Double chapter today, I've concluded the 1st arc so I will post it later after I edit it.
--
I sat in the cramped cockpit of Unit 5, staring out at the streaking starlight. For the first time in years, the crushing weight in my stomach, that physical knot was gone.
I had let it out.
I flexed my hand. The soreness was gone. The deep ache in my bones from the Oozaru transformation had faded, replaced by a strange, humming vitality.
I reached for the Scouter clipped to my belt. It was cracked, caked in Meatan mud, but the display flickered to life.
I pointed it at myself.
Beep.
The Zenkai, I expected it.
I had gone to planet meat at a suppressed 210, a true max of roughly 1,200-1,500. I had been beaten, crushed, suffocated, and forced to channel a multiplier that should have torn my body apart.
The numbers scrolled.
2,000... 2,500... 3,000...
My breath hitched.
3,500...
The digits slowed and locked.
3,800.
I stared at the green light, blinking.
Three thousand, eight hundred.
'Wow, I skipped the entire mid-class caste.' I couldn't believe I had made this much progress in such a short time.
Nappa who was sitting around 4000, well it would probably go up after he is fully healed, was now within striking distance. If I caught him slacking... I could kill him.
I leaned back against the headrest, a laugh bubbling up in my throat.
"It's not just the Zenkai," I realized. The Oozaru form, by forcing my body to handle an output of 25,000, had violently stretched my capacity.
I was no longer a Low Class grunt. Statistically, I was now stronger than 95% of the population on Planet Vegeta.
I looked across the small communication screen on the console. It was currently linked to the squad channel, showing the interior of the other pods.
Zuto and Toma were sleeping, their battered faces constantly twitching. Nappa was awake, eating a nutrient bar with bored intensity.
And Ruca.
She was awake and staring out of her viewport, her expression unreadable.
I watched her for a long moment.
Before, looking at her would have brought a mix of gratitude and confusion. I had projected my human needs onto her. I wanted a friend. I wanted an ally.
But her words in the corridor echoed in my mind, clearer than the engine hum.
"Because I am bored, Cress."
The hurt I had felt then... it was gone now.
I looked at her not with betrayal, but with clarity.
I had made the mistake of viewing her through an Earthling's lens. I expected something she couldn't give me. But she was a Saiyan. To her, people were assets, entertainment, or obstacles. I had been interesting.
"Fine," I whispered to the screen.
I didn't hate her, it was my own delusions that made me hate her.
If she wanted entertainment, I would give it to her. If she wanted a partner to alleviate her boredom, I would be that partner. But the expectation of "friendship" was dead.
--
The Royal Spaceport of Planet Vegeta came into view, a sprawling complex of white stone and docking spires rising from the red dust.
"Descent initiated," the computer droned.
We hit the atmosphere. The familiar heavy gravity of home grabbed the pods, pulling us down.
We slammed onto the landing pads of Hangar 4. The steam hissed, the hatches blew open.
Nappa was the first out. He stretched, his spine popping like gunfire.
"Home sweet hellhole!" Nappa roared. "Alright, maggots! Unload the gear! I want to be in the healing tanks within the hour!"
I climbed out of my pod. My scavenged jumpsuit was torn, stained with purple and grey fluids. I looked like a disaster.
Usually, someone should be waiting with a datapad to log our arrival.
Today, the tarmac was silent.
Standing in formation at the base of the ramp were ten soldiers.
They wore the crimson capes and heavy black armor of the Royal Guard. These weren't standard troopers. These were the King's personal guard. Power levels ranging from 3,000 to 5,000.
Nappa stopped stretching. He narrowed his eyes.
"What's this?" Nappa grunted, his hand drifting toward the blaster on his hip. "I didn't order a parade."
The squad tensed. Zuto and Toma moved behind Nappa. Ruca stepped to the side, her eyes darting between the Guards and me.
I stood perfectly still.
'This is it,' I thought.
The mercenary failed. The suicide mission failed. So now, the King was done playing games. He sent the firing squad to finish the job before I could even wash the mud off my face.
My hand hovered inches from my belt.
I could take one. Maybe two if I used the Solar Flare immediately.
