sharp as a blade. "Well, well, well," he purred, golden light rippling off his flawless form. "If it isn't the monkey who won't stay dead." His gaze slid to Vegeta, then back to Goku. "And the prince. How… quaint."
King Cold loomed behind him, massive arms folded, his aura like ice choking the air. Cooler tilted his head, sizing up the Saiyans with a predator's patience. And Shun—the frost demon prodigy—licked his teeth, eager for slaughter.
On another platform, muscles like mountains shifted as Broly stepped forward, silent but radiating violence. His aura pulsed like a heartbeat, deep and primal, and the arena felt it—every platform quivered under that invisible gravity. Warriors who'd never known fear tasted it now.
Then came the hush.
It wasn't Broly this time. It was something worse.
Baby Vegito Black appeared like a shadow crawling across the sun. His very presence bent the void, swallowing light, smothering sound. His smirk was faint, but it dripped with contempt so pure it curdled the air. Even Beerus—Prime Beerus—tilted an ear, eyes narrowing slightly.
Vegito from Timeline 2 stared at him, lips twitching into something between rage and thrill. "So… that's me, But edgyer"
Gotenks leaned in, whispering, "Uh, Vegito… you sure about that? He feels kinda—"
"Quiet." Vegito didn't look away. His blood sang with hunger. "I've been bored for decades. He Might be a good warm up."
Turles smirked as his eyes locked on Goku. The resemblance stung like an old wound. "Kakarot," he spat, savoring the name like poison. "Still playing the hero. Pathetic." His fingers flexed over the hilt of his blade, itching. Bojack cracked his knuckles beside him, grin splitting wide.
"Not bad," Bojack rumbled, eyeing Future Gohan's stance. "That one's got bite. Hope he lasts long enough for me to tear him apart."
Zangya smirked, draping herself across a tilted platform edge. "I like the tall one with the scar," she purred, nodding at Future Trunks. "Wonder how loud he screams."
Across the gulf, Trunks' eyes found her. The scar along his cheek burned cold. They're alive here… all of them. He gripped his sword so tight the leather creaked.
The humans on Timeline 9 were silent for a long time. Tien's jaw clenched as his third eye swept over colossi—creatures of myth, warriors who bent universes like twigs. His pulse thundered, but he didn't break. So what if they're gods? I've stared death down before. I'll do it again.
Krillin swallowed so hard it hurt. "Uh… guys? That big green dude looks like he could eat Cell for breakfast." He laughed nervously. No one joined.
Roshi adjusted his sunglasses, hiding the flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Focus," he murmured, voice steady as bedrock. "Size means nothing. Spirit decides the victor."
Launch cracked a smile, loading bullets into her gun. "Well, if spirit counts, I'm a damn goddess."
Vegeta's gaze froze when it fell on himself—or rather, the other him. Royal armor. Cape billowing. Aura like molten iron. The King Vegeta who never fell. And beside him… Kakarot—no, that Kakarot—standing like a war god crowned in blood.
Vegeta's teeth ground together. "Another me. Another… clown." His fists trembled at his sides. "I'll erase them both."
Future Gohan's breath caught when he saw them—faces he'd buried long ago. Piccolo. Alive. Not his Piccolo, but close enough to tear the scar tissue open. And Nail. Slug. Kami. An entire tribe reborn in this alternate skin of reality. He looked away before the ache drowned him.
And then… his heart stopped.
Gohan Black.
No, not here—not him. But the sight of Baby Vegito Black dragged the memory like a chain across his soul. The screams. The blood. The failure.
He swallowed the bile in his throat. Not again.
Above it all, the Beeruses floated like carrion kings, their gazes flicking between mortals like gamblers eyeing horses. One yawned, fangs flashing. Another smirked. The Prime Beerus only narrowed his eyes, tail twitching lazily.
"Whis," he murmured, his voice soft but sharp as broken glass. "They'll break the toys soon."
Whis smiled, his fingers tracing idle circles in the air. "Isn't that the point, Lord Beerus?"
The announcer tried. He really did. His voice cracked like splintering wood as he forced words past dry lips. "R-remember, warriors! Maintain your positions! No unauthorized—"
Then it happened.
