Broly stood on the cracked stone of the plaza, dust and smoke swirling in the wind, staring down at the trembling elf before him. The being was delicate—long silver hair, golden eyes too wide with fear, his body no heavier than the spear he clutched. He wasn't a warrior. Not in any sense that mattered to Broly.
Still, Broly lowered his head. His voice rumbled out, deep and heavy, almost like stone grinding against stone.
"...Anyone Strong here?"
The elf flinched, his ears twitching at the foreign tone. He shook his head, clearly unable to parse the words. Broly frowned. His jaw clenched. He tried again, louder this time, frustration pricking his throat.
"STRONG. FIGHT."
The elf's eyes darted side to side. He didn't understand.
Broly growled, low in his chest. Then, with a slow exhale, he drew back his fist and punched the air once. The shockwave cracked the cobblestones under his feet, sending a tremor through the plaza. He pointed at the elf, then at his own chest. Then he punched the air again, harder.
The elf's eyes widened. At last, some recognition flickered. He pointed toward the heart of the city—toward a towering castle of sapphire and ivory that dominated the skyline.
Broly followed the gesture, his eyes narrowing. The castle gleamed with spires, banners snapping in the wind, its walls alive with guards and lights.
Finally.
With a burst of energy, Broly shot upward, his flight splitting the air. The city beneath him buckled from the force of his movement. Entire plazas cracked, windows shattered, towers leaned dangerously, but Broly pulled his ki inward, restraining it with rare discipline. He did not want to annihilate this world—yet.
The shockwave rolled through the streets as he landed before the castle gates, boots crushing ornate steps to rubble. The guards were already waiting—tall, armored elves, their spears glowing with blue crystals carved into scythe-like blades. Their faces were disciplined, eyes sharp, bodies honed. But to Broly, even at six and a half feet tall, they looked like children.
The spears crossed in front of him, barring his path.
Broly tilted his head. He tried—just for an instant—to hold back. To restrain. His fists clenched at his sides, shaking. He wanted to see what they could do.
But their defiance ignited something.
He snapped.
Broly's massive hands shot forward, seizing both elves by their skulls before they could react. Their glowing spears clattered uselessly to the ground. With a squeeze and a flick of green light from his aura, both heads popped like fruit, bodies dropping limp against the gates.
Broly's eyes burned with disappointment. Weak.
He shoved the colossal doors open with a single push, the wood and crystal splintering as if it were brittle clay.
Inside, the castle was alive. The ceiling stretched high into vaulted arches of blue glass, corridors lined with glowing veins of crystal. And in the air—floating above the marble floors—were warriors. Dozens of them. Elves not like the guards outside, but the elite: their bodies wrapped in runic armor, their auras humming faintly, weapons levitating around them as if bound to their will.
They could fly.
Broly stopped dead. His pupils dilated, his heart hammering. The sight alone triggered something primal in him. For years, he had floated among dust and insects, creatures that crawled and begged. Here—here were beings that could lift from the ground, wield power that cracked the air around them.
It didn't matter that their strength was nothing compared to his.
They could fly.
That was enough.
Broly's face twisted into a mask of rage and hunger. His boots cracked the marble as he stepped forward. The warriors shouted war cries, energy blades forming in their hands, their auras blazing bright. For a heartbeat, the chamber felt alive with defiance.
And then Broly punched the ground.
The floor collapsed instantly, fissures tearing through the marble like veins of lightning. The shock tore through the foundations, through the bedrock, through the roots of the continent itself. The castle imploded from below, towers snapping like twigs as the shockwave spread outward.
The continent groaned.
In a single detonation, the landmass ruptured, exploding into fragments. Cities shattered, forests erupted into flame, mountains split into rubble. The entire continent blew apart, a shockwave rising into the atmosphere so powerful that ships in orbit turned and fled.
From space, it looked like the planet itself was being ripped in half.
And Broly, standing amidst the destruction, didn't even flinch. His aura crackled faintly, green fire lighting the carnage.
Why? he thought, his fists trembling. Why can't I find it?
Why couldn't he find a challenge? Why couldn't he feel that thrill again? That moment, that brief instant against Goku, against Vegeta, against the Z-Warriors when he was pushed—not stopped, but pushed.
The memory stabbed into him. Their faces. Their screams. The resistance they gave before he snuffed it out. What if he hadn't killed them? What if he had let them live?