'I could probably escape with the pod behind me, I just had to-'
The Lead Guard stepped forward interrupting my thoughts. He was an older Saiyan with a scar running through his left eye. He ignored Nappa entirely.
He walked straight toward me.
I tensed my legs, preparing to launch the Kienzan.
The Guard stopped five feet away.
And bowed, a sharp, military snap at the waist.
"Unit Two," the Guard said, his voice respectful. "Cress."
I blinked. I didn't drop my guard. "Yes?"
"King Vegeta requires your presence," the Guard stated. "Immediately."
"He needs a bath," Nappa interrupted, stepping forward aggressively. "He smells like a Meatan corpse. I'm debriefing him first."
The Guard turned to Nappa. He didn't flinch.
"The King was specific, Commander Nappa. He is not to wash. He is not to change. The King wishes to see the survivor exactly as he is."
The Guard turned back to me and gestured to a waiting hover-transport.
"Come."
I looked at Ruca. She looked stunned.
I looked at Nappa. He looked annoyed, but he knew better than to argue with the Royal Guard.
I relaxed my stance.
If they wanted to kill me, they would have done it here. They wouldn't bring me to the palace. This was something else.
"Lead the way," I said.
--
The Throne Room was a cavern of shadows.
'It's empty.' I thought, analyzing the place.
The massive doors groaned shut behind me, sealing me in the silence.
Only two figures stood on the raised dais.
Commander Garl, Ruca's father, stood to the right, his arms crossed, his face a mask of stone.
And sitting on the throne, draped in his red cape, was King Vegeta.
I walked down the long, red carpet. My boots left muddy footprints on the polished floor. I felt the grime on my skin, the dried blood matting my hair.
I stopped at the base of the stairs and knelt.
"My King."
Silence stretched for a long ten seconds.
"Stand up," King Vegeta ordered.
I stood and met his gaze.
His eyes were dark, intelligent, and swimming with paranoia. He looked me up and down, taking in the battered jumpsuit, the undeniable presence of someone who had walked through hell.
"You survived," the King said. It wasn't a question.
"The mission was successful, Sire," I replied neutrally. "The Meatan resistance is broken."
"I am not talking about the Meatans," the King said softly.
He stood up and walked down the stairs, stopping just a few feet from me. His presence domineering.
"I am talking about the Hunter. On Arlia 4."
My heart skipped a beat, he was admitting it. No subterfuge.
"I sent him," King Vegeta said, watching my eyes closely. "I paid him five thousand credits to put a blade through your heart."
I didn't flinch, neither did I beg. I held the silence.
"You know why," the King continued. "You knew too much. You whispered to Zarbon. You played political games in my court. A Low Class who plays games is a liability."
"I did what I had to do to survive, Sire," I said.
"And you survived," the King noted. "You killed the Hunter. And then... you survived Planet Meat. A drop zone designed to grind you into dust."
He began to pace around me.
"I asked myself... why? Why did the boy not run to Zarbon? Why did he not expose the hit? A spy would have used that leverage. A traitor would have shattered my standing with the Cold Force."
He stopped behind me.
"But you crushed the data cylinder. You kept my secret."
"It was a loyalty test," I said.
Even I wouldn't believe what I was saying, but I delivered it with conviction.
"I assumed," I continued, turning to face him, "that the King does not hire mercenaries because he is weak. He hires them to see if his tools are sharp. If I died, I wasn't worth keeping. Since I lived... I passed."
King Vegeta stared at me.
Then, a slow, terrifying smile spread across his face.
"Gaslighting the King," Vegeta murmured, though he didn't sound angry. He sounded impressed. "You are spinning a narrative where I am a brilliant strategist testing his subjects, rather than a paranoid monarch cleaning up loose ends."
He laughed. A short, sharp bark.
"Very well. Let us call it a loyalty test."
He gestured to Commander Garl.
Garl stepped forward, activating a holographic display. It showed a graph. A red line that spiked vertically.
"This is the energy signature recorded from your pod's telemetry during the battle," Garl said, his voice gruff. "Twenty-five thousand."
The number hung in the air.
