"Mugetsu"

"Mugetsu"

The last thing he remembered was the blaring horn of a truck.

How painfully cliché.

One moment he had been walking home from the convenience store, a bag of chips in one hand and his phone in the other, scrolling through yet another debate about which anime protagonist would win in a hypothetical battle. The irony wasn't lost on him—even now, in whatever void he currently floated through, he could appreciate the cosmic joke.

He had been reading a thread comparing Ichigo Kurosaki's Final Getsuga Tensho to various Dragon Ball transformations when the truck had come. No time to react. No final words. No dramatic last thoughts about his life or regrets.

Just... nothing.

And then, something.

The void wasn't empty, he realized. It was full—full of something he couldn't quite comprehend. Energy? Power? Existence itself? He couldn't say. He had no body to feel with, no eyes to see with, no mouth to scream with. He simply was, floating in an endless expanse of possibility.

"Interesting."

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It wasn't a voice in the traditional sense—more like a concept being pressed directly into whatever passed for his consciousness.

"A soul with no particular destiny. No grand purpose. No cosmic significance. Just... a fan."

He would have shrugged if he could. It was true, wasn't it? He had been nobody special. A twenty-three-year-old with a dead-end job, a small apartment, and an extensive collection of anime figurines. No great ambitions. No burning desires. Just... existence.

"And yet, here you are. In the space between spaces. How curious."

The presence—whatever it was—seemed amused. Not malicious, not benevolent, just... entertained.

"I could send you back. Let you reincarnate naturally. A new life, new memories, new everything. The cycle continues, as it always does."

There was a pause, heavy with implication.

"Or..."

That single word hung in the void like a promise.

"I could make things... interesting. For both of us. I grow so terribly bored, you see. Eternity has that effect."

He felt something shift. The void around him began to coalesce, to take shape. Images flickered past—scenes he recognized from countless hours of watching, reading, analyzing. Worlds upon worlds, each one a story he had consumed with varying degrees of obsession.

"You know these places. You've studied them, in your own way. The rules, the powers, the narratives. Such dedication to fiction. It's almost admirable."

The images settled on one world in particular. A blue planet, hanging in the darkness of space. Familiar, yet different. He could feel the energy radiating from it—countless power levels, some massive, some minuscule, all of them real in a way that defied explanation.

"Dragon Ball. A simple world, in many ways. Power determines everything. The strong survive, the weak perish or are protected by the strong. You know it well."

He did. He had watched every episode, read every chapter, analyzed every power scaling debate until his eyes bled. He knew the timeline like the back of his hand. Every saga, every transformation, every death and resurrection.

"But what form should you take, I wonder? Your original body is... insufficient. A normal human in that world would be less than an insect. You would die before you could even begin to experience anything interesting."

More images flickered past. Saiyans with their golden auras. Namekians with their regenerating limbs. Androids with their infinite energy. Majins with their absurd abilities. Each one considered and dismissed in turn.

"No, no. Those are too... expected. Too mundane. If I'm going to do this, I want something different. Something that will make things truly entertaining."

The images shifted again, pulling from different sources. Other anime, other manga, other worlds entirely. The presence was browsing through his memories like a catalog, examining each power system with clinical interest.

And then it stopped.

"Ah. This one."

The image that filled the void made his non-existent heart stop.

Ichigo Kurosaki. But not the Ichigo he had seen for most of the series. This was the form. The Final Getsuga Tensho. Mugetsu. The technique that had transcended Shinigami, Hollow, and human limitations entirely. The form that had defeated Aizen at the peak of his evolution.

Black hair flowing past the waist. Gray bandages wrapping the lower face and body. Eyes of deep crimson that seemed to hold the weight of infinite darkness. And the power—oh, the power. Even in memory, even in this abstract void, he could feel the weight of it. The overwhelming, absolute, terrifying presence of something that had moved beyond the concept of spiritual pressure entirely.

"In its original context, this form was... temporary. A final release that burned away all power in exchange for one moment of transcendence. But rules are merely suggestions to one such as myself."

The presence's amusement was palpable now.

"What if it wasn't temporary? What if the form was permanent? What if that power was yours to keep, to grow, to evolve? And more importantly—what if I placed you in a world that operates on entirely different rules?"

He understood then. Reiatsu and Ki were similar in some ways—both were expressions of life force, of spiritual and physical energy combined. But they were also fundamentally different. The Dragon Ball universe didn't operate on the same principles as Bleach. There was no "crushing spiritual pressure" that could paralyze weaker beings. There was no Hogyoku to evolve you past your limits.

