The burning aura had faded long before he touched down on Earth. By the time Vegito's boots pressed against the dirt path outside the Son household, his hair was black again, his frame relaxed. But his chest still thrummed with power. Every breath felt like he was holding back a star.
Inside, the smell of food greeted him.
"Dad!" Goten bolted forward, eyes wide. "What was that? That crazy power earlier—that was you, right?!"
Gohan stood behind his brother, silent but tense, his gaze sharp. He had felt it too. It wasn't just strong. It was… alien. A pressure so crushing it made even him feel small.
Vegito gave them a casual grin. "Relax, you two. Just a test."
Goten tilted his head, confused. "A test of what?"
"Nothing important." Vegito waved it off. "You'll see when the time's right."
The brothers exchanged a glance, brows furrowed, but neither pressed. Within minutes the distraction of dinner had pulled Goten's mind elsewhere, his mouth full of rice and meat. Gohan, however, kept stealing glances at Vegito, suspicion lingering in his eyes.
At the head of the table, Chi-Chi was uncharacteristically quiet. She had felt it too. Her hands had trembled when she set the bowls down, her stomach twisting as if she'd been standing beside a storm. But she said nothing. If Vegito wanted to hide it, she wouldn't ask. She told herself it was better that way.
Later that night, Vegito stepped through the sliding doors of Capsule Corp. The glow of neon from the city framed his silhouette. Trunks was waiting for him.
"Dad." The boy's voice was sharp, almost accusing. "That power spike earlier. What was that?"
Vegito's smirk was easy, practiced. "Just testing something."
Trunks frowned, unconvinced. But when Bulma entered the lab, everything changed.
She froze mid-step, her sharp blue eyes narrowing instantly. "You surpassed yourself again, didn't you?"
Vegito didn't answer. Instead, he closed the distance between them, pulling her into a sudden, uncharacteristic embrace. His hand slid gently over her hair as he whispered against her ear:
"Thank you, Bulma."
Her heart jumped. For a moment, her scientific mind—the one already piecing together sensor readings and broken limiters—went blank. She didn't need a scouter to know. He had climbed beyond what even her machines could track. And he was thanking her for it.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, her voice barely steady. "…You idiot. Do you know How much time you're out?"
Vegito chuckled, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "Enough".
---
Weeks passed quietly after that day.
Vegito had returned home as if nothing had changed. He laughed at Goten's clumsy jokes, sparred with Gohan when asked, and sat through Chi-Chi's endless scolding about eating too much rice. When Gohan and Goten pressed him about that overwhelming ki they had felt—something so suffocating it made their knees buckle—Vegito brushed it off with a smirk.
"Just a test. Nothing important."
The boys traded confused looks, but when he cracked another joke about them needing to train harder, they let it drop. Chi-Chi, on the other hand, said nothing at all. She had felt it too—her hands trembling as she held her chopsticks that night. But she never asked. Some truths were easier to bury.
Later that evening, Vegito made his way to Capsule Corp. Trunks met him at the door, blurting out almost immediately again:
"Dad… what was that earlier? That wasn't just training."
Vegito's smile was calm, almost too calm. "Relax, kid. Just testing something new, like i Said before."
For the next two months, Vegito vanished for long stretches. He told the others he was "scouting" or "training somewhere else," but in truth, he kept his new form hidden. He didn't want anyone else to see. Not yet.
Every day he pushed it further. At first he could only hold Super Saiyan 4 for a few hours. But as weeks bled into months, his control sharpened. His body no longer strained, his heart no longer pounded against his ribs. The form bent to his will.
And then—something even greater.
"Full Power," Vegito whispered one night, crimson lightning spiraling around him. His fur gleamed darker, his aura steadier. His golden eyes burned, not with frenzy, but with clarity. The beast within him was tamed, perfected.
And when he stacked Kaioken on top…
The sky itself shattered.
The red aura folded into the crimson-gold storm of Super Saiyan 4, layering over itself like overlapping suns. He pushed to Kaioken x10 easily. No strain. Then x20. His laughter echoed across the void.
*It's like this form was made for me. Like it's my true base…*
For the first time, Vegito felt there might be no limit.
Two months later, he returned to Earth as though nothing had happened. In the Capsule Corp training yard, the strongest of their world gathered: Gotenks, Uub, Gohan, even Piccolo.
The spar began with laughter—Gotenks boasting, Uub's serious frown, Gohan pushing his Mystic power with Kaioken x10, Piccolo watching silently. Vegito stayed in base, weaving through their blows like a phantom. Gotenks' Super Saiyan 3 roars, Uub's fierce Kamehameha, Gohan's blazing Kaioken—all of it crashed against him.
And yet… he didn't fall.
Only one strike grazed him—a sharp burst from Gohan that cut his cheek. A scratch. No one else noticed, but Gohan's eyes widened in disbelief. Vegito said nothing. He only smirked and pressed the boy harder, until one by one they all collapsed, exhausted.
When it was over, Vegito stood over their unconscious bodies, silent. Then… tears welled at the corner of his eyes. He turned his head quickly, wiping them away.
*Finally… finally, I'm being pushed. Even a scratch means hope.*
---
It was in that quiet aftermath, as the warriors lay recovering, that the air shifted. A ripple in space bent the light, and from the distortion stepped two figures.
