Gohan dangled in Vegeta's grip, shoes kicking at empty air, a thin ribbon of blood running from his lip to his chin. The prince's palm glowed, the light of the execution already gathering. Krillin lay sprawled and bleeding in the glassed sand. Yajirobe coughed on his own breath somewhere near the crater rim and tried to remember how to be invisible.
Goku rose.
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't even sane. His legs shook, red veins of strain webbed his forearms, and the last scraps of Kaio-ken heat crawled over him like a fever that enjoyed its work. But he rose anyway, because there was something in him that obeyed his son's name more than it obeyed pain.
"Put him down," he said, voice low, wrecked, and absolute.
Vegeta turned his head, ruined eye narrowing, good eye bright with a cruel amusement that had survived every injury. "Make me."
Goku blurred, a burst of speed that looked impossible inside a body that should not have moved at all. The world stretched; air snapped as he crossed the crater. His hand closed over Vegeta's wrist just as the prince drew his arm back for the killing blow.
Bones popped. Tendons complained. Goku squeezed.
Vegeta hissed through his teeth and let the boy fall rather than lose the hand that held him. Gohan tumbled; Goku pivoted and caught him against his chest with the other arm, turning his body to take the impact on already-bruised ribs. The pain was a white wall; he ran through it.
Krillin sobbed once with relief he tried to hide. "Kid—"
"I'm okay," Gohan lied, voice small and hard. "Dad—"
"I've got you." Goku set him down behind his leg without looking away from Vegeta. "Stay with Krillin. Don't move unless I say."
Vegeta rolled his wrist out of Goku's grip and shook blood from his knuckles like water. The smile that came back was thinner now, edged with something close to respect and ruined by the pleasure of the moment. "Better. I prefer an enemy who knows which things matter."
A cold lattice cut across his vision, the voice that had guided him through space now whispering in a smaller throat.
[Rival Stress Spike Logged: Kakarot]Output surge potential: Moderate (emotional catalyst — paternal).Brink Exploit: Offer target an unwinnable choice; sever hope; harvest despair yield.Ascension Progress on successful harvest: +6%.
Vegeta breathed once and let the advice settle. Ethan's soldier weighed it like ammunition. Break the man by breaking the reason he stands; it has worked in every war since wars began.
Goku slid a step left, light on the balls of his feet, and said nothing. The Kaio-ken didn't answer his call; the well was nearly dry. Fine. He still had timing. He still had hands that remembered how to be right.
Vegeta struck first—no flourish, just a straight line fired from the floor. Goku slipped inside it, shoulder brushing Vegeta's elbow, and answered with two short shots to the ribs that counted. The prince grunted, twisted his hip, and elbowed down; Goku took the strike on his forearm and let it skate past his skull.
They circled tight. Sand whispered. The crater's heat shivered.
Vegeta feinted high, then kicked low. Goku half-blocked, half-ate it, and used the recoil to spring into a hook that kissed the prince's cheekbone hard enough to make his eye water. Vegeta laughed through blood and left a heel on Goku's thigh in return—mean, surgical, a reminder that he was still the most dangerous man in the room.
Gohan flinched at every sound. Krillin dragged himself to his knees and put a hand on the boy's shoulder to keep him from moving the way only fear makes you move. "Wait," he whispered. "He needs a second."
Goku bought seconds the only way he knew how: with pain. He stepped into another rush, parried with the wrong hand so he could use the right one better, and slammed a palm into Vegeta's sternum. There was a noise inside Vegeta that bones make when they have learned something.
Vegeta slid back a pace, then another, and smiled, small and sharp, like a man doing sums that add up to Yes. "So you're not finished."
"Not while they're behind me," Goku said.
He kept his stance small and tight. Big moves take big energy; he didn't have any of that to spare. Vegeta's attacks came quick now—jab, knee, flick-kick, an elbow disguised as an itch. Goku caught what he could, bent what he couldn't, and let the rest land on places that could be bruised without being broken. They traded like bad gamblers, neither willing to step away from the table because stepping away meant someone else got to decide what came next.
Vegeta backed Goku toward a fissure and let him see the trap, then sprang as Goku hopped left to avoid it. Goku pretended to take the bait and then didn't, planting on the fissure edge and using the odd angle to spin inside Vegeta's arc. His fist hammered the same rib as before. Vegeta's mouth tightened; the laugh did not come this time.
[Host Damage: Cumulative rib micro-fractures — lateral region]Pain attenuation: Maintain composure (Royal Pressure effectiveness depends on optics).Directive: Reassert dominance; high-visibility strike recommended.
Vegeta obeyed, because domination is a language he speaks like native air. He stepped in and drove a knee up into Goku's belly hard enough to make the mountain behind them grunt. Goku folded and then unfolded, met the follow-up with a forearm that would be purple in the morning, and scooped Vegeta's lead leg off the ground. The prince hopped, nearly graceful, and hammered a backfist into Goku's temple that replaced color with ringing. They both risked the next breath without proof that it would arrive.
Gohan pressed closer to Krillin. "He's… he's winning, right?"
Krillin didn't answer. He watched, mouth a hard, chapped line, because sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is refuse to lie.