"A Low Class infant is born with a power of two," King Vegeta said. "Their Oozaru form should cap in the hundreds, but you... you hit numbers reserved for the Elite Guard."
The King stepped closer, his face inches from mine.
"You are a mutant, Cress. An anomaly. A genetic deviation."
He reached out and gripped my shoulder. His grip was hard, possessive.
"I have no heir," King Vegeta whispered, the vulnerability leaking through his arrogance for just a second. "The Queen has not yet produced a son. The lineage is fragile. And Frieza... Frieza is watching us, waiting for us to weaken."
Frieza still had an eye on saiyans even before he took over King Cold.
His grip tightened.
"I cannot afford to throw away a weapon of your caliber. I don't care if you were born in the gutter. If you can vaporize a fortress, you belong to me."
"I live to serve the Throne," I said.
"Good," Vegeta said, releasing me. "Because your life as a grunt is over."
"Effective immediately," King Vegeta announced, walking back up the stairs to his throne. "You are promoted to Elite Status."
I blinked. "Sire?"
"You will be stripped of your Low Class designation," the King continued. "You will be given proper armor, proper quarters, and proper training."
He pointed to Commander Garl.
"You are reassigned to Commander Garl's Personal Unit. You will serve under him directly."
I looked at Garl. The old commander stared back with cold, calculating eyes.
I saw the trap instantly.
Garl was the King's most loyal dog. He was disciplined, observant, and ruthless. If I went to his unit, I would be put on guard duty. I would be kept in the palace, watched 24/7. I would be a trophy weapon kept in a glass case.
Safe. Controlled. Stagnant.
I couldn't grow there. I needed the Zenkais, I needed the carnage of the front lines to push my power high enough to survive. And I also needed to not be on this planet when Frieza will decide that he is fed up with us.
"No," I said.
The room went dead silent.
Garl's hand dropped. King Vegeta froze, turning slowly to look at me.
"No?" the King repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You refuse my generosity?"
"I refuse to be a decoration, Sire," I said, stepping forward.
I flared my Ki. Just a little. enough to show the new baseline. 3,800. I couldn't hide anything at this point.
"You said you need a weapon," I said, my voice echoing in the hall. "Weapons get dull if they sit on a shelf. Commander Garl's unit is prestige. It is defense. It is safety."
I looked the King in the eye.
"I am a mutant because I struggle. My power comes from survival. If you put me in a cage, I will stagnate."
"And what do you propose?" Vegeta asked, intrigued despite his anger.
"Keep me on Nappa's roster," I said. Nappa was the best option for me, if the prince were to be put in nape's squad, I would evade the catastrophe while also avoid making myself a fugitive.
The King raised an eyebrow. "Nappa? The brute?"
"Nappa fights on the edge," I explained. "He takes the suicide missions. He goes where the fighting is thickest. That is where I grew. That is where I will continue to grow."
I gestured to Garl.
"Let me sleep in Garl's barracks. Let him be my jailor. Let him watch me when I sleep so you know I'm not whispering to Zarbon. But when the ships launch... let me bleed with Nappa."
I knelt again.
"If I die, then I wasn't the weapon you thought I was. If I survive... you get a stronger monster."
King Vegeta looked at Garl. "Thoughts?"
Garl grunted. "The boy has a point, Sire. Nappa breaks things. If the boy can survive Nappa's command, he will harden faster than in my training ground. And I can keep a leash on him when he is on planet."
King Vegeta drummed his fingers on the armrest. He looked at me, seeing the ambition, the desperation, and the utility.
"You want to walk into the fire," Vegeta mused. "Very well."
He waved his hand.
"Granted. You are an Elite under Garl's jurisdiction, detached for special operations with Nappa's unit. You have your war, Cress. Do not disappoint me."
"Thank you, Sire."
I stood up and turned to leave. As I reached the door, Garl spoke.
"Cress."
I stopped.
"My barracks have strict curfews," Garl warned. "And my daughter... Ruca. She is in Nappa's squad as well. Do not think that her presence will buy you leniency. If you step out of line, I will break you myself."
I looked back at him.
"Understood, Commander."
I walked out of the throne room.
The heavy doors slammed shut.
