Goku stood at the edge of the fighting stage, his body steaming, his gi shredded into strips clinging to his blood-streaked torso. Turles lay far from him, broken and beaten, coughing crimson into the void. Silence had followed Goku's final words: "Kaioken times one hundred… I didn't even need to use it." The weight of that casual statement hung like a blade over the entire coliseum.
Whispers tore through every timeline's bench. Warriors who had fought and killed countless enemies now stared like mortals witnessing a god.
Vegeta from Timeline 1 scowled, fists trembling on his knees. Damn Kakarot… even here, in this twisted multiverse mess, you're ahead of me. His pride burned, but under it was something sharper: fear. Not of Goku… but of what else might be hiding among these timelines.
Broly leaned forward on his seat across the arena, his massive frame hunched like a predator watching prey. His eyes glowed faintly green, his grin feral. He didn't see Goku's dominance as discouraging—he saw it as a promise. Strong prey… finally.
But in the shadows of another bench, a different presence didn't grin. Didn't scowl. Didn't even breathe louder. Baby Vegito Black sat with his arms folded, his body relaxed against the cold silver of the seat, eyes glowing a dull crimson behind his smirk. His aura didn't flare like Broly's storm. It didn't need to. It just pulsed faintly, like a predator's heartbeat in the dark. And for the first time since the tournament began, his lips curled—not in amusement, but in something colder. A whisper no one heard: Show's over. My turn now.
---
Down below, the announcer's voice sliced through the murmur like a blade. Calm, controlled, almost eerie after the chaos that had consumed the stage minutes earlier.
"Next match…" He let the words hang, and every head turned toward the giant bracket above, where holographic names shimmered into position. "…Android 17 from Timeline Three… versus Baby Vegito Black of Timeline Six."
The arena didn't roar. It didn't cheer. It exhaled—a ripple of dread crawling across the audience like cold fog. Even the boldest warriors tensed. It wasn't just the name. It was the silence that followed, the way the gods themselves shifted slightly on their seats, their golden eyes flickering with mild… interest.
Android 17 rose slowly from the bench, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. Calm, collected. His twin wasn't here—she'd fallen earlier—but that didn't matter. He was still a hunter, still efficient. His emerald scarf fluttered behind him as he stepped toward the glowing platform, face unreadable. He wasn't a fool. He'd watched Black sit in silence all this time, felt that abyssal pressure crawling under reality's skin. But he wasn't about to back down. *He bleeds like anyone else,* 17 told himself. *They all do.*
Across the arena, Baby Vegito Black stood.
Gasps rippled through entire timelines as the fused warrior stretched casually, like someone waking from a nap. His crimson aura didn't explode outward; it seeped like poison from every pore, wrapping him in a haze that shimmered between elegance and menace. His eyes burned red—not bright like fire, but deep, like dying embers hiding a black core.
Turles, still bleeding on his stretcher, actually stopped groaning. He stared at Black and whispered through split lips: "That… that's not normal."
Even Vegito from Timeline 2 leaned forward, grin twitching wider. Show me what you've got, impostor.
The announcer's voice boomed again: "Both fighters, step forward."
They did. The platform repaired itself instantly, gleaming white under their feet. 17 rolled his shoulders. Baby Vegito Black tilted his head, studying him like an insect pinned to glass.
---
Up in the god's balcony, Beerus from Universe 7 yawned, but his golden eyes stayed locked on the stage. "Hmph. That one's dangerous," he said lazily, pointing a claw at Black. "I can feel it. He's hiding… a lot."
Another Beerus from a different timeline scoffed. "Hiding? He reeks of overconfidence. I'd like to see him humbled."
Whis's calm voice cut between them, smooth as silk but edged like a blade. "Careful what you wish for, Lord Beerus. That one isn't bluffing."
---
The barrier shimmered. The angel's staff pulsed. The signal was given.
"Begin."
---
Android 17 moved first, vanishing in a blur of speed, energy whipping around his frame like a storm of blue fire. His fist snapped toward Black's jaw—and hit nothing. A rush of wind where Black had been, and then a voice, low and amused, behind him.
"You're fast," Black murmured. "For prey."
17 spun, leg whipping up in a roundhouse. Black caught it with one hand. Just caught it—and squeezed. Bone groaned. 17 snarled, flipping into a backflip to free himself, firing a rapid barrage of ki blasts mid-air. The stage erupted in smoke and flame.