Would they be strong enough now? Strong enough to—
"NGHHHHH!" Broly roared into the burning sky, his veins bulging, his heart pounding with fury. The thought alone tore at him. He had eaten his prey too soon. The rabbit was dead, and the hunger never went away.
The sky darkened.
From orbit, ships descended. Massive fleets—tens of thousands of silver leviathans—blotted out the stars. Engines roared, weapons hummed, the sky became a wall of war.
Broly tilted his head back, eyes narrowing.
He remembered this.
Twenty-two times before, empires had rallied fleets against him. And twenty-two times before, it ended the same.
Military. Technology. Metal and fire. Always fleets. Always empty. Always weak.
The ships opened fire.
Millions of capsules streaked down like falling stars, each one humming with the energy of a sun. They slammed into the planet, detonating in waves of white fire. The ground shook, the atmosphere ignited, the seas turned to vapor. The elves screamed as their world burned.
The planet cracked. Its core split. And in a roar louder than any cry of war, the world detonated, shattering into fragments.
The fleet paused.
The commanders leaned forward in their thrones, eyes wide with hope. The scans showed no survivors. The empire's capital, destroyed. The invader, gone.
But then the light parted.
And he was still there.
Broly floated amidst the wreckage, his body untouched, his face blank with boredom. Smoke rolled from his shoulders, his arms loose at his sides. His eyes, however, glowed with green fire.
Enough.
His aura ignited, green flames ripping through the void. His hair snapped upward, flashing gold, then deep emerald. His body swelled, muscles tearing through the remnants of his armor. Lightning cracked across the wreckage, planets shuddering in orbit.
Legendary Super Saiyan.
The fleet fired again. Beams of light thicker than mountains cascaded into him, swallowing the void in white. For a moment, it seemed as if the stars themselves were collapsing.
But when the light faded, Broly remained.
He raised his hand, clenched it into a fist—and the nearest planet imploded. He turned, sweeping his arm, and the next shattered into fragments. Again and again, worlds burst like bubbles, entire colonies annihilated in a heartbeat.
The fleets scattered. Broly roared, the sound vibrating through space, and launched forward. Ships shattered under his fists, engines ripped apart, entire armadas collapsing in seconds. The green blaze spread across the system, erasing all resistance.
And then, it happened.
The two stars that hung at the heart of the empire—a great blue sun and a smaller red one—began to quake. Their light warped as Broly's aura expanded, condensing into a gravity so intense it pulled their fire inward.
The suns screamed.
Their cores collapsed, their light bent, their bodies imploded. And all of it—every ounce of fire, every scrap of heat, every dying scream—was repelled by Broly's ki. He stood in the middle of it all, his aura swallowing the collapse, his body radiating with power that made the void itself tremble.
For a moment, it looked like a black hole had formed around him. And then—green light burst outward, brighter than both stars combined.
When the light faded, the empire was gone. The stars, gone. The fleets, gone. The planets, gone.
Only Broly remained.
His hair spiked, his muscles bulging, his aura blazing brighter than a thousand worlds. And yet, as he floated in the silence, his face was the same.
Blank.
Bored.
Days bled together in the silence of space.
Broly drifted, his aura dimmed to almost nothing, his massive frame moving through the void like a leaf carried by invisible winds. No stars guided him, no destination waited. He moved because he had to. Because stopping meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering.
It was during one of these endless drifts that his body tore through an atmosphere again, unplanned, uncontrolled. He crashed like a meteor into a forest of orange-leaved trees, the ground splitting beneath him, soil erupting as his body plowed a crater miles wide.
Broly pushed himself up slowly, dust cascading off his shoulders. For a long moment, he simply stared.
The world was… strange.
The trees glowed faintly, their bark silver, their leaves burning shades of deep amber and rust. The sky was pale violet, clouds moving like rivers, shifting in long threads instead of curls. And the animals—yes, animals—buzzed, chirped, and rustled. Insects with wings of glass and bodies that shimmered like gold dust. Mammals with long necks, fur like steel wires, moving in packs through the orange undergrowth. Birdlike creatures with glowing beaks, calling to one another with deep, flute-like sounds.
For the first time in years, Broly did not immediately destroy.
He walked.