The first was a sleek, purple feline, his golden eyes sharp and unreadable. Draped in blue samurai-like garb, his tail swayed lazily. The second, taller and calm, bore pale skin, effeminate features, and a staff that glowed faintly at its tip.
Every warrior froze. The silence was suffocating.
Vegito turned first. His eyes narrowed, his body instinctively tense.
The purple cat smirked—then quickly looked away, as if caught off guard. He shifted, almost uncomfortably, under Vegito's gaze.
The taller one chuckled, voice smooth as silk. "Oh, my… this mortal. How fascinating."
Piccolo's fists clenched. "Who are you?"
The cat raised his chin. "I am Beerus, God of Destruction. And this is my attendant, Whis."
Shock rippled through the group.
Beerus' golden eyes swept the warriors. "You've fought hard, but your little world isn't ready for what's coming. There will be a tournament… twelve timelines, each bringing their champions. The fate of your existence will hang on the results."
Piccolo's voice was sharp. "We're not interested. We won't be used like pawns in some cosmic game."
Gohan nodded, stepping forward. "Exactly. We've fought enough wars. We'll protect our world our way—"
But Vegito cut him off, his voice slicing through the protest.
"Is there gonna be anyone strong there?"
The air grew heavy.
Beerus blinked, then a slow smile crept across his lips. "Strong? Oh yes. Strong enough that I don't guarantee you'll come back alive."
Vegito stepped closer, towering over the God of Destruction, his smirk widening. For a heartbeat, the cat faltered, his tail flicking nervously.
"So," Vegito asked, eyes burning with excitement, "when is it?"
Beerus' grin sharpened. "Three months."
Vegito's aura flared, and every fighter felt the ground quake beneath them.
"Good," he whispered. "It's about time."
And yet, here in the present, in the heart of the multiversal arena, fragments of that weight clung to his aura. Every step he took, every breath he released, radiated something… wrong. Something vast.
The fighters around him couldn't place it, but they felt it. Even Future Gohan, standing meters away, would glance toward him sometimes, as though trying to read a book written in a language he was never meant to learn.
The Grand Priest's voice from earlier still echoed: "Eat. Rest. Reflect. In two hours, battle begins anew."
The stadium split into countless dining halls and chambers, timelines divided yet close enough to sense one another.
One chamber remained eerily quiet.
Tables stretched endlessly, covered in platters of meats, fruits, steaming rice, wines from alien worlds, and desserts that sparkled with otherworldly sugar. Yet not a single hand reached for them.
Android 18 sat at the edge of the table, arms crossed, her face a mask of calm disdain. She didn't even glance at the food.
Beside her, Android 17 leaned back in his chair, legs up, smirking faintly. "They expect us to eat? Hilarious."
Across from them, Android 21 didn't sit at all. She stood, arms folded, eyes locked on the steaming roast in front of her, fury simmering under her calm exterior. "It's an insult," she muttered. "As if we were… human."
Android 16 was at the far end, motionless. His eyes weren't on the food, or the room. They were fixed on the faint sight of birds perched on the stadium's edge beyond the window-like barriers. His voice was low, almost mechanical in its detachment. "…They sing. Even in a place like this."
Dr. Gero smirked faintly, his false human disguise flickering with static for a moment before stabilizing. "Let them laugh. Let them eat. Every bite, every cheer—it won't matter once I unveil the perfection of my creations."
Android 13 cracked his knuckles, grinning as he leaned toward the table. "Heh. I don't care 'bout no damn food. What I care about is bustin' heads. That Roshi guy… didn't think an old man could put up a fight like that. Hilarious. Won't happen again."
Android 18's eyes flickered toward him, cold and sharp. "You underestimate humans. That's why you lose."
17 chuckled. "Says the one who lost to a human."
Her glare cut across the table. "That was a mistake. One I won't repeat."
21 slammed her palm against the table, making the plates rattle. "Mistake? No. It was arrogance. That Saiyan, Bardock, exploited me because I let him. Next time, I'll rip him apart piece by piece. His blood will decorate the arena floor."
Even 17's smirk wavered slightly at her intensity.
16's voice interrupted, calm, steady. "Your hatred blinds you. It is inefficient. The objective is survival. Nothing more."
Gero chuckled. "No, 16. The objective is domination. These fools—Saiyans, Namekians, humans—they believe in bonds, teamwork, spirit. But numbers and passion crumble before true design. Before perfection." His eyes glinted, pride dripping from every word. "And perfection is sitting right here at this table."
18 scoffed, turning her head away. "Perfection? Please. All I see is a bunch of machines pretending to be alive."
17 smirked wider, resting his chin on his palm. "And yet here we are, still standing while Cooler and Zangya are gone. The Frieza empire looks pathetic, the Saiyan empire lost its girl, and even the humans are down a fighter. We're not outmatched. Not even close."
13 grunted. "Don't forget, Broly's still here. And that… Baby fusion freak."
The table fell silent for a moment at the mention. Baby Vegito Black. His presence in the tournament was like a shadow that no one wanted to acknowledge too loudly.
21's lips curled into a smile, though her eyes burned with cruelty. "Even gods fear him. But so what? A monster is still flesh and blood. And flesh burns."
16 finally turned his gaze back to the group. "…If he steps into the arena against us, we will die. That is certain."
Nobody argued.
Gero them broke the silence ''lets remember why we are here!''
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TIMELINE 3 ~