The smoke parted with a hiss.
Trunks stood tall in the middle of the wasteland, gripping the handle of his sword. He drew it slowly, metal sliding free with a sharp ring, and the blade gleamed black, darker than midnight. Its surface shimmered faintly, reflecting the glow of his golden aura.
The sword was made of katchin steel now, after Trunks' last use of his skill on it.
"Alright," Trunks muttered, eyes narrowing as dust rolled across the battlefield. "Round two."
From the rubble ahead, a pulse of malignant energy erupted. Rocks exploded outward as Frieza emerged, his pale skin cracked and dusted with debris. His grin was gone, replaced by pure fury.
For the first time, Frieza truly saw the glow around him , golden hair, fierce eyes, and calm confidence. His expression faltered. "A Super Saiyan"
He recalled Goku, how he had left him some energy after being defeated, and how he was crushed again by a ki beam. The thought of this filled him with even more rage.
"You," His voice was low and venomous, tail flicking behind him. "Another one. Another filthy golden monkey!" His aura flared crimson, rippling the air. "How many of you pests are there?!"
Trunks tilted his head slightly, smirking. "Enough to ruin your day, apparently."
A flicker of fear crossed his face, quickly buried beneath rage. "Father!" he snapped, glancing to the side. King Cold, who had been gleefully swatting the Z Fighters aside, caught his son's look and frowned.
Cold's massive form blurred as he finished his last strike, sending Piccolo and Krillin sprawling into the dirt. "Tch. Weaklings," he muttered, turning toward Trunks. His voice carried a low, calculated edge. "Another Super Saiyan. How tiresome."
King Cold thought, "Frieza was merely overconfident, which led to his previous defeat. However, he was not willing to take threats lightly; no matter how small they may seem, they needed to be addressed immediately."
As the father and son stood together, their combined aura churned the ground beneath their feet. Trunks felt it, the heat, the pressure but didn't flinch. Instead, he rolled his shoulders and smiled faintly.
Two-on-one, huh? Sounds fun. He was confident in his victory; he also had a trump card.
The air cracked as Frieza lunged first. His speed was tremendous, his movements blurring into streaks of light. Trunks blocked effortlessly, the black blade intercepting every hit with sharp, metallic clanks. Sparks scattered like fireflies around them.
King Cold joined in seconds later, his strikes heavier, slower, but packed with monstrous force. Together, they moved like a perfect machine, Cold's brute strength filling the gaps in Frieza's precision.
To anyone else, it might have been overwhelming.
But to Trunks, it was exhilarating.
His cells were roaring with energy
Trunks was getting stronger; Saiyans grow in combat.
"Their timing's good", he thought, deflecting a punch, twisting his sword to cut through a ki blast, "but predictable. Freiza favors the right. Cold follows two beats behind."
His tail flicked with focus, sensing motion before his eyes could. Every vibration in the air, every shift in their ki, was clear as day.
Trunks ducked under a swipe from Cold, parried Frieza's tail strike with the flat of his sword, then spun midair to land a heavy kick into Frieza's ribs. The tyrant screeched, purple blood spraying across the sand as he went flying.
Cold roared, firing a massive blast from his palm. Trunks twirled his sword and cut through it cleanly, the explosion splitting harmlessly around him.
Up on the ridge, Vegeta watched in silence, the wind tugging at his pink shirt. His fists clenched.
"Impossible."
"The boy's movements were too sharp, too refined. Each swing was precise, efficient, his control bordering on flawless." Vegeta's chest burned with jealousy and grudging admiration. Who the hell is this Saiyan?" he thought bitterly."And why are his movements somewhat similar to mine?"
Down below, King Cold lunged again. This time, Trunks sidestepped, not out of instinct, but calculation. His eyes tracked every movement, every micro-delay.
There it is.
Cold overextended for a fraction of a second, 0.2 seconds, maybe less, but to Trunks, it was enough.
He moved faster than sound. His sword sliced in a black blur, cutting clean through Cold's forearm.
The world froze for a heartbeat. Then the pain hit.
King Cold let out a roar that shook the valley, clutching his severed arm. "MY ARM! MY AAARM!"
Trunks aimed his sword at King Cold's head, intent on decapitating him.
In that instant, King Cold felt something he had never known: absolute terror. The man before him radiated a calm so pure it was suffocating, his blade a flash of inevitability. Time froze as dread clawed up his spine, his body refusing to move, though every instinct screamed to run. For the first time, he understood what it meant to face something beyond power, something that could erase him completely.
Frieza's eyes went wide. "Father!" He didn't think; he fired a sharp, death beam slicing across the battlefield.
Trunks leapt backward, his blade flicking upward. The beam split harmlessly in two, spiraling into the sky. His aura burned brighter, golden fire swirling around him as the ground cracked beneath his boots.
He looked at Frieza and King Cold with calm, piercing eyes. "You should've stayed dead."
The wind howled. Vegeta stood frozen. Even Piccolo, struggling to rise, stared in disbelief.
Who is he?
Trunks's sword hummed with energy, his golden aura spilling across the battlefield like sunlight cutting through storm clouds.
The fight wasn't over. But in that moment, everyone knew, the tide had shifted.