I let out a breath, leaning against the cold stone wall.
I was now sleeping in the same building as Ruca, under the nose of the King's most loyal dog.
I smiled.
"Perfect."
--
Deep Space - Frieza's Flagship
The room smelled of lavender and chilled wine.
Zarbon sat by the viewport, watching a distant nebula swirl in colors of violet and blue. He wore a silk robe, his armor resting on a stand nearby.
A small, floating drone hovered near his ear, projecting a holographic display.
"Report confirmed," the drone's mechanical voice chirped. "Subject Unit Two 'Cress' returned to Planet Vegeta. Status: Alive."
Zarbon swirled his glass. "And the King?"
"Subject has been promoted to Elite status," the drone continued. "Reassigned to Commander Garl's personal division, with combat detachment to Commander Nappa."
Zarbon paused. A slow, amused smile touched his lips.
He had expected the King to snap. He had expected an execution.
But instead, the monkeys were adapting. The King was trying to hoard the asset. He was trying to sharpen the blade that Zarbon had tossed aside.
"Promoted," Zarbon chuckled softly. "From a mechanic to an Elite in one rotation. How... quaint."
He took a sip of the wine.
"It seems King Vegeta is trying to build a counter-force. He thinks if he gathers enough strong monkeys, he can challenge the Empire."
"Shall we terminate the asset?" the drone asked. "The power spike recorded during the battle was... significant."
"No," Zarbon decided.
He stood up, walking to the window. He looked at the reflection of his own beautiful face in the glass.
"Let them play soldier. Let them feel strong. Let them fatten themselves up on hope and pride."
He crushed the holographic display with a flick of his finger.
"It makes the harvest so much more interesting when they actually think they have a chance."
Zarbon laughed, a cold, melodic sound that drifted into the empty void of space.
"Keep watching him, drone. I have a feeling our little pet is going to be very entertaining indeed."
--
The corridor outside the Throne Room was vast, silent, and lined with statues of dead Saiyan kings who stared judgmentally from their stone plinths.
Ruca was waiting for me.
She stood openly under the sconce lights, arms crossed over her chest armor. The Garl family crest on her pauldron seemed to glow in the dim light.
When she saw me, her tail flicked, a sharp, nervous spasm she couldn't suppress.
"You're walking," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the hall. "I expected them to carry you out in pieces."
"Disappointed?" I asked, stopping in front of her.
"Surprised," she corrected. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "The King called you in alone. With my father. That's usually a death sentence, Cress. How did you talk your way out of a firing squad?"
"I didn't talk my way out," I said. "I traded up."
I explained the new arrangement. The promotion. The reassignment to her father's personal unit. The compromise to keep me on Nappa's active roster.
Ruca listened, her expression darkening with every sentence. By the time I finished, she looked horrified.
"You're staying at the estate?" she hissed. "Under my father's roof?"
"It was the only way to avoid being a trophy," I reasoned. "I need the missions. I need Nappa. This was the cost."
"You don't understand," Ruca said, grabbing my arm. Her grip was tight. "My father isn't Nappa. Nappa is loud; you can hear him coming from a mile away. My father is a shadow. He doesn't sleep. He notices everything, how you breathe, what you eat, who you look at."
'You just described a damn criminal.' I thought pulling my arm free. "Let him watch."
Ruca stared at me, searching for the fear that should be there.
"I've got nothing to hide," I whispered, tapping my temple. "The real shit happens off-world. As long as I play the loyal soldier inside the walls, he won't look too closely at the cracks."
Ruca shook her head slowly. "You're playing a dangerous game, Cress. If you slip up in my house... I can't protect you."
"I know," I said. "See you at dinner, roommate."
I walked past her, heading toward the Elite Sector transports. I didn't look back. I wasn't the weak guy I was a few years ago.
In a few years, maybe months, they will all be beneath my feet.
--
Garl's Estate was a fortress of stone and gold banners perched on the highest plateau of the capital. It looked down on the Iron District like a predator watching a herd.
My new quarters were on the third floor.
I walked in and the door hissed shut, sealing me in silence.
It was staggering.