A whisper—soft, almost gentle—slid across the void, curling into every ear like smoke. Baby Vegito Black didn't shout. He didn't need to. His voice carried weight enough to drown stars.
"I see you all," he said.
The words dripped slow, deliberate. His smile widened—not cruel, not mad, but something worse: amused. "Every timeline. Every soul. Every… failure." His eyes gleamed like twin suns dying. "You'll kneel before perfection. Before me." (Hey thats my saying Perfect Cell said in his mind!!)
A ripple of ki shuddered through the void—thin as a sigh, heavy as a black hole. Platforms groaned. Fighters staggered, their instincts screaming. For a heartbeat, even the gods fell silent.
The coliseum wasn't silent—it was choking on noise. Voices clashed like swords, overlapping, snarling, laughing. Twelve timelines, stripped bare of their partitions, now stared each other down with unblinking eyes. The air thickened with killing intent so raw it tasted like blood.
But then—crack!
A sound like glass breaking, but heavier, deeper, echoing in the marrow of every bone. Turles snarled and lunged a step forward, aura igniting in a blaze of crimson malice. "Enough staring!" His boots slammed into the platform, shattering chunks of its edge. "I'm done waiting! Kakarot—" His finger stabbed through the void toward Goku. "—you're mine!"
"Turles, wait—" Zangya reached, but too late.
Because Turles wasn't alone.
Across the void, Bojack surged forward with a grin that could split mountains. "Finally! Let's make this fun!" His aura flared like blue fire, licking the edges of his massive frame.
And then it happened.
Both slammed headlong into something invisible—an unyielding wall of force that detonated like a thunderclap. Energy rippled outward in violent rings, rocking platforms and sending weaker fighters staggering. Turles reeled back, teeth bared, clutching his skull where it had struck nothingness.
"What the hell—?!" He spun, fury boiling in his veins.
Bojack's grin twisted into a snarl. "Who dares—?!"
The answer was silence. Silence, and a weight pressing down like an ocean of gravity. Every fighter felt it—the barrier wasn't mortal. It wasn't divine. It was… beyond.
Gast narrowed his eyes, antennae twitching. This energy… calm, but absolute. No malice. No mercy either. His jaw tightened. An Angel's hand, perhaps.
Vegito hovered a foot off his platform, golden aura crackling like a cage around his frame. "Well," he drawled, his smirk sharp as a blade, "looks like someone doesn't trust us to behave."
Gotenks whistled low. "Dude… that didn't even flinch when Turles hit it."
Krillin, clutching the edge of his platform for balance, croaked, "Didn't even flex? It—didn't—exist! It's like the air turned to diamond."
"Not diamond," murmured Dabura, his voice like oil sliding over steel. "Something… higher."
His forked tongue flicked out as his eyes glowed faint crimson. A barrier that bends not to force, but to command. Even his demonic magic recoiled from it.
And then, a voice ripped through the void—a voice that cracked planets when bored.
"SIT IN YOUR PLACE, YOU DAMN KIDS!! WAIT FOR YOUR TURN!"
Beerus (From Timeline 7) didn't speak. He roared.
The Prime Beerus, fur bristling, tail snapping like a whip, let the sound tear loose—a sound layered with ki so thick it drowned space itself. The platforms shuddered, fissures spidering underfoot as entire timelines flinched. Even Baby Vegito Black paused mid-smirk, one eyebrow quirking.
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then reactions cascaded like falling stars.
Turles staggered, face twisting from rage to something like shock—then back again. His fists trembled as he snarled, ordering me around like some cub? But deep in his chest, a primal truth whispered: That wasn't power. That was… inevitability.
Bojack spat to the side, masking unease with bravado. "Hmph. Yell all you want, cat. I'll gut you when this is over."
Beerus' ear twitched.
Vegito—oh, Vegito laughed. Head thrown back, voice rolling like distant thunder. "Finally!" he roared, fists curling with hunger. "A god with a spine! Been a while since I heard something worth respecting!"
