The atmospheric entry of Planet Shwash was gentle.
The impact was soft. My pod touched down on a plaza paved with porous, yellow limestone. The hatch hissed open, and the gravity, or lack thereof, hit me immediately.
I stepped out and nearly floated.
I scanned the horizon.
The city sprawled out in every direction, a chaotic maze of rounded, soft-stone buildings connected by suspended walkways and canals. It was densely packed, teeming with life. The air smelled of wet chalk and spices.
My new blue scouter chirped, a constant, rhythmic sound.
I tapped the side. The numbers scrolled across the lens in a blur.
50... 65... 40... 80...
Thousands of signals. The city was a hive. The locals, the Shwashians, were pouring out of the buildings. They were humanoid but lanky, with pale, rubbery skin and large, black eyes. They carried kinetic rifles and primitive energy spears.
"Target rich environment," I muttered.
A heavy thud echoed to my right. Nappa had landed his pod directly on top of a fountain, crushing it.
The Commander stepped out, stretching his arms. He looked at the endless sea of weaklings surrounding us and frowned.
"Trash," Nappa grunted. "I can't grow from this. It's just yard work."
He looked toward the north. In the distance, rising above the smog of the city, was a massive, crystalline spire. The Royal Palace of Shwash.
"Zuto! Toma!" Nappa barked. "On me. We're taking the North Sector. I want the King's head before lunch."
"What about the residential swarms?" Zuto asked, eyeing the gathering crowd of locals with a sneer.
Nappa waved a dismissive hand toward me and the children.
"Leave the garbage for the cleaners," Nappa laughed. "Let the Royal Youth cut their teeth on the soft targets. Cress, you're in charge of the nursery. Try not to let them get lost."
Without another word, Nappa flared his aura and blasted off toward the palace, Zuto and Toma trailing behind him like eager jackals.
I watched them go, a vein pulsing in my temple.
He wasn't testing the kids. He wasn't delegating. He was dumping the boring, tedious, high-volume grunt work on me so he could go have fun and claim the glory of killing the planetary leader.
"Typical," I sighed.
Ruca stepped up beside me. She adjusted her gloves, her expression flat.
"Cleaning up trash mobs," she muttered, watching the Shwashian militia form a perimeter around the plaza. "Thousands of them. This is going to be boring."
I let out a short, dry laugh. "Everything is boring to you, Ruca."
Ruca didn't laugh. She turned her head slowly, locking her eyes onto mine. The chaos of the impending battle seemed to fade into the background for a split second.
"You're not boring," she said.
Her voice was quiet, delivered with the blunt honesty of a Saiyan who didn't know how to play games.
I felt the heat rise in my neck. I looked away, feigning interest in a structural pillar nearby.
"Focus," I said, my voice tighter than I intended. "We have work to do."
I turned my back on the tension and looked at my charges.
The "Royal Youth Division" stood in a loose line near their pods.
Prince Vegeta stood at the front. He was practically vibrating. His arms were crossed, his chin held high, but his tail was lashing with impatient energy. He looked at the gathering army with the greedy hunger of a starving man looking at a banquet. He was eager. He wanted to prove that he was the apex predator.
Behind him stood Raditz. And then there was Broly.
The boy stood perfectly still.
The noise of the city, the shouting of the Shwashians, the sirens, the hum of weapons, was washing over him. I could see his breathing hitching. He was getting overwhelmed.
I walked past Vegeta. I walked past Raditz. I didn't even acknowledge them.
I stopped in front of Broly.
"Broly," I said sharply.
His head snapped up.
"Listen to me," I commanded, my voice cutting through the din. "This isn't a duel. It's a job. Just like moving crates."
Broly blinked, focusing on my face.
"Don't let the noise get inside," I said, lowering my voice. "If you feel the heat rising in your chest, step back. You have range. Fire from a distance. You don't have to be in the middle of the swarm to be effective. Do you understand?"
Broly took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked at the enemies, then back at me.
"Distance," he whispered.
"Distance," I confirmed. "Stay near the pods. Blast anything that gets close."
Broly nodded, his grip on his armor relaxing slightly.
I stepped back.
I looked at Raditz.
I said nothing.
I knew Raditz wasn't ready. I knew he was going to panic. But I also knew that if I told him what to do right now, his pride, fragile as it was, would make him reject it. He needed to fail. He needed to feel the fear of death to understand why he needed to listen.
Then I looked at Vegeta.