But there was growth. Limitless, exponential growth. Zenkai boosts. Training that could multiply power a hundredfold. Techniques that could push past any barrier.

And if he had the Final Getsuga Tensho form permanently—if he had that baseline to work from—

"You understand. Good. I knew you would. Fans always do."

The void began to shift more dramatically now. He could feel something forming around him—a body, real and solid and thrumming with power. The darkness coalesced, wrapping around his consciousness like a cocoon of pure energy.

"One more gift, before I send you off. The emotions that would cripple you—the fear, the hesitation, the moral quandaries—they will be... muted. Not gone entirely, but suppressed. You will be able to think clearly, to act decisively. The weight of taking lives will not crush your human psyche. Consider it a survival mechanism."

He felt something click into place deep within his forming mind. A dampener. A filter. He could still feel, still think, still experience—but everything was distant now. Removed. Like watching his own life through a pane of glass.

"And finally—I will give you no grand purpose. No quest to complete, no destiny to fulfill, no world to save or destroy. What you do with this gift is entirely your own choice. I only ask one thing in return."

The body was almost complete now. He could feel the power filling every cell, every fiber, every atom of his new existence. It was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure—or it would have been, if his emotions weren't so muted.

"Be interesting. Entertain me. Do the unexpected. Break the narrative. And above all—have fun."

The last word echoed through the void as reality snapped back into place—

And he opened his eyes to chaos.

The first thing he registered was the sky. Blue and clear and utterly mundane, except for the massive spacecraft that dominated his field of vision. It was hovering perhaps a mile away, a disc-shaped monstrosity of purple and white that he recognized instantly from countless episodes.

Frieza's ship.

The second thing he registered was the power he could feel radiating from that vessel. Two signatures, both massive, both cold and cruel in a way that transcended mere numbers. One was familiar—that unmistakable malevolence that had terrorized Namek and haunted Goku's memories. The other was similar but greater, a crushing weight that spoke of age and experience and casual destruction.

Mecha Frieza and King Cold. They had arrived on Earth.

The third thing he registered was his own body.

He looked down at himself and felt nothing. No surprise, no wonder, no existential crisis at suddenly existing in a fictional world. The emotional dampener was working perfectly—he could acknowledge that this was bizarre, impossible, reality-breaking in every conceivable way, but it didn't affect him.

His skin was pale, wrapped in gray bandages from the waist down. His torso was bare, revealing a physique that was lean but thrummed with contained power. His hair—he reached up to touch it—was long and black, flowing past his shoulders in thick waves. And his eyes, when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby puddle, were deep crimson.

He was Mugetsu. The Final Getsuga Tensho given permanent form.

And he was standing in the middle of a wasteland, perhaps half a mile from where Frieza's ship was beginning to land.

He could feel other power levels in the distance. Six of them, racing toward this location with varying degrees of speed and desperation. He recognized them instinctively—Vegeta, Piccolo, Tien, Krillin, Yamcha, and one more that had to be either Gohan or someone else he couldn't quite place. The Z-Fighters, coming to confront a threat they knew they couldn't defeat.

They were still minutes away. The ship was landing now, dust billowing outward in massive clouds as its landing gear deployed. Soon, Frieza and his soldiers would emerge. Soon, the confrontation would begin.

And in the original timeline, Future Trunks would arrive to save the day. Goku would follow shortly after. The threat would be neutralized, and the Android Saga would begin.

But Trunks wasn't here yet. He could feel it—or rather, he could feel the absence. No power level approaching from the upper atmosphere. No time machine arriving in a flash of light. Just emptiness where salvation should be.

He had time.

The thought crossed his mind with clinical detachment: I could leave. I could simply walk away, let events unfold as they should, and observe from a distance.

But that would be boring. And the entity had asked him to be interesting.

More importantly—he needed to understand his power. He needed to test it, to push it, to see what he was truly capable of in this new world with its new rules.

And what better test subject than the most iconic villain in Dragon Ball history?

He began walking toward the ship.

The ground beneath his feet cracked with each step, not from the impact of his footfalls, but from the sheer weight of his presence. He wasn't even trying to exert his power—this was simply what he was now. A being so dense with energy that reality itself strained to contain him.

