The desert was broken.
Where there had once been sand and rock, there were only scars—craters gouged deep into the earth, ridges melted into glass, black streaks that would never cool the same way again. The night was heavy, like the air itself had been wounded. Every breath stank of smoke and ki-burnt ozone.
Krillin lay on his back at the lip of one crater, chest rising in ragged jerks. His ribs screamed with each inhale, his skull throbbed from where Vegeta's hand had nearly crushed it. But he was alive. Somehow, unbelievably, alive.
He rolled onto his side and spat blood into the dirt. "Gods," he muttered, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand. "We actually… survived that?"
Beside him, Gohan knelt, eyes wide, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His little chest rose and fell in stutters. He had not cried—not yet—but his lips trembled with the effort of keeping it inside.
"Dad…" His voice cracked. He looked toward the center of the battlefield.
Goku lay sprawled there, body broken in a dozen ways. His gi was shredded, his chest black with bruises, his arms swollen, trembling even in unconsciousness. His breath came slow, ragged, but it came.
Krillin forced his battered body forward, crawling on all fours until he reached his friend. He touched Goku's shoulder. "Still with us, buddy?"
Goku's eyes fluttered open. Faint. Distant. But awake.
Krillin nearly sobbed from relief. "You lunatic," he whispered. "You actually did it."
Goku coughed, and blood flecked his lip. His voice was low, broken. "Not me. All of us."
His head tilted slightly toward Gohan, then toward Krillin. A faint smile. Then his eyes closed again, surrendering to exhaustion.
"Dad!" Gohan leaned forward, panicked.
Krillin grabbed him, steadying him. "Easy, easy. He's alive, Gohan. He just… he just needs rest. More rest than we can give him out here."
He looked around the battlefield, lips tightening. "We need help. Real help."
A groan echoed from the edge of the crater.
"Ughhh… I'm… I'm too good for this crap…"
Krillin turned, blinking through the haze. Yajirobe sat up, sword lying useless at his side, clothes torn, his face smeared with blood and dust. He rubbed the back of his neck like a man who'd woken up from a bad nap.
"Yajirobe!" Gohan exclaimed, relief and disbelief mingling in his voice. "You're alive!"
The fat swordsman gave a weak grin. "Barely. Don't look so surprised, kid. Takes more than a monkey prince to finish me off."
Krillin gaped at him. "You—You cut off his tail. If it weren't for you…" He trailed off, the weight of it settling in.
Yajirobe puffed up a little, then immediately winced, clutching his side. "Yeah, well. Don't tell anybody, alright? Last thing I need is people thinking I'm some kinda hero. I've got a reputation to protect."
Krillin barked a laugh, choked by pain. "Hero's exactly what you are. Deal with it."
The desert went quiet again, broken only by the wind whistling through shattered ridges.
Krillin felt the silence press on him like a weight. The victory tasted bitter. They had survived, yes. But Vegeta had survived too.
He looked to the horizon where the Saiyan's pod had vanished into the stars. "He's still out there," Krillin muttered. His voice was flat, heavy. "And next time…"
He shivered. "…Next time, we might not be enough."
Gohan swallowed hard. His small hands curled into fists. "Then I'll be stronger by then," he said fiercely, surprising even himself. His voice shook, but his eyes didn't. "Stronger than today. Strong enough to protect Dad. Strong enough to protect everyone."
Krillin looked at him. For a moment, he didn't see a boy. He saw a fighter being carved by fire. He thought of Piccolo, of the green giant's hand on Gohan's shoulder, and felt his throat tighten.
Yajirobe grunted, dragging himself to his feet. "Stronger or not, you won't get the chance if we all just bleed out here. We need Senzu Beans. Korin's got plenty, and I'm not dragging your asses one by one."
Krillin blinked, then nodded sharply. "Right. You're right. We can't just sit here."
He crouched beside Goku, hesitating. "Moving him's gonna hurt like hell…"
Yajirobe waved a hand. "He'll live. Trust me. Guy's built like ironwood. I'll carry him. You two keep lookout."
Krillin's eyebrows shot up. "You? Carry Goku?"
Yajirobe smirked, wiping blood from his nose. "I may not look it, but I've got farmer strength. Just… don't ask me to run."
Together, they lifted Goku, groans and curses filling the air. His head lolled against Yajirobe's shoulder, but his breath kept coming.
Krillin limped beside them, scanning the broken land. Gohan walked ahead, eyes locked on the horizon, jaw tight.
None of them spoke for a long time. The battle still lived in their ears, the sound of colliding suns, the roar of giants, the scream of beams. It haunted the silence.
Finally, Krillin broke it. His voice was low, almost afraid. "If that's what Vegeta can do, even beaten… what about the one who made him?"
The question hung heavy.
Gohan slowed, looking back at him. "You mean… Frieza."
The name felt dangerous just saying it.
Krillin nodded. "If Vegeta was terrified of him… then what chance do we have?"
Yajirobe snorted, shifting Goku's weight. "One problem at a time, baldy. Survive today, worry about alien space demons tomorrow."
Krillin almost laughed. Almost.
But his eyes drifted upward, toward the stars. And for the first time, he realized that Earth was no longer just Earth. It was part of a war written in constellations.
Far above, in the blackness of space, Vegeta's pod tore through the void. Inside, the prince leaned back against his seat, body broken but eyes alive. The System whispered numbers to him—recovery rates, Zenkai projections, new thresholds within reach.
He smirked, tasting blood on his tongue.
"Kakarot…" he murmured. His voice was low, hoarse, but steady. "Next time, there won't be mercy."
The stars offered no answer.