The dirt beneath Broly's boots was dry and cracked, dotted with wiry weeds and faded rocks. The sun overhead was softer than Vampa's, but the place still smelled... rough. Dusty. Lawless. He had landed in a place that seemed to have a fancy gathering building nearby but also lacked a proper military presence. He turned away from the building he landed near and began to walk down the coast.
He was walking on a narrow path beside a rotted wooden sign.
"→ Pickham - 2 Miles"
"← Maella Abbey - 7 Miles"
The letters were crudely carved, but he could make them out. The language wasn't the same as Goku's, or Cheelai's, but… somehow he understood. This wasn't a Saiyan world. Not even close. He doubted he was on earth either based on how lacking the technology he saw from the air was. It was... another planet. His father had told him of the Saiyans job to conquer other worlds growing up. But he doubted this was one of those situations.
His stomach rumbled.
So hungry...
He wandered down the slope, toward the distant sound of trickling water and clanging metal. As he passed a broken-down wagon, a blur of movement darted from behind a boulder.
"He's HUGE!" a tiny voice squeaked.
From the bushes, two creatures emerged. Their black skin was thick, and each carried a heavy club. Their large muscles and yellow fur flexed in an intimidation tactic.
Gorerillas.
"Looks like lunch found us for once, eh, mate?" one gorerilla cackled.
Broly blinked. "Monkeys?"
He had barely muttered the word when they sprang at him, clubs raised.
Instinct took over.
His left hand shot out, grabbing one by the face mid-air. The other clubbed him in the leg—only to find its club snap like a twig.
CRACK!
The first gorerilla exploded in a burst of glittering dust as Broly hurled it into the ground.
The second stared, eyes bulging.
"Uh-oh…"
Broly's fist collided with its gut, sending it flying into a nearby tree with a whump.
He stood alone again.
His stomach growled louder.
He then noticed some items in their places. Some round gold coins on the ground from one, and the other dropped its club. But instead of a broken one, it was whole and useable again. With a shrug Broly put the coins in his pocket and picked up the club, which was comically small in his large hands, and walked along towards this Pickham place, wondering just where he could get some information.
A few minutes later, he reached the outskirts of a ramshackle outpost. Campfires flickered. The smell of roasted meat filled the air. A few rough-looking travelers in cloaks and worn armor glanced at him suspiciously. He towered over all of them.
A girl with braided hair whispered, "Oi, that guy looks tougher than Dhoulmagus himself…"
Broly didn't understand the name. But he felt eyes watching him.
From a nearby trader's cart, an older man with a turban and a long mustache approached carefully.
"You're not from 'round here, are ya?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "What's your name, lad?"
"…Broly," he answered quietly.
"Name's Borkano," the man said. "You're strong. Real strong. Ain't hard to tell. But if you're headed for Pickham, watch your step—place is crawling with monsters lately."
Broly looked to the horizon.
"Where… am I?" he asked.
Borkano paused. "This here is the badlands of Pickham. You're in the kingdom of Trodain, son. Ain't the safest place to go for a stroll."
He leaned in.
"Strange things have been happening since that cursed jester, Dhoulmagus, passed through. People disappearing. Monsters growing bold. Portals opening…"
Broly's eyes narrowed. "Portal?"
"You came from one, didn't you?" Borkano said. "That shimmer in the sky... You ain't the first to come through."
Suddenly, a roar split the air. People screamed as a massive shadow passed overhead.
A Great Sabrecat, black as night with glowing yellow eyes, landed in the clearing, snarling.
It had been corrupted—its fur was matted, eyes bloodshot, saliva dripping from jagged fangs. On its back, a gnarled wooden mask with purple veins pulsed with energy.
The beast lunged at a child frozen in fear.
Broly moved.
In a blink, he was there—arms out—catching the sabrecat mid-pounce. The ground cracked beneath his feet.
"RAAAAHHH!!" he shouted, launching the beast into the air with one arm. Before it could recover, he leapt high above it and slammed it into the earth with both fists.
The mask shattered.
The cat whined once… then fell still.
The crowd was silent.
Then—
"Did… did he just SAVE us?"
"He killed it with his bare hands…"
Broly stood up, dirt on his face, panting softly. He looked at the broken mask. Something about it… felt wrong. Evil. Almost like when he first saw Frieza and how he didn't like the feel of him.
Borkano approached slowly, awe in his eyes. "You've got power like the old legends said. Maybe more. If you're looking for answers, find the Hero—the one chasing Dhoulmagus. He might know why you're here."
Broly turned toward the setting sun, the town of Pickham glowing faintly in the distance.
He still didn't understand this world.
But he knew one thing:
He was a warrior.
And he would fight until he found the way home.
He then asked, "Where can I... find this Hero"
Borkano thinks and then goes, "Well he should be coming this way, last I heard he was helping the previous area of Maella Abbey with something. So if you hang around here then you should be able to wait for them. Last I heard they were a group with a bandit named Yangus, a mage girl named Jessica, and they had a horse and carriage with them."
With a nod Broly began to ask more about this world and Borkano was more than happy to have a strong warrior hang around their group for longer. And soon Broly had a plan.