The ship had fully landed now. The boarding ramp was beginning to lower, revealing rows of soldiers in combat armor standing at attention. At their head stood two figures that made even the dampener struggle to contain his reaction.

Mecha Frieza was exactly as he remembered from the anime—half machine, half organic, a testament to the devastating power of Goku's Spirit Bomb and the Emperor's refusal to die. His cybernetic enhancements gleamed in the sunlight, red eyes scanning the landscape with cold fury.

And beside him, King Cold. Taller than his son, more imposing in every way, with that same purple and white coloring that marked their species. His power was immense—greater than Frieza's current level, though he had clearly never trained to reach his full potential. A sleeping giant, content to let his sons do the work of conquest.

Both of them noticed him at the same time.

"What is this?" Frieza's mechanical voice echoed across the wasteland, tinged with equal parts curiosity and contempt. "A welcoming party? How... unexpected. I thought this planet's defenders were still on their way."

King Cold's eyes narrowed. "Frieza. That creature's power level..."

"I'm aware, Father." Frieza's tail—half organic, half mechanical—lashed behind him. "It's significant. Perhaps the strongest on this miserable planet, aside from that Saiyan ape I've come to kill. But still nothing compared to us."

He kept walking. The soldiers were beginning to shift nervously, their scouters beeping as they tried to get a reading on his power. Several of them exploded in showers of sparks, unable to process the numbers.

"You there!" Frieza called out, his voice carrying across the distance. "I don't recognize your species. You're not Saiyan, not Namekian, not any race in my Empire's database. What are you?"

He stopped. A hundred meters now separated him from the ship, from the army, from the two tyrants who had terrorized a universe. He looked up at them with those crimson eyes, and for the first time, he spoke.

"I am..." He paused, searching for the right words. His voice was deep and resonant, carrying an otherworldly quality that made several of the soldiers take involuntary steps backward. "...no one of consequence."

Frieza laughed—that distinctive, chilling laugh that had echoed across Namek as he murdered innocents. "No one of consequence? With that power level? You must think me a fool."

"I think nothing of you at all."

The words came out flat, emotionless, utterly sincere. He didn't hate Frieza—the dampener wouldn't let him. He didn't fear him. He simply... acknowledged his existence.

And that, perhaps more than any insult, seemed to enrage the Emperor.

"Kill him," Frieza said, waving a dismissive hand. "All of you. Tear him apart."

The soldiers charged.

He didn't move.

The first wave of soldiers—perhaps twenty in total—came at him with weapons drawn and killing intent radiating from every pore. They were experienced killers, veterans of a hundred worlds, each one capable of devastating entire cities.

Against him, they were less than nothing.

He raised one hand, fingers spread, and simply pushed.

The air itself seemed to solidify, becoming a wall of force that slammed into the charging soldiers with the weight of a collapsing star. Bodies flew backward, ragdolling through the air before crashing into the ground with enough force to crater stone. Not a single one got up.

"Interesting," he murmured to himself, examining his hand. That hadn't been any technique he knew from Bleach. It had simply been his power, expressed in the most basic way possible. A release of energy that manifested as kinetic force.

Ki works differently than Reiatsu, he noted clinically. More versatile. More... malleable. I can work with this.

More soldiers were charging now—the entire army, hundreds of warriors, all converging on his position with murder in their eyes. Behind them, Frieza and King Cold watched with expressions of mild interest.

He didn't bother with finesse.

The power inside him was vast—a bottomless ocean of dark energy that seemed to have no limits he could perceive. He reached into that ocean, drawing just a fraction of it to the surface, and let it radiate outward.

The effect was immediate.

A wave of pure pressure exploded from his body, a dome of force that expanded in all directions at the speed of thought. Soldiers caught in its wake were simply... erased. Not killed—erased. Reduced to nothing, their bodies unable to withstand even passive exposure to his power.

When the wave subsided, he was standing alone in a circle of devastation. The ground around him had been scoured clean, bedrock exposed beneath where topsoil had been vaporized. Not a single soldier remained.

And Frieza was finally paying attention.

"Father," the Emperor said slowly, all traces of amusement gone from his voice. "That technique..."

"I saw." King Cold's massive form had tensed, his eyes fixed on the figure in the crater with an intensity that spoke of genuine caution. "That wasn't a simple energy attack. That was pressure. Raw, overwhelming pressure."

"Like the Saiyan. When he transformed."

"Worse. The Saiyan's power, even at its peak, was quantifiable. This..." King Cold shook his head. "I cannot get a reading. It's as if his energy exists on a different spectrum entirely."