His boots crunched through fallen leaves, his massive shadow stretching across the forest. Small creatures darted from underfoot, skittering away, but one lingered. A butterfly-like insect, wings translucent with patterns of shifting light. It flitted toward him hesitantly, circling his head once before landing lightly on his outstretched hand.
Broly stared at it. His lips twitched. Almost—almost—a smile.
He breathed, and for a moment, the rage was distant. The hunger quiet. The monster inside him stilled, lulled by the tiny weight in his palm, that little thing started following him.
He wandered for hours like this, through forests, over rivers that glowed faintly blue in the violet light, across plains of golden grass. For hours, he was not a destroyer. He was simply a being, moving through a world that asked nothing of him.
But peace never lasted.
The air split.
One moment the forest sang with alien life. The next, the sound died, cut short by a ripple of foul ki. The leaves quivered, animals scattered, and the ground darkened as shadows bent unnaturally.
Three figures appeared before him.
The first was small, hunched, green-skinned with pointed ears and eyes gleaming with cunning malice. He floated slightly above the ground, robes swirling around his spindly frame. Babidi.
The second was tall, broad-shouldered, his face angular and demonic, with curved horns and eyes like molten coals. His aura was sharp, toxic. Dabura, the King of the Demon Realm.
The third was a towering pink figure, body round yet powerful, eyes narrow, grin wide. He bounced slightly as if his very body couldn't hold still. Majin Buu.
Broly straightened, his brow furrowing. His aura stirred instinctively, a low growl rising in his throat.
Babidi raised his hands in mock greeting, his voice high-pitched, grating, yet dripping with satisfaction."Ahhh, so this is the beast we've been watching. You don't even know, do you? You've been most useful to us, unknown warrior. Every roar, every planet you destroyed, every empire you annihilated—it all gave us exactly what we needed. Enough energy not only to revive our Majin Buu, but to make him stronger than ever!"
Broly's eyes narrowed. He didn't care for words. He didn't understand half of them. His body understood only their intent, their malice, their challenge.
Dabura stepped forward, his voice a dark rumble."We know your strength. We know you are dangerous. So we brought you a gift. A fight worthy of your… appetite."
He turned slightly, his hand gesturing toward the pink monster bouncing beside him."Buu. Go."
Buu's grin widened. His head tendril twitched once, and then—he was gone.
No blur. No arc of movement. Just gone.
Broly's eyes widened a fraction before the fist struck his face.
The world detonated.
The punch sent a shockwave through the forest, vaporizing trees, shattering rivers into mist, blasting the soil into a crater miles wide. The butterfly Broly had held earlier disintegrated instantly, along with every creature within sight. The biome was gone in a blink, replaced by burning wasteland.
Broly staggered back, head snapping to the side. For the first time in years, his jaw ached. Blood beaded at the corner of his mouth. His vision blurred for half a second before clearing.
His lips pulled back into something between a smile and a snarl.
Finally.
Buu bounced in place, clapping his hands together like a child with a new toy. Then he lunged again, his body blurring faster than perception.
Broly roared.
His fist lit with emerald fire, his aura exploding outward in a violent blast that cracked the crust of the planet. He swung. His knuckles connected with Buu's round stomach, and the impact was like a cannon of pure ki detonating point-blank.
Buu's body ballooned outward, stretching grotesquely as cracks of green energy ripped across his flesh. For a second, he split apart—exploded into chunks of pink flesh that scattered across the burning crater.
The ground quaked. Smoke rose. Silence.
Then—slime-like tendrils whipped back together. Flesh knitted. Energy sparked. And Majin Buu reformed, standing exactly as before, his grin unchanged.
Broly's smile faltered.
Buu's grin widened.
The pink monster leaned forward, cocking his head. "That tickle."
Broly's teeth bared, his aura flaring hotter. He stomped forward, the ground sinking beneath his heel. His voice rumbled low, carrying through the wasteland like thunder.
"...GOOD."
For the first time since his slaughter of the Z-Warriors, Broly felt something in his chest. Not emptiness. Not hunger. Something alive.
Excitement.
The butterfly was gone. The peace shattered. But it didn't matter. Because before him stood something that didn't break. Something that didn't beg. Something that laughed when struck.
His fists clenched. His aura erupted.
And for the first time in four years, Broly felt like the coyote again—eyes fixed on the rabbit.
But this time…
The rabbit might bite back.