Vegeta's eye flicked past Goku to the two small shapes crouched on the rim. He let Goku see the flick. He let the idea form on his face—how easy it would be to change targets mid-step and turn the whole fight into a different story.
Goku moved before thought could make rules. He shattered the distance with a half-step that made a mockery of pain and hooked an arm around Vegeta's neck. They fell together in a tangle of limbs and history. Goku rolled on top and tried to lock the arm; Vegeta jammed fingers between bicep and jaw and pried a breath where there shouldn't have been any.
They wrestled like men, not gods—dirty, tight, with no room for elegance. A sharp elbow found Goku's ear; a knuckle pressed a nerve no one should know about without a medical license; a headbutt happened because there are only so many things you can do when you are too close to miss.
Goku felt strength seep out of his arms like heat out of a wound. The red wasn't coming back. He needed a different answer. Kaio had given him one, once, with a grin that made nonsense out of sense.
He let go.
Vegeta twisted, surprised, as Goku rolled away and came up on one knee with his hands cupped. Blue-white gathered between them, not bright, not yet, but honest. The desert wind caught its edges and made them sing. The light did not feel like his. It felt like everyone's.
Vegeta recognized it, even if the name was new in his mouth. His lips peeled back from his teeth. "That trick," he hissed. "What is that trick?"
Goku's voice was raw but steady. "The Spirit Bomb."
Vegeta's smile returned with interest. "How generous." He lunged.
Krillin's body moved before his head got a vote. He exploded off the rim and slammed into Vegeta's side with all the force a broken man can borrow for a second. It wasn't much. It was everything he had. Vegeta skidded half a step, more insulted than injured, and slammed a fist into Krillin's ribs hard enough to make his lungs think winter had come. Krillin bounced, skidded, coughed, laughed because the sound wouldn't shape into anything else, and crawled sideways to pull Vegeta's eyes away from the one thing that mattered.
Gohan stood. His legs shook. He stood anyway and flung a small, furious sphere at Vegeta's shoulder. It popped like a firecracker and did nothing that matters to ledgers. It mattered to time.
The blue-white in Goku's hands grew. He had learned on a tiny world that the living give energy willingly if you ask their best. He asked now: the scrub grass, the tough little birds who had learned to sleep in heat, the insects whose lives did not include words like destiny, the boy and the monk behind him, the fat man hiding in shadow who still, somehow, had a sword in his hand. The world listened. It gave.
Vegeta saw. The thing in his chest that hates being second tightened. He blurred at Goku with a speed that came out of pride and practice. Krillin threw himself in front again, and Vegeta adjusted mid-stride with contemptuous ease, hip-checking the monk away and bringing his heel down to finish the matter.
Yajirobe did a stupid, brave thing and swung at Vegeta's ankle from the side. The blade nicked armor and bit skin. It wasn't deep. It was annoying.
Vegeta's boot hit him like a falling building. Yajirobe spun and didn't get up this time.
The blue-white grew faster. It hummed like a choir of small things you never noticed asking for their names back.
[Threat Profile Update: Unidentified Ki Aggregation]Mode: Ambient siphon (planetary life-force). Non-standard technique.Stability: Rising.Countermeasure Priority: Maximum.
Vegeta's good eye pinned the man with the light in his hands. He threw a shot that would have separated Goku's head from his ideas if it had landed. It didn't. Goku slid, ducked, kept his palms cupped. The light licked his fingers and forgave him for bleeding on it.
"Krillin," Goku said quietly without turning. "When I say—"
Krillin wiped his mouth and tasted iron and grit and fear. "Got it."
Gohan's hands were fists. "Dad—"
"Stay with him," Goku said. "If I fall, run."
Vegeta feinted high again and then didn't feint, came straight through with a hook that felt like a door being kicked off its hinges. Goku took it on the edge of his forearm and let his knees make a decision his brain didn't like. He fell onto a hip and rolled because he knows how. The blue-white stayed in his hands like good water in a cupped palm.
Vegeta's smile went away. "Enough."
He vanished and arrived with his fingers buried in Goku's gi, just under the throat. He hauled Goku up like a poorly behaved thought and hammered him in the gut twice. The light dimmed. It didn't die. Goku hung there and refused to drop his hands. Vegeta snarled, drew back for the third, the one that breaks things for keeps—
—and a small boy hit him just above the elbow with both feet. There wasn't any technique in it. There was love.
Vegeta's arm jerked. The third punch landed wrong. Goku's knees still buckled. The light still dimmed. But it didn't go out.
Vegeta flung Gohan away with a flat-handed swat that would have killed him if Krillin hadn't intercepted the boy mid-flight and turned the momentum into a tumble and a groan instead of a funeral.
Goku's feet scraped the ground. He set them. He looked at the prince and found, absurdly, room in his mouth for the smallest, stupidest smile. "You're not the only one with a planet, Vegeta."
Vegeta went for the throat because some problems are best solved by silence.
Goku moved his hands.
The Spirit Bomb leapt. It was smaller than it should have been, messier, more honest. Vegeta twisted because he always does. The blue-white missed his heart and kissed his shoulder and then the ground. The desert bucked like something alive had been struck.