He listened to their conversation with detached interest. They weren't wrong—his power was different. Mugetsu's energy was spiritual in nature, not physical. It operated on principles that didn't exist in this universe. But it could clearly interact with Ki, could affect physical matter, could be projected and controlled just like any other form of energy.

Which meant he could train it. Grow it. Push it past its current limits.

But first, he needed data. He needed to understand how his power compared to the benchmarks of this world.

"Frieza," he called out, his voice carrying effortlessly across the distance. "How strong are you currently?"

The Emperor blinked. "What?"

"Your power level. What is it?"

For a moment, Frieza seemed genuinely thrown by the question. Then that familiar smirk returned, though it was more strained than before. "Bold of you to ask. Very well—I'll indulge you. In this form, my power level exceeds one hundred and fifty million. More than enough to destroy this pathetic planet a thousand times over."

One hundred and fifty million. Significant, certainly. Mecha Frieza was supposed to be stronger than his full-power form on Namek, which had clocked in at one hundred and twenty million. The cybernetic enhancements had given him a boost.

But compared to what was coming? Compared to the Androids, Cell, Buu? It was nothing. A drop in an infinite ocean.

And compared to himself?

He reached inward, trying to get a sense of his own power. It was difficult—like trying to measure the depth of a bottomless pit by dropping a stone and listening for the splash. His energy seemed to go on forever, layer upon layer of darkness that stretched beyond his ability to perceive.

But he could estimate. Based on how easily he had destroyed those soldiers, based on the way Frieza and Cold were reacting, based on the sheer weight of his own existence...

He was stronger. Much stronger. How much, he couldn't say with certainty. But enough.

"I see," he said. "That's... less than I expected."

Frieza's eye twitched. "Less than you expected? You dare—"

"I'm going to stay here," he continued, as if the Emperor hadn't spoken. "I want to test something. You can attack me if you wish. It doesn't matter."

"Test something? ATTACK YOU IF I WISH?" Frieza's composure shattered completely, his mechanical voice rising to a shriek. "I AM LORD FRIEZA! EMPEROR OF THE UNIVERSE! I WILL NOT BE DISMISSED BY SOME—SOME—"

"Frieza." King Cold's voice cut through his son's tirade like a blade. "Calm yourself. This creature is deliberately provoking you."

"I know that, Father! I don't care! He will show me proper respect or I will—"

"You'll do nothing." He sat down cross-legged in the center of the crater, closing his eyes. "I'm busy."

The silence that followed was deafening.

He had a theory.

In Bleach, Aura—or more specifically, Reiatsu—was everything. It was the manifestation of one's spiritual power, the pressure of one's soul made manifest. Strong enough Reiatsu could crush weaker beings, could affect the physical world, could even distort reality itself at the highest levels.

Mugetsu was the pinnacle of that concept. A form so transcendent that it existed beyond normal Reiatsu entirely. Its pressure was absolute, overwhelming, impossible to resist or withstand.

But Mugetsu had also been temporary. A final release that burned away all power in exchange for one moment of ultimate transcendence. Ichigo had lost all his abilities after using it.

He, however, had been given this form permanently. Which meant he wasn't burning away his power—he was sustaining it. Constantly producing and containing energy on a level that should have been impossible.

What if he could do more?

What if, instead of simply containing that energy, he could actively cultivate it?

He closed his eyes and turned his attention inward. The darkness inside him was vast—an infinite sky of black power that pulsed with potential. He could feel it flowing through him, could sense the way it interacted with his physical form and the world around him.

And he could feel it growing.

Not quickly. Not dramatically. But there was a constant, low-level increase in his power, as if simply existing in this form was enough to generate new energy. Like interest compounding in a bank account—slow, but inevitable.

Aura farming, he thought with distant amusement. The entity wasn't joking. This form is perfect for it.

But passive growth wasn't enough. He wanted to accelerate the process, to push his power higher and faster than simple existence would allow.

He focused on his Aura, on the dark energy that surrounded him in an invisible shell. He imagined it expanding, pushing outward against the constraints of his control. He imagined it growing denser, heavier, more present in the physical world.

The air around him began to change.

Frieza and King Cold, who had been in the middle of an increasingly heated argument about what to do with this strange intruder, both fell silent as they felt the shift. The sky itself seemed to darken, shadows lengthening in ways that had nothing to do with the sun's position.