For a heartbeat, the crowd leaned forward.
Then the smoke peeled back. Black stood exactly where he'd been, a faint outline of crimson energy shimmering around him like a second skin. Not a scorch mark on him. He looked up at 17—looked up with those ember eyes—and smiled.
"That was..something."
And then he moved.
No sound. No warning. One second he was below, the next his fist buried in 17's gut, folding him around the blow like paper. Air—and blood—shot from the android's mouth in a crimson arc. The impact didn't just break the sound barrier; it shattered the stage beneath them, a shockwave rippling outward, sending dust into the god's balconies.
17 gagged, his systems screaming. Black didn't pull his arm back immediately. He leaned close, lips almost brushing 17's ear, voice a velvet whisper: "I want you to understand something. You were dead the moment they said my name."
And then he flung him—flung him across the stage like trash. 17's body smashed into the ground, skidding, tearing chunks of marble like water under his weight.
The crowd exploded. Cries of horror. Cheers from sadists. Silence from those who knew this wasn't a fight. It was a message.
---
Vegito from Timeline 2 was grinning now, knuckles white on his knees. So that's how you want to play it. Good. Good. Broly leaned forward, teeth bared in something too wild to be a smile. Gast's brow furrowed. Future Gohan's jaw tightened. And Goku? Goku's hands curled into fists without him noticing.
Chi-Chi, from the benches, clasped her hands to her mouth. "Goku… that man…"
Android 21 smiled faintly, a dangerous softness in her eyes. "Seventeen… you better make Mommy proud." Her voice darkened. "Or I'll eat what's left of you."
Bulma whispered, voice trembling despite herself: "He's… he's worse than Gohan Black."
---
Back on the stage, 17 staggered up, coughing blood that sizzled against the white floor. His lip curled in defiance. "You… talk too much." His aura flared, blue light roaring as he tapped every reserve left in his core. "Let's see you laugh this off."
He vanished—again, faster this time, fists a blur, every strike sharp, every angle changing like a serpent. He spun behind Black, both palms slamming forward, unleashing a point-blank energy wave that detonated with a roar that shook the coliseum.
The blast carved a crater out of the stage. The shockwave slammed into the barrier, making even the angels glance sideways. Dust billowed, thick as fog.
And then it thinned.
And Black stepped out.
Clothes unscathed. Skin unmarred. His smile wider now, teeth flashing white under the blood-red glow of his eyes.
"Better," he said softly. "But still not enough."
He blurred. 17 barely saw the knee before it caved into his ribs with a crack like thunder. Pain ripped through his body in jagged waves. He screamed—and then Black's hand was on his face, fingers digging in like steel talons.
"Let's make this interesting," Black murmured. And he slammed him—once, twice, three times—into the marble until the floor was painted red. Each impact rattled the barrier. Each impact ripped gasps from the benches.
And then Black lifted him, dangling like a broken doll, and smiled a smile that wasn't human anymore.
"I'm going to peel the fight out of you."
---
From the benches, silence. Even the loud ones—the Saiyans, the Frost Demons—watched with tight jaws now. This wasn't a fight. This was art. Dark art.
Master Roshi growled low. "That… that bastard…"
Krillin swallowed hard. "Seventeen…"
Future Gohan stood, fists trembling. *This guy… he's not just strong. He enjoys it. Like Buu.''
Vegito? Vegito was grinning wider than anyone. But behind it, something burned. *You're good, Black. Damn good. But you're still not me.*
---
Black dragged 17's limp frame across the cracked stage, boots hissing against marble slick with blood. He dropped him. Looked down. And said one word.
"Stand."
And 17—shaking, broken—did.
Black's smirk widened. "Good boy."
He raised one finger. A bead of crimson ki bloomed at the tip, humming with power that made the air warp.
"This ends when I say it ends," he whispered.
And then he fired.
Vegito Grinned at his imposter power.
Not the cocky grin.
Not the hungry one.
But the one who Just found the reason to be there.
The crimson orb left Baby Vegito Black's fingertip like a drop of blood sliding off a blade. It didn't explode—it sank into Seventeen's chest, piercing clean through with a hiss, leaving nothing but a blackened hole that smoked like a brand. For an instant, time froze. The android's emerald eyes widened. His lips parted, but no sound came out. Then his body jerked violently as the energy inside him detonated.