The shock lifted all of them—prince, monk, son, coward, hero—and dropped them back on a planet that felt briefly like a table someone had slammed a fist on. When the glow faded, Vegeta stood, smoking, armor carved into a new design he had not asked for. He looked down at the place where the Bomb had gone and then up at the man who had thrown it.
"Is that all?" he asked, voice thin under the brakes he'd put on screaming.
Goku's arms finally failed. He hit the ground on both knees and stayed there because sometimes bodies get to vote.
The blue was not gone. It had pooled, a stubborn puddle of intent, and rolled, slow and aimless, across the glassed sand like a thing that had not yet decided to be a ghost.
Krillin saw it first. He tugged Gohan. "Look."
Gohan blinked tears into clarity. "Is that…?"
Goku's head lifted. His breaths were broken glass. "Krillin," he said, and the name was instruction and trust and apology folded together. "Take it."
Krillin stared at him. "What—how—"
"Cup your hands," Goku said. "Think of… everything good. Don't force it. It'll like you if you ask nice."
Vegeta's head cocked like a dog listening for a lie. He stepped forward, dragging hurt mountain behind him and turning it into posture. "No," he said, and the word had killing in it.
Krillin sprinted. The little blue-white rolled into his palms like it had always been his. It lit his face from below and made his fear look like courage. He looked at Vegeta. He looked at Goku. He looked at the boy. His hands shook. The light steadied them.
Goku's voice wavered. "Aim… where his heart would be. It knows bad from good. It'll find the worst thing in him if you let it."
Vegeta launched.
Krillin threw.
The Spirit Bomb sailed—slow at first, then hungry, widening as it moved, a lantern turned arrow. Vegeta juked, predatory, amused, contemptuous, all at once, because he has made a life out of stepping aside when lights are thrown. He stepped aside now.
The Bomb curved.
Vegeta's laugh stopped in his throat like a knife had been left there.
He threw himself up and back. The Bomb followed, patient. He drove a blast at it, purple against blue, foul against clean. The edges smoked. The heart didn't blink.
"Gohan!" Krillin screamed as the arc of the Bomb swung wide. "If it misses—get down!"
It didn't miss. It came on like weather. Vegeta drew every ounce left in the engine of himself and met it with both hands, teeth bared, spine a line.
The world turned blue again.
[Impact Incoming: Genki Concentration]Damage: Potentially lethal (unmitigated).Countermeasure: Reflect off non-hostile conduit (unlikely), or divert with angulation, or die well.
Ethan's soldier and the prince agreed for once: not today.
Vegeta twisted his wrists, bent the Bomb just enough with a last, surgical wedge of ki, and it slid along his guard and went past his hip.
It went straight for Krillin.
He froze—rabbit before a truck, man before a miracle. There was time to think exactly three thoughts: Of course. Sorry. Please.
Gohan moved.
He dove between Krillin and the world and threw his hands out and shouted without words. The blue-white curved again—this time because a child with too much heart and not enough power asked it to—and turned back toward the prince who had made the asking necessary.
Vegeta looked at the boy and saw a future he would kill out of principle. The Bomb hit him in the chest.
Night arrived at noon.
When the light died, Vegeta lay in a crater inside the crater, smoke rising from seams in his armor and from places armor didn't cover. His chest moved. It didn't move well.
Goku collapsed on his side and let the ground be a pillow. Krillin dragged Gohan with shaking hands into an embrace that was more inventory check than hug. Yajirobe groaned and decided not to be dead yet.
Vegeta coughed once. It sounded like surrender would sound if it could lie.
The glow inside Goku's eyes flickered and went out. He breathed. He listened. He waited for the next problem because that is the shape of his life.
The desert was very quiet.
The prince rolled to his stomach. He put a hand beneath himself. He pushed.
He rose.
Smoke curled from him like bad incense. His hair hung in his eyes. His smirk was gone. What was left was a line that started at his mouth and ended at intent.
[Host Status: Critical]PL: 12,900 → stabilizing.Zenkai Projection (if survival achieved): +24,000.Super Saiyan Progress: 52%.Directive: Kill them. Or live long enough to make their deaths teach you something better later.
Vegeta spat blood into the sand, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at Goku like a man checks a lock he means to break tomorrow.
"This isn't over," he said, and the wind had to carry the words because his aura wouldn't.
Goku smiled up at the sky because it was either that or pass out. "It never is," he whispered.
Vegeta gathered a thin, mean spark in his palm and pointed it at the boy who had made the light turn around.
Krillin threw himself in front again because he belongs in that place, apparently.
The spark died on Vegeta's fingers. He looked at the three of them and counted something no one else could see.
Then he turned his head to the shadow where a fat coward pretended to be a rock. "Live," he told the rock, which is a very strange blessing from a prince, and raised two fingers to the sky.
A flare shot up, bright and sharp.
He smiled once—small, private, promising—and staggered toward the edge of the world, the shape of a ship already drawing itself in the night above.
And that's where the fury pauses, because even rage has to breathe before it becomes the next chapter.