"What is he doing?" Frieza demanded, taking an involuntary step backward.

"I don't know," King Cold admitted, his voice uncharacteristically tense. "But that power... it's growing. Rapidly."

He could feel it too. The more he focused, the more he pushed, the faster his energy accumulated. It was like flexing a muscle he'd never known he had—difficult at first, but growing easier with each passing moment.

The ground beneath him began to crack, then crumble, then simply disintegrate as his Aura expanded. The air grew heavy, thick with power, pressing down on everything within range like a physical weight.

This is it, he realized. This is what I needed to understand. I can actively farm my own Aura. I can deliberately accelerate my growth by projecting and condensing my energy.

He pushed harder.

The Z-Fighters, still racing toward the landing site, felt it first.

Vegeta nearly fell out of the sky as the wave of pressure washed over him. His eyes went wide, his Saiyan instincts screaming warnings that his mind couldn't fully process.

"What in the—" He came to a halt, hovering in midair as he tried to locate the source of the disturbance. "That power! It's coming from Frieza's landing site, but it's not Frieza. It's not Cold. It's something else entirely!"

Piccolo caught up a moment later, his own expression grim. "I feel it too. Whatever it is, it's massive. And it's growing."

"Growing?" Krillin's voice was barely a squeak. "What do you mean, growing? Power levels don't just grow on their own!"

"This one does." Vegeta's hands had clenched into fists, a mixture of fear and something that might have been anticipation flickering across his features. "Damn it. What is happening down there?"

They pushed forward, flying faster now, desperate to understand what new threat had appeared on their world.

He had been farming for approximately ten minutes when Frieza's patience finally snapped.

"ENOUGH!"

The Emperor's scream echoed across the wasteland as he launched himself from the ship's boarding ramp, his mechanical body a blur of motion. His hand was already raised, fingers extended, a ball of concentrated death energy forming at his fingertip.

"I don't know what you are or where you came from, but you will NOT ignore me! DEATH BEAM!"

The crimson lance of energy shot toward him at light speed, a technique that had killed countless warriors across a thousand worlds. It struck him directly in the forehead—

And vanished.

Not deflected. Not blocked. Simply absorbed, swallowed by the darkness of his Aura as if it had never existed.

He opened one eye.

"Was that supposed to hurt?"

Frieza floated before him, arm still extended, eye twitching with a mixture of rage and something approaching genuine fear. "That... that's impossible. That attack should have—"

"Should have what? Killed me?" He closed his eye again, returning to his meditation. "I told you. I'm busy. Attack me if you want. It doesn't matter."

"You—YOU—"

"Frieza." King Cold had descended from the ship as well, his massive form landing with ground-shaking force. "Stop. You're embarrassing yourself."

"Father, he—"

"I know what he did. And I know what it means." The older tyrant's eyes were fixed on the meditating figure with an intensity that spoke of careful calculation. "That creature absorbed your Death Beam. Not blocked it, not deflected it—absorbed it. Do you understand what that implies?"

Frieza's rage cooled slightly, replaced by dawning comprehension. "He... converted it into his own power."

"Precisely. Every attack we throw at him will only make him stronger. Conventional assault is useless."

He allowed himself a small smile beneath the bandages covering his face. They weren't wrong. His Aura wasn't just for farming his own energy—it was also perfectly suited for absorbing external attacks. In Bleach, higher-level Reiatsu could negate lower-level techniques entirely. Here, that translated into literal energy absorption.

The more they attacked him, the faster he grew.

"Then what do you suggest we do, Father?" Frieza's voice was bitter with frustration. "Simply let him sit there and meditate?"

King Cold was silent for a long moment. "For now? Yes. He hasn't attacked us directly. He hasn't tried to stop us from our mission. If he simply wants to sit there and be strange, let him. We have more important targets."

"You mean the Saiyan."

"Indeed. Goku." Cold's lip curled at the name. "The one who defeated you. The one who turned into that golden-haired warrior. He is our true objective. This... creature... is a distraction."

Frieza's mechanical fists clenched. "I don't like it. Leaving an unknown variable at our backs while we hunt for Son Goku..."

"I didn't say you had to like it. I said it was the wisest course of action." Cold turned away, beginning to float toward the distant horizon. "Come. The Saiyan's allies are approaching. We can use them to draw him out."

Frieza hesitated, his gaze lingering on the dark figure still seated in the crater of devastation. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to destroy this interloper, to obliterate this insult to his pride and power.