The room was larger than the entire apartment I grew up in. The floor was polished obsidian, cool and smooth. One wall was dominated by a massive viewport offering a panoramic view of the red jagged wasteland. There was a private bath with temperature controls. A small, personal training chamber sat in the corner, humming softly. If only it was a gravity room, if only...
And the bed. It was huge, draped in silks that felt like water against my skin.
I touched the fabric. It was soft. Luxurious.
I walked to the bed. Laid out neatly on the mattress was a set of armor.
This was Elite armor. Black bodysuit, bronze-gold plating, with the Garl crest emblazoned on the chest.
I picked up the chest piece. It was heavy, durable, expensive. I had to admit, this was cool as fuck.
I stripped off my ruined jumpsuit and pulled the armor on. It fit perfectly, clasping shut with magnetic seals. I looked at my reflection in the dark glass of the window.
I didn't look like Cress the mechanic anymore. I looked like a soldier of the crown. I looked like one of them. Albeit a little one.
I turned away from the reflection. Comfort was a trap. If I got used to the silk sheets and the hot water, I would lose my edge.
I'm still going to enjoy it though.
--
I sat cross-legged on the cold obsidian floor, ignoring the soft bed. Outside, the sky of Planet Vegeta was darkening into purple twilight.
I needed a plan.
The "Live to Serve" act would buy me time, but it wouldn't save me from the endgame. Frieza was coming. Whether it was next month or the next few years, the death ball was inevitable.
I ran the scenarios in my head.
Plan A: The Canon Route.
Stick with Nappa. In the original timeline, Nappa is off-world with Prince Vegeta when the recall order is given. They ignore it. They survive. If I am in the squad, I survive by default.
It was the safest bet, but it relied on variables I couldn't control. What if Frieza ordered a total recall like in the Brolymovie? What if Nappa, loyal idiot that he is, decided to return to help the King? Or what if I got purged before then?
I couldn't bet my life on Nappa's whims.
Plan B: The Contingency.
I needed to be in two places at once.
If the recall order came, I needed a way to appear loyal, to be seen walking into the barracks or standing formation, while the real me was stealing a pod and blasting into deep space or already somewhere else.
I needed a decoy.
"Multi-Form," I whispered.
The Shishin no Ken. Tien Shinhan's technique.
It wasn't an afterimage. An afterimage was just speed, a visual trick. The Multi-Form created a physical copy. A solid, breathing duplicate that could fight, talk, and bleed.
The drawback was severe: it split your power level. If I was a 3,800, creating one clone would drop us both to 1,900. Two clones would drop us to roughly 1,200.
In a fight, it was suicide.
But for espionage? For escape? It was perfect.
I stood up and moved to the center of the room.
"Okay," I muttered. "Let's see if I can split my soul."
The theory was different from the Spirit Ball or the Solar Flare. Those were about manipulation of external energy. This was internal. This was splitting the Ki itself.
I closed my eyes.
"Cut it in half," I instructed myself. For a moment I got distracted by a funny memory but I quickly regained my senses.
I didn't try to push it out. I tried to tear it apart.
I visualized a an ocean, splitting in the center.
I gritted my teeth. I pushed.
It hurt.
It felt like a migraine in my chest. A deep, tearing sensation that made my vision swim. It felt unnatural, like trying to dislocate a limb that didn't exist.
"Split!" I hissed, sweat popping on my forehead.
I forced the energy to diverge. Left and right.
My aura flared, flickering wildly. My shadow on the floor seemed to stretch, to warp.
For a second, I felt it. A presence beside me. A weight.
Then, the connection snapped.
The energy slammed back together in my gut like a rubber band.
I gasped, stumbling forward and catching myself on the bedframe. My chest heaved. My head pounded.
I looked to my right.
Nothing. Just empty air.
"Harder than it looks," I wheezed, wiping the sweat from my eyes.
I hadn't even managed a ghost.
But I had felt the tear. I had felt the moment of separation.
It would take months. Maybe years depending on how much time I needed to master it. It required a level of Ki control that I couldn't even comprehend, let alone master.
But I had time. Frieza still hasn't take over. I sat back down on the floor.
"Again," I whispered.
--
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