The Prince smirked at me. "Are you done coddling the mute, Elite? Some of us are ready to conquer."
"Go ahead then, my Prince," I said, stepping aside and gesturing to the army. "Show us how it's done."
Vegeta didn't need advice. He needed a reality check.
"Watch and learn, Low-Class," Vegeta sneered.
He didn't wait. He didn't signal.
Vegeta launched himself into the air.
"HAAAA!"
He dove straight into the center of the Shwashian formation.
He hit the ground like a meteorite. A shockwave of purple energy exploded outward, vaporizing the first twenty soldiers instantly.
"Die! Die! Die!" Vegeta laughed, spinning like a top, firing rapid-fire blasts in every direction.
It was impressive. His power level was high, easily crushing the locals.
But it was stupid.
By diving into the center, Vegeta had broken the enemy formation. He scattered them.
The Shwashians, realizing they couldn't fight the demon in the middle, flowed like water around a stone. They surged past Vegeta, flooding the flanks.
They ignored Broly, who was standing back near the pods, radiating a low, threatening hum.
Instead, they looked at the shaking boy with the long hair.
"Target the weak one!" a Shwashian commander shouted.
The flood turned toward Raditz.
"Wait!" Raditz squeaked, taking a step back. "Vegeta! They're coming around!"
Vegeta didn't hear him. He was too busy laughing, blasting a hole in a building.
"Fire!" the Shwashian commander ordered.
A volley of kinetic rounds and energy spears rained down on Raditz.
"Gah!" Raditz screamed. A spear grazed his shoulder. Another pinged off his leg guard.
He panicked.
"Get away!" Raditz shrieked.
He started firing wild blasts. His shots went wide, hitting empty buildings, hitting the ground, kicking up dust that obscured his own vision.
He was blind, scared, and surrounded by a hundred soldiers who smelled blood.
Broly saw it.
He saw Raditz stumble. He saw a Shwashian soldier raise a blade, aiming for Raditz's back.
Broly's breathing stopped. His eyes dilated.
The stress of the noise, the violence, and seeing a "member" in danger flipped the switch.
Aura flared around Broly. The ground beneath his feet cracked.
"No," I hissed.
If Broly snapped now, he would wipe out the Shwashians, Raditz, and half the city.
"Ruca!" I shouted, not taking my eyes off the chaos. "Get Broly! Keep him calm! Don't let him fire!"
"On it!" Ruca yelled. She was already moving, placing herself between Broly and the battle, grabbing his shoulders, forcing him to look at her.
"Now for the mess," I muttered.
I vanished, with pure explosive speed, utilizing the low gravity to propel myself forward like a bullet.
Raditz was on his back, crawling backward. A Shwashian soldier stood over him, thrusting a spear down toward his throat.
I appeared.
My hand snapped out.
I caught the spear shaft inches from Raditz's neck.
The Shwashian blinked, confused by the sudden resistance.
"Sloppy," I said.
I snapped the spear in half with a flick of my wrist.
I spun, delivering a back-kick to the Shwashian's chest. The alien flew backward, crashing into three of his comrades with enough force to shatter stone.
"Stay down," I ordered Raditz.
I kicked him, hard, behind the cover of a fallen statue.
"But—"
"I said stay down!"
I turned my attention to the center.
Vegeta was winning, but he was drowning.
He had killed fifty, but five hundred more had surrounded him. They were piling on top of him, weighing him down with sheer numbers. He was blasting them off, but for every one he killed, two more grabbed his arms, his legs, his cape.
He was wasting energy. He was fighting inefficiently.
"Out of the way," I whispered.
I raised my right hand.
'Sokidan.'
A yellow sphere of dense, rotating Ki formed in my palm.
I threw it.
The Spirit Ball shot into the crowd.
I flicked my fingers.
Left. Right. Up. Through.
The ball moved like a flash through them. It punched through chests, smashed helmets, and broke spines.
It dropped twenty enemies in five seconds.
The pressure on Vegeta vanished. The circle cleared.
The Prince stood there, panting, covered in alien blood. He looked around, seeing the ring of corpses that had just dropped simultaneously.
He looked at the yellow ball hovering in the air above him, humming.
Then he looked at me.
I clenched my fist. The Spirit Ball dissipated.
The immediate wave was broken. The surviving Shwashians, seeing their numbers decimated in seconds, began to retreat, scrambling back into the alleyways.
Silence fell over the plaza.
Vegeta straightened his armor. He wiped purple blood from his cheek. He looked annoyed.