But his father was right. Conventional attacks wouldn't work. And until he could find a weakness to exploit...

"Fine," Frieza spat, rising into the air to follow Cold. "But this isn't over, creature. Once I've dealt with Son Goku, I will return for you. And I will find a way to make you suffer."

He didn't bother responding. He was already deep in meditation, his Aura expanding and contracting in rhythmic waves as he pushed his cultivation further and further.

Let them go, he thought. Let them hunt the Z-Fighters. Let them play their little games of power and revenge.

I have more important things to do.

The Z-Fighters arrived five minutes later.

Vegeta touched down first, his boots cracking the already-shattered ground as he landed. His dark eyes swept the scene—the empty battlefield, the abandoned ship, the complete absence of Frieza's soldiers—before finally settling on the figure seated in the crater's center.

"What the hell?" The Saiyan Prince's voice was barely a whisper. "That's... that's the power I sensed? That thing?"

Piccolo landed beside him, followed quickly by Krillin, Tien, Yamcha, and finally Gohan—younger than his father, but with that same determined set to his jaw. Each of them stared at the dark figure with varying degrees of confusion and wariness.

"I've never seen anything like it," Piccolo said slowly. "That form... it's not Saiyan, not Namekian, not any species I recognize. And the energy coming off him..."

"It's different," Gohan finished. "Like Dad's Ki, but... darker. Heavier. It feels like standing at the bottom of an ocean."

"Where's Frieza?" Krillin asked, his voice tight with fear. "And Cold? The ship is right there, but—"

"They left." Vegeta's eyes hadn't left the meditating figure. "I can feel them. They're heading east, toward the populated areas. They're looking for Kakarot."

"Then we need to stop them!" Yamcha exclaimed. "We can't just let them—"

"Stop them?" Vegeta laughed, but there was no humor in it. "With what? None of us can challenge Frieza, let alone Cold. We'd be committing suicide."

"So we just wait for Goku?" Tien crossed his arms, frustration evident in every line of his body. "What if he doesn't arrive in time? What if Frieza starts destroying cities?"

"Then cities get destroyed." Vegeta's voice was flat, pragmatic. "I don't like it any more than you do, but I'm not dying for this mud ball."

"Vegeta!"

"What? It's the truth. Unless one of you has been hiding a power level in the hundreds of millions, we have no choice but to wait."

"What about him?"

Everyone turned to look at Gohan, who was pointing at the figure in the crater. The young half-Saiyan's expression was thoughtful, analytical in a way that belied his age.

"His power level is massive. Bigger than Frieza's, I think. Maybe even bigger than Cold's. If he's not on their side, maybe he could help?"

"Help?" Vegeta scoffed. "Look at him. He's just sitting there. He didn't even try to stop Frieza from leaving. Why would he help us?"

"Maybe we should ask him."

Before anyone could stop him, Gohan was walking toward the crater. The boy's footsteps were hesitant but determined, his small form dwarfed by the oppressive Aura that radiated from the dark figure.

"Gohan, wait!" Piccolo called out. "We don't know if—"

"It's okay, Piccolo." Gohan didn't look back. "I don't think he wants to hurt us. His energy is weird, but it's not... evil. Not like Frieza's."

He reached the edge of the crater and stopped, looking down at the figure with curious eyes.

"Um... excuse me? Sir?"

He opened his eyes.

The boy standing above him was unmistakable. Son Gohan, age approximately six or seven, dressed in the Saiyan armor Vegeta had given him during the Namek Saga. Small, unassuming, with that characteristic bowl cut and innocent expression.

And underneath that innocence, a power level that far exceeded anything a child should possess. Hidden potential, waiting to be unleashed.

"Yes?" His voice emerged flat, emotionless.

Gohan flinched slightly at the tone, but pressed on. "I'm Gohan. Son Gohan. These are my friends—Piccolo, Vegeta, Krillin, Tien, and Yamcha. We came here to fight Frieza and his father."

"I know who you are."

The simple statement made Gohan blink. "You... do?"

"Yes. You're the son of Son Goku, the Super Saiyan who defeated Frieza on Namek. You have hidden power that exceeds your father's, though you lack the training to access it consistently. You're currently afraid but trying very hard not to show it."

The others had crept closer during this exchange, their expressions ranging from shock to suspicion. Vegeta looked particularly unsettled.

"How do you know all that?" the Prince demanded. "Who are you? What are you?"