Gohan—both of them—stayed silent. Present Gohan's stomach knotted. Future Gohan's hand hovered near his hilt, but not in defiance—only readiness.
Krillin had hit the ground without realizing. Roshi gripped his staff until his knuckles whitened, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. "That," he murmured, voice steady despite the quake in his bones, "wasn't a threat. That was… an order."
Piccolo said nothing, but his antennae buzzed with tension. So even the gods… play jailer now.
And then came laughter—thin, cruel, ringing like glass breaking underwater.
Frieza floated forward an inch, tail swaying lazily. "Well," he purred, voice syrup-slick, "how delightfully savage. The mighty Beerus, reduced to babysitting brats." His grin widened, teeth flashing. "Tell me, do you always scream when you feel control slipping?"
Beerus' pupils shrank to pinpricks. For a breath, the void itself seemed to freeze.
Whis tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Oh dear," he hummed, staff twirling idly. "And here I thought this would be civil."
On the far side, Raditz snarled low. "No barrier will hold me when blood calls." His mane whipped as his aura flickered—only to gutter when Rosan, his son, clamped a hand on his wrist.
"Not yet," Rosan said, voice cold steel. His eyes never left the Beerus. "That… wasn't just a god's bark."
King Vegeta's lip curled, disdain etched deep. Ordering a king like a cur. But even he, pride carved from stone, did not move.
Kakarot—the ruthless one, the warlord of Timeline 5—grinned sharp enough to cut. "He's strong," he mused, voice low, eyes gleaming like embers. "Good. Let him think fear buys obedience."
The barrier pulsed again—a whispering hum that threaded through marrow and mind alike. It wasn't just holding them. It was watching.
Gast stared upward, sensing… not eyes, but intention. His voice, when it came, was soft, almost reverent. "This is no mortal craft. Not even a god's alone. Something greater moves these chains."
Slug spat, the gesture obscene. "Chains are chains, no matter who forges them."
Kami stood silent, hands folded. Dende trembled, his fingers clutching his robe. Perfect Cell—altered, twisted—grinned like a carrion crow. "An invisible cage," he crooned. "Perfect for fattening livestock before the feast."
Gast's gaze cut to him, sharp as razors. "Try it," he said simply.
The Androids murmured among themselves—a chorus of cold, synthetic logic threading through wireless silence. Android 21's lips curved in a smile sweet as arsenic. "An unknown force. High probability: Angelic intervention. Low probability: Artifact-level energy construct." Her eyes glowed. Fascinating.
Hatchiyack didn't speak. He couldn't. But his thoughts vibrated through the ether like grinding metal: Destroy. Everything. Everything. His aura spiked, making the platform tremble until Tapion strummed his ocarina, the soft notes threading through chaos like silver threads. Hirudegarn stilled, for now.
Yajirobe blinked twice, then blurted, "Uh… so… we don't fight yet?" His voice cracked like a twig.
Chiaotzu floated closer to Tien, whispering, "That voice… it felt like it came from inside my head."
Tien exhaled slow, his breath shuddering. "That was godhood," he murmured. "Raw and absolute."
Launch smirked, snapping a bullet into her revolver. "God or not, he yells like my ex."
And then the talking began—snaps of venom slashing through the gulf between timelines.
Frieza, voice velvet over steel: "Enjoy your illusions of grandeur, monkeys. When this is over, I'll hang your spines on my wall."
Turles spat across the void. "Get in line, lizard. Kakarot's head is mine."
Goku scratched his cheek, grin sheepish. "Man… everybody wants a piece of me today."
"You sound thrilled," Piccolo muttered darkly.
Vegito's laugh split the tension like an ax. "Stop whining and fight already! I'll take you all on!" His aura flared golden, licking the barrier in hungry waves.
Baby Vegito Black only smiled, whispering low—so low the words crawled like worms: "Yes. Struggle. Scream. Break." His eyes glowed crimson. "And when you kneel, you'll thank me."
The whisper wasn't loud, but the void heard it. Shivers crawled spines. Even Broly, silent and seismic, tilted his head, a growl vibrating deep in his chest.
But them the announcer with his loud mic made everybody change its priorite to listen to what he had to say..