"I had that under control, Elite," Vegeta scoffed, walking toward me. "You stole my kills."
I stared at him.
The absolute, blinding entitlement.
He didn't care that Raditz almost died. He didn't care that Broly almost exploded. He only cared that his scoreboard had been interrupted.
I walked toward him. My face was dark, my Ki simmering just below the surface.
"Control?" I repeated, my voice low and dangerous.
Vegeta stopped, sensing the change in atmosphere. He frowned. "What is your problem? We won."
"You stupid brat," I hissed.
Vegeta's eyes went wide. "Excuse me?"
"You think this is a game?" I shouted, pointing a finger at the debris where Raditz was cowering. "Look around you!"
Vegeta looked. He saw Raditz shaking. He saw Ruca struggling to calm a soon to be angry Broly.
"You're strong, fine!" I yelled, stepping into his personal space. "But they aren't! You drew the entire army onto your squad without a plan! You broke the formation!"
"I am the Prince!" Vegeta snarled, his pride bristling. "I lead from the front! If they can't keep up, they deserve to—"
"A King is supposed to show the example!" I roared, cutting him off. "But you! You're leading them to their deaths just to show off!"
Vegeta's face turned red. "Watch your tone, Low-Cla—"
SLAP.
The sound was like a whip crack.
I backhanded him.
It wasn't a love tap. It was a sharp, stinging strike across the face.
Vegeta's head snapped to the side.
The battlefield went dead silent.
Raditz gasped from behind the statue. Ruca froze. Even the retreating Shwashians seemed to pause.
Vegeta stood there, stunned. He slowly touched his cheek. He looked at his hand. No blood, but the sting was there.
He looked up at me. His eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of shock and incandescent rage.
"You..." Vegeta whispered. "You struck me?"
"I corrected you," I said coldly.
"I WILL KILL YOU!" Vegeta screamed.
He threw a punch. It was a haymaker, fueled by pure, royal indignation.
I didn't dodge.
I caught his fist.
My hand wrapped around his small, gloved fist like a vice. I stopped it dead in the air.
Vegeta pulled, trying to free himself, but I didn't budge. My grip was iron.
I leaned in close.
"Too slow."
SLAP.
I hit him again with my free hand. Harder this time.
The force of the blow lifted the Prince off his feet. He spun in the air and hit the limestone pavement hard.
He sprawled in the dust, dazed.
I walked over to him. I loomed over the fallen Prince, blocking out the sun.
"You act like an entitled child," I said, my voice devoid of anger now, replaced by a cold, prophetic certainty. "You think power is just about hitting things."
Vegeta glared up at me, propping himself up on his elbows. His lip was trembling, but he didn't attack. He couldn't. He realized, in that moment, the gap.
"If you take the throne like this..." I continued, looking down at him. "If you treat your soldiers like props in your own play... you won't be a King."
I leaned down.
"You'll be the ruler of a graveyard. You will make the Saiyans go extinct."
The words hung in the air.
Vegeta stared at me. He opened his mouth to retort, to threaten me with his mother, with his father, with Frieza.
But he closed it.
Because deep down, beneath the layers of royal conditioning, the boy was a genius. And he knew, looking at the mess of the battlefield, that I was right.
He sat there in the dust, holding his cheek, silent.
I straightened up. I looked at my hand. It was stinging.
'Queen Eshal is going to try to kill me if she knows,' I thought, a cold drop of sweat sliding down my back. 'Not that I would die but it would bring unnecessary attention.'
But it was necessary.
I turned to look at the others.
Raditz was staring at me with his mouth agape. The terror in his eyes had been replaced by awe. I had hit the Prince and lived.
Ruca gave me a sharp nod. She had Broly sitting on a rock, his breathing returning to normal.
"Clear the sector," I ordered, my voice returning to a professional monotone. "Secure the perimeter. We wait for Nappa."
I walked away from the Prince, rubbing my hand.
I looked up at the palace in the distance, where Nappa was likely laughing and breaking things.
"Nappa dealt with this kid every day?" I muttered to myself.
I ran a hand through my hair.
"No wonder he went bald. I better watch my hairline before this squad turns me into Dr. eggman."
--
I stood near the fountain, wiping Shwashian blood from my knuckles with a rag.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Three heavy impacts shook the ground.
Nappa, Zuto, and Toma landed in the center of the carnage. Nappa was grinning, holding a massive, crystalline staff the symbol of the Shwashian King over his shoulder like a baseball bat.