He considered the question. The entity had told him to be interesting, to break the narrative, to do the unexpected. But it hadn't told him to reveal his true nature. And there was no strategic advantage in explaining that he was a reincarnated anime fan from another universe.

"I am no one of consequence," he said, echoing his earlier words to Frieza. "I have no name. No origin. No purpose."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer you'll get."

Vegeta's hands clenched, Ki beginning to gather around his fists. "Listen here, you—"

"Vegeta." Piccolo's voice cut through the tension. "Don't. You felt his power. Attacking him would be suicide."

"I'm not afraid of—"

"Then you're an idiot. We all felt what he did when we were flying here. That expansion of energy, that wave of pressure—he wasn't even fighting anyone. He was just... sitting there. And his power was growing."

"Growing?" Krillin's face had gone pale. "What do you mean, growing?"

"Exactly what I said." Piccolo's eyes never left the dark figure. "His power level was increasing. Rapidly. And it's still increasing now, even as we speak. Whatever he is, whatever he's doing, he's getting stronger every second."

Silence fell over the group as the implications sank in.

He watched them with detached interest, noting the fear in their eyes, the tension in their bodies. They were so small, so fragile, so utterly outmatched by the forces arrayed against them. In the original timeline, only Future Trunks' intervention had saved them from slaughter.

But Trunks wasn't here yet. And Frieza and Cold were heading toward populated areas.

He made a decision.

"The tyrants are heading east," he said, rising smoothly to his feet. The Z-Fighters collectively took a step back, startled by the sudden movement. "They're looking for Son Goku. They will likely attempt to draw him out by threatening civilians."

"We know," Piccolo growled. "We were just discussing—"

"I will deal with them."

The statement hung in the air like a physical thing. For a long moment, no one moved. No one spoke.

"You'll... deal with them?" Krillin's voice was barely above a whisper. "Just like that?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Vegeta demanded. "You said you have no purpose. Why would you help us?"

He considered the question. Why would he help? He had no stake in this world, no connections to its people, no grand destiny to fulfill. The entity had given him freedom—complete, absolute freedom to do whatever he wanted.

And what he wanted, in this moment, was to test his power. To see what he was truly capable of. To push the limits of this form and discover how far he could go.

Frieza and King Cold were perfect test subjects.

"I'm not helping you," he said finally. "I'm entertaining myself."

And before anyone could respond, he vanished.

He reappeared in the sky above a sprawling city, the urban landscape stretching to the horizon in every direction. Frieza and King Cold were floating perhaps a mile ahead, their auras blazing with murderous intent as they surveyed the millions of lives below.

"So many insects," Frieza was saying, his mechanical voice carrying on the wind. "Where to begin? I think we should start with a demonstration. Show this planet what happens when they harbor my enemies."

"A wise strategy," King Cold agreed. "Fear is an excellent motivator. Once word spreads of our power, Son Goku will have no choice but to reveal himself."

Frieza raised his hand, fingers extended. Death energy began to gather at his fingertip, a sphere of destruction that could level the entire city with a single blast.

"Let's see... one hundred million lives should be a sufficient opening statement—"

"No."

The voice came from behind them, flat and emotionless and utterly devoid of concern for the two most powerful beings in the universe.

They turned.

He floated there, arms crossed, crimson eyes gleaming with something that might have been anticipation. The wind caught his long black hair, sending it streaming behind him like a banner of darkness.

"You again." Frieza's eye twitched. "I thought I told you this wasn't over."

"You did. It's over now."

"Over?" King Cold's deep voice rumbled with amusement. "Little creature, you are bold, but you are also a fool. Even if your power rivals my son's, you cannot hope to defeat us both."

"Can't I?"

He raised one hand, palm facing outward.

"Let me show you something."

The darkness inside him surged, responding to his will. He reached into that infinite ocean of power and drew forth a fraction—just a fraction—of his true strength.

And then he released it.

The Aura that exploded from his body was unlike anything the universe had ever seen. It wasn't golden like a Super Saiyan's, wasn't white like Frieza's maximum power. It was black—absolute, endless, all-consuming black—a void given form that seemed to devour the very light around it.

The air itself screamed as it was compressed by the sheer weight of his presence. The city below shuddered, buildings cracking and windows shattering from the pressure wave. Frieza and King Cold were blown backward, their forms tumbling through the air as they struggled to maintain their bearing.