The blast wasn't loud. It wasn't a blinding sun like the others. It was silent—an implosion that swallowed his core and shredded his systems from the inside out. Circuits sparked, fluids boiled, blood sprayed in a slow, crimson arc as he crumpled forward, hitting the floor with a hollow crack.
Dead silence.
Even the gods stopped talking.
Baby Vegito Black lowered his hand slowly, like a man setting down a glass. His smirk didn't twitch. His aura simmered—not roaring like a berserker, but rippling like black oil across still water. He crouched by the corpse, his crimson eyes studying it with almost clinical interest.
"Disappointing," he murmured. "You had spirit. But spirit without power…" He flicked two fingers. Seventeen's body slid across the floor like garbage, leaving a red smear behind. "…is just noise."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Chi-Chi clutched Goten and screamed, "Oh my God!" Bulma's arm snaked around her shoulder, holding her tight, but her own body trembled. Her face was pale, eyes wide behind her bangs. "That… that wasn't a fight," she whispered. "That was an execution."
Launch's blue eyes widened before snapping golden as her blonde side surged forward in fury. She gritted her teeth so hard it cracked the cigarette between them. "That bastard! Someone put a bullet in his skull!" Her hand twitched toward her holster before she remembered where she was.
Tien—silent through almost every fight so far—stood so fast his bench cracked under the pressure. His fists clenched until blood seeped between his fingers. The third eye on his forehead blazed, pulsing with raw rage. "What if it was one of us…" His voice was so low, so controlled, that it carried more menace than a scream. Krillin looked up at him nervously, throat dry.
Krillin swallowed hard, voice hoarse. "He… he killed him. Just like that. Didn't even need to…"
Roshi rose halfway from his seat, fists shaking so violently his staff rattled against the stone floor. His voice wasn't the jovial rasp of an old man anymore—it was a growl ripped from something primal. "That was just murder."
Yamcha turned away, jaw tight, sweat tracing his temple. "Damn it, Seventeen…"
Even Uub—young, hopeful Uub from Timeline One—stared with wide eyes, his small hands trembling against his knees. His mind raced, screaming one word: That guy… he's nothing like Vegeta. Nothing like the others… He's—
Pure Evil.
Across the benches, the Saiyans didn't all react the same way.
Vegeta from Timeline One scowled, arms folding so tight his muscles corded like steel cables. "Hmph. Brutality for its own sake." His jaw ticked, his pride wrestling with reality. He's terrifying. Even Kakarot would need to take this seriously if he wanted to just survive, not even win.
Prince Vegeta from the Saiyan Empire timeline leaned forward on his knees with a smirk curling sharp as a blade. "He kills without flinching. I like him."
Kakarot—the ruthless one from that same timeline—threw his head back and laughed, the sound ringing sharp and cruel across the stands. "YES! THAT'S HOW YOU FIGHT! RIP THEM APART!" His bloodlust infected the warriors around him like poison, Raditz chuckling low, Nappa roaring approval like a beast in heat.
But Rosan… Rosan didn't cheer. The son of Raditz stared down at the ring, jaw locked, muscles rigid. He's strong. Too strong. And he doesn't even look tired.
Gast, seated stiffly, antennae twitching, exhaled slow and long, his crimson eyes narrowing. That wasn't just strength. That was control… precision. And cruelty. He's worse than any Saiyan I've met.
Slug hunched forward, resting his massive green arms across his knees, teeth grinding audibly. "This one… he's not natural."
Piccolo from Timeline One stayed silent, his jaw locked so tight it creaked. His sharp gaze wasn't even on Black's power. It was on his eyes. Those aren't the eyes of someone who fights for anything. He fights because he likes it.
Baby Vegito Black's aura faded into the void, the silence after his kill more terrifying than the act itself.
But in the far corner of the arena stands, where the Androids of Timeline 3 had gathered, Dr. Gero did not flinch. His wrinkled hands twitched, his pale eyes reflecting the smoke trail of Seventeen's body being dragged across the floor like trash.
His lips curled into something between a sneer and a smile. "Predictable."
Android 16 turned his heavy head toward his creator, voice deep and deliberate. "Seventeen is… gone."
"Gone?" Gero hissed, fingers dancing along the concealed panel stitched into his cloak. "No. Not gone. Not while I hold the key."
He pressed something. A pulse of crimson light shivered through the ether, unseen by gods, unfelt by mortals. Only the Androids stiffened, eyes flickering faintly as the signal threaded through them like an electric prayer.