"We got the King!" Nappa roared, his voice booming off the surrounding architecture. "Too easy! He tried to negotiate. I negotiated his head off his shoulders!"
Zuto and Toma cackled, high-fiving each other.
"How did the nursery do?" Nappa shouted, turning to face us. "Did you kids have fun playing in the sandbox?"
He stopped.
His grin faltered.
He looked around. Usually, the end of a mission was noisy. Soldiers bragged, checked their kill counts, or complained about injuries.
Instead, he found dead silence.
He saw Prince Vegeta sitting in the dirt, staring at his own boots, his face a mask of brooding intensity.
He saw Raditz standing near a statue, staring at me with wide, worshipful eyes.
He saw Broly sitting quietly on a rock next to Ruca, looking calm but shaken.
And he saw me, methodically cleaning my gloves, my face blank.
"What's going on?" Nappa demanded, lowering the staff. He looked genuinely confused. "Why is everyone so quiet? Did you wet yourselves? Did the locals scare you?"
I sighed, closing my eyes for a brief second.
'He really is an idiot,' I thought.
"The sector is clear, Commander," I said, my voice flat. "The Royal Youth engaged the enemy. Targets eliminated. No casualties."
"Boring," Nappa grunted, clearly disappointed that no one was crying or dead. "Well, load up. This planet smells like chalk and I'm hungry."
He walked past Vegeta, not even noticing the red mark on the Prince's cheek.
"Come on, Your Highness," Nappa called out. "Don't pout. I saved you a leg from the King's banquet hall."
Vegeta didn't answer. He didn't even look up.
Nappa shrugged and marched toward his pod.
As the Commander moved away, a shadow fell over me.
I looked down.
Raditz was standing there. The long-haired boy was usually a shivering mess after a battle, looking for the nearest hole to hide in. But now, he wasn't shaking. He was staring at me as if I had just grown a second head.
"You..." Raditz whispered. "You hit him."
"I corrected him," I replied, not stopping my cleaning. "There's a difference."
"No one hits the Prince," Raditz breathed. "Not even Nappa. Not even his father, really. You... you slapped him into the dirt."
He looked at me with a new expression.
In Raditz's world, power was absolute. Broly terrified him because Broly was chaos. Vegeta terrified him because Vegeta was authority. But I had just proven that I could control both. I had stopped Broly's rage, and I had humbled Vegeta's pride.
"Stop staring, Raditz," I said, tucking the rag into my belt. "Go check the pod diagnostics. Make sure the landing struts aren't cracked."
Raditz blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you. You have hands, don't you? Make yourself useful."
"Yes!" Raditz stood up straighter. "Right away! I'll check them twice!"
He ran off toward the ships, eager to please.
I shook my head. Great. Now I have a fanboy. Not that I dislike it. Maybe I should help him.
I turned to the left.
Ruca was walking Broly over. The boy looked tired, his shoulders slumped, but his eyes were clear.
He stopped in front of me.
He looked at Vegeta, who was slowly getting to his feet. Then he looked at me.
Broly wasn't stupid. He was observant. He had seen the Prince, the boy everyone said was the best, get knocked down. And he had seen who did it.
If Cress can stop the Prince, Broly's eyes seemed to say, then maybe he can stop Me.
He gave me a small nod.
I returned the nod. "Good work staying calm, Broly. Go prep for launch."
Broly grunted an affirmative and lumbered toward his pod.
"You're building a cult," Ruca muttered, stepping up beside me. She sounded amused, but her eyes were scanning the perimeter, ever the bodyguard.
"I'm building a team that won't get us killed," I corrected.
Then, there was movement to my right.
Prince Vegeta stood up.
He dusted off his armor. He touched his cheek one last time, wincing slightly. The red mark was fading, but the memory wouldn't.
He walked toward the pods. His path took him directly past me.
I tensed. Here it comes, I thought. The threat. The 'my father will hear of this.'
Vegeta stopped. He didn't look at me. He stared straight ahead at the horizon.
"Next time," Vegeta muttered, his voice low, barely a growl.
I waited.
"I won't need help."
He didn't threaten me. He didn't whine. He accepted the reality: he had failed, and I had cleaned it up. His pride wouldn't let him thank me, but his Saiyan logic forced him to acknowledge the strength.
'Begrudging respect,' I mused. I can work with that.
"Let's go home," I said to Ruca.
We walked up the ramp.
The Squad of Monsters had survived its first outing. We were dysfunctional, violent, and a ticking time bomb.