"WHAT IS THIS?!" King Cold roared, his composed demeanor finally cracking. "THIS POWER—IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"

"No," he said, his voice cutting through the chaos with perfect clarity. "It's simply beyond your comprehension."

He moved.

To Frieza, it must have seemed like teleportation. One moment the dark figure was a hundred meters away; the next, he was directly in front of the Emperor, crimson eyes boring into mechanical red.

"You killed thousands on Namek," he said. "You destroyed Planet Vegeta. You enslaved countless worlds and murdered billions for your own amusement."

Frieza opened his mouth to respond—perhaps to boast, perhaps to beg—

"I don't care about any of that."

His fist connected with Frieza's chest, punching clean through the cybernetic armor and organic tissue beneath. The Emperor's eyes went wide with shock and pain, his mouth opening in a silent scream.

"I just wanted to see if I could."

He pulled his arm back, leaving a gaping hole where Frieza's heart should have been. The tyrant's body twitched once, twice, and then went limp, plummeting from the sky like a broken puppet.

King Cold watched his son fall with an expression of complete disbelief. "Frieza... FRIEZA!"

He turned his attention to the older tyrant. "Your turn."

"YOU MONSTER!" Cold's power exploded outward, his final form transformation completing in an instant. His body grew larger, more muscular, his power level skyrocketing to heights that dwarfed his son's. "I'LL DESTROY YOU! I'LL MAKE YOU SUFFER FOR ETERNITY!"

He raised one finger, pointing at the enraged emperor.

"No."

The word carried weight beyond its simple meaning. It was a statement of fact, an absolute declaration of reality.

Cold charged, fists blazing with enough power to shatter planets—

And stopped.

He couldn't move. The darkness emanating from his opponent had wrapped around him like chains, freezing him in place. His muscles strained, his Ki surged, but nothing he did could break the grip of that oppressive Aura.

"How...?" Cold gasped. "This is impossible... I am the strongest in the universe... I am—"

"You are nothing."

The darkness tightened.

Cold's body began to compress, crushed by the sheer weight of power surrounding him. He screamed, a sound of absolute agony and terror, as his bones cracked and his organs ruptured.

"Please!" The pride was gone now, replaced by naked desperation. "Mercy! I'll give you anything! Power! Wealth! Planets! Just—"

The darkness closed completely.

Where King Cold had been, there was now only empty air and a few scattered motes of disintegrating matter. The most powerful being in the known universe had been reduced to nothing in an instant.

He floated there for a moment, looking at the space where the tyrant had been. He felt... nothing. No satisfaction, no guilt, no triumph or remorse. The dampener had done its work perfectly.

He had just killed two beings responsible for the deaths of billions.

And he felt nothing at all.

Interesting, he thought. I'm stronger than I expected. Frieza and Cold were supposed to be significant threats at this point in the timeline. But to me, they were less than insects.

What does that mean for the future? For the Androids? For Cell? For Buu?

What does it mean for me?

He didn't have answers. But he had time. All the time in the world.

Below him, the city was slowly recovering from the shockwave of his power release. People were emerging from buildings, looking up at the sky with confusion and fear. They had no idea what had just happened above them—only that something massive had occurred.

He descended slowly, landing in an empty park at the city's edge. The Z-Fighters would arrive soon—he could feel them racing toward his position, drawn by the display of power. They would have questions. They would want answers.

He wouldn't give them any.

Instead, he sat down cross-legged in the grass, closed his eyes, and resumed his cultivation. His Aura expanded outward, pulsing with that distinctive dark energy, growing stronger with each passing moment.

This is my existence now, he thought. No grand purpose. No noble goal. Just... this. Growing stronger. Experiencing things. Seeing where the story goes.

And maybe—just maybe—having a little fun along the way.

The sun was setting behind him, casting long shadows across the park. In the distance, he could hear the approaching sonic booms of the Z-Fighters' flight.

A new chapter was beginning.

And he was exactly where he wanted to be.

To be continued...

Author's Note:

So that's the first chapter! Our nameless protagonist has arrived in the Dragon Ball universe in Ichigo's Final Getsuga Tensho form, casually eliminated Frieza and King Cold, and begun his "Aura farming" cultivation. What happens when the Z-Fighters catch up? What happens when Trunks arrives and finds his mission already complete? What happens when Goku shows up?

And most importantly—how will this emotionally muted, ruthlessly pragmatic newcomer affect the course of Dragon Ball history?

Find out next time!