Far below, where Seventeen's corpse smoldered on the tiles, the wound in his chest sparked. A faint blue glow bled from it like dying embers… then flared.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The body jerked. Fingers twitched. His head snapped back violently, emerald eyes flashing to life with a sound like a scream of static. The hole in his chest smoked, not healed but contained, a lattice of red energy sealing his ruined core long enough to pump artificial life back into him.
Black's crimson eyes widened faintly. He had seen countless revivals — gods, Namekians, magic — but this was different. This wasn't ki. This wasn't regeneration. This was defiance of nature itself.
Seventeen staggered, coughing blood mixed with coolant, his body broken but his mind alight. His first breath was a roar, raw and jagged, echoing off the walls. "I… won't… fall to trash like you!"
Dr. Gero's voice thundered across the arena, his frail body shaking with manic pride. "Did you think my creations die like animals? No! They are infinite, eternal, bound not by flesh but by will and machine! Seventeen… arise, and show the gods what it means to spit in death's face!"
And then Broly stood.
Slowly. Like a mountain rising from mist. His green aura flared—not fully, but enough to crack the tiles under his boots. His lips peeled back in something that wasn't a smile and wasn't a snarl. It was hunger.
"i don't know what version of ''you'' i want to fight more..vegito!". (completely ignoring android 17 revival)
The bench around him tensed. Even Beerus's catlike ears twitched toward the sound.
Up in the god's balcony, the silence broke.
One Beerus chuckled darkly, his tail swaying lazily. "Well… that escalated quickly."
The other Beerus, the one who had warned earlier, hissed through his teeth. "Escalated? He killed a Android like it was NOTHING!"
Whis tilted his head, serene as ever, though his blue eyes gleamed with something sharp beneath the calm. "Indeed. And yet… he hasn't shown us anything. That was less than one percent of his full strength."
The gods shifted uneasily at that. Even some angels exchanged fleeting glances.
Down below, Baby Vegito Black rose fully, rolling his shoulders like a man stretching after a nap. His gaze swept the arena lazily… and stopped on Vegito.
The other fusion didn't look away. His grin widened slowly, sharp and dangerous, as his golden aura began to hum faintly, licking at the air like tongues of fire. Their eyes locked—crimson against teal. The pressure between them hit like a storm front slamming into the coliseum. Entire timelines felt it crawl along their spines.
There you are, Vegito thought, blood singing like molten lightning in his veins. I've been waiting for this.
Black tilted his head, and for the first time, he spoke loud enough for all to hear.
"Next time…" His smile curved elegant and cruel. "…I'll make it last longer."
He turned his back on Seventeen's broken corpse and walked toward his bench, crimson aura flickering like dying embers with every step.
The Announcer's voice cracked through the suffocating silence like thunder. "Android 17 is unable to continue! Winner: Baby Vegito Black from Timeline Six!"
The crowd didn't cheer. It didn't clap. It whispered. Uneasy. Excited. Afraid.
Cutaways slammed across the benches like shards of glass.
Gohan, both timelines, fists trembling so tight they split skin. That monster…
Goku clenched his jaw so hard it almost cracked, his easy smile gone like sunlight before a storm. His black eyes glimmered sharp, calculating. He's strong. But worse… he's cold. That kind of fighter doesn't hold back. Ever.
Turles, broken and bandaged, coughed blood and laughed hoarsely, his voice like gravel dragged over steel. "He makes all the empires and rulers i have fought look like a joke…"
Roshi slammed his staff down so hard it splintered against the tiles. "Damn it all! If this is the kind of tournament we're running, we're gonna lose more than pride before it's over."
Shun smiled faintly, his tail curling, voice smooth as poisoned silk. "Delicious… a killer with style."
Chichi shook her head violently, tears stinging her eyes. "What is this tournament?!"
From the Saiyan Empire stands, Kakarot threw back his head again, laughter erupting like a war drum. "HAAHAHAHAHA! YES! YOU SHOULD BE PART OF MY TIMELINE!"
Up in the shadows of the high balcony, the angels whispered.
"He's accelerating faster than we calculated," one murmured, voice soft as snowfall.
Whis didn't look away from the ring. His faint smile lingered, but his fingers tapped his staff with the rhythm of a war drum. "Oh… you haven't seen acceleration yet."
And below, Baby Vegito Black sat calmly on his bench, one leg draped over the other, his crimson gaze never leaving Vegito. His lips curved into a whisper meant for no one but himself.
"It won't be long."