Eastern Plains – 12:45 PM
The sky looked like a curtain torn apart.
No clouds.
No birdsong.
Only the heavy air of a world holding its breath.
And in the middle of that wounded plain, trampled by the echoes of a hopeless battle, the colossus advanced.
Nappa.
Each of his steps thundered like a hammer blow against the chests of the Z Fighters. The cracks his boots left in the ground opened like fresh scars, still smoking. His armor gleamed with dust and blood. His breathing was steady, untroubled—as if this wasn't fighting, but warming up.
Before him lay the defenders of Earth, beaten and bleeding among the rubble.
Krillin, his shoulder scorched by an energy blast.
Chiaotzu, barely standing on trembling legs.
Tien Shinhan, missing an arm, blood dripping like ink down his torn belt.
And Piccolo… the only one still standing with true strength.
His feet dragged against the ground, breath cutting in harsh bursts, his left arm hanging limp. But his eyes still burned.
Not with fear.
With defiance.
Nappa stopped and scratched his chin, amused.
"Heh… I thought you'd fall sooner."
His voice hit like a stone dropped into a dead lake.
"You really think you can last this long… without Kakarot?"
Piccolo spat to the side, blood leaving his mouth.
"We're not here to last…"
His ki sparked faintly, resisting the gravity of Nappa's overwhelming power.
"We're here to stop you."
Nappa grinned.
"Stop me? Me?"
He took a single step forward. The ground quaked beneath his boot.
"You?"
He pointed a thick finger at the Namekian.
"You're strong, sure. I'll admit that. The only one here who actually made me step back once."
He shrugged.
"But one step… means nothing."
⸻
In the distance, from a flat ridge carved smooth by the wind, the Saiyan Princess watched.
The sunlight danced across her ivory-colored armor, but she didn't blink. Her hair swayed gently with the breeze, as if even the air itself refused to touch her without permission.
She didn't speak.
She didn't move.
She only observed.
And inside… she calculated.
Her scouter blinked every few seconds, measuring, comparing, reading the rhythm of energy.
The short bald one—barely reaching 980 at best. An annoyance. A mosquito.
The bald one with three eyes—more resilient. His multi-form technique had been useful, but fleeting. Without his right arm, his energy flow was completely unbalanced.
And the Namekian…
Vegetta narrowed her eyes.
"Namekian…"
The word was a whisper inside her mind, no need to say it aloud.
"Three thousand two hundred… peaking at thirty-five hundred in short bursts. Fascinating."
She tapped the lens of the scouter, and the number spiked again—3,640. His energy didn't rise linearly, like a Saiyan's. It flared up—explosive, erratic, like fire forced into a cage.
"Not bad… for a worm."
She shifted slightly, settling back on the rock. Crossed her legs with unhurried grace.
"But even so… I could crush him if I felt like it."
Her eyes closed just for a moment. She could feel her own ki humming quietly beneath the surface. She didn't need to prove herself. She didn't need to scream or lift a finger. Not yet.
That was the level of the game.
And the only player she truly wanted to see… hadn't arrived yet.
Kakarot.
⸻
On the battlefield, Piccolo vanished in a burst of speed—then reappeared right in front of Nappa. His fist slammed into the giant's chest.
BAM!
The Saiyan armor held, but cracked slightly. Nappa stepped back a single pace.
Piccolo followed up with a spinning kick and a focused blast of ki straight to the face.
WHOOSH! ZAAAM!
For an instant, Nappa's head was lost in blinding light.
But when the glare faded—
he was still there.
Smiling.
A thin line of blood trickling down his cheek.
"Not bad, green man…" he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But…"
He raised his arm and clenched his fist.
"Now it's my turn!"
CRACK!
His punch drove straight into Piccolo's gut.
The Namekian doubled over, mouth open, blood spilling out.
"Mr. Piccolo!" shouted Gohan.
The boy had stayed behind, obeying orders—but something inside him snapped.
Nappa drew back his arm for another strike—
and at that moment…
⸻
From the ridge, Vegetta noticed a flicker. A tiny spark on her scouter. A sudden shift in energy flow.
"Hmm?"
She adjusted the device's sensitivity.
A power level that had been around 900… just spiked.
Only for an instant—
but it rose.
To 1,320.
"The kid…?"
Vegetta narrowed her eyes.
Gohan.
His ki had erupted the instant he saw the Namekian in danger.
⸻
Gohan screamed without thinking.
"LEAVE MR. PICCOLO ALONE!"
His aura burst forth—no training, no form, just raw instinct.
Fear. Pain. Anger.
He charged like lightning, leaping from the small hill where he'd been hiding. His feet barely touched the ground.
Piccolo was still doubled over when Gohan shot past him.
Nappa turned just in time to see the boy coming like a comet.
"What the—?"
BAM!
The boy's tiny fist connected squarely with the Saiyan's face.
The hit was clean. Brutal.
And Nappa… stumbled back.
Not one step.
Two.
THUMP. THUMP.
The giant grunted, touching his cheek. There was blood.
He looked at Gohan—and for an instant, he didn't smile.
Not out of fury.
But out of surprise.
⸻
Vegetta slowly lowered her scouter, eyes half-closed.
Her voice was soft, almost intimate.
"Interesting."
Not with excitement.
Not with fear.
Just acknowledgment.
Kakarot's son had reacted emotionally—a blind spike of ki. Wild. Uncontrolled. But real. Strong.
He had attacked to protect.
That wasn't Saiyan instinct.
That was something else.
She tilted her head.
"Instinct to fight… or emotional impulse?"
A pause.
"What if… they're the same?"
⸻
The ground no longer felt like earth.
It was a battlefield—burned, torn apart, scarred by every blast, every strike, every howl of Nappa's fury.
And now…
he was done playing.
No laughter.
No mocking.
Only violence.
⸻
"RAAAHHHH!" Nappa roared, and his punch carved a crater into the plain.
Tien barely dodged, landing awkwardly, one knee trembling.
Krillin rolled the other way, firing a ki blast that hit Nappa's back to no effect.
Piccolo clenched his teeth.
He could feel it.
That wasn't the brute force of a mindless monster anymore.
Nappa was fighting with precision. Intent. Strategy.
He understood they were running out of energy—and time.
"If this keeps up, in five minutes… there'll be no one left standing."
He raised his voice.
"Stop! Everyone fall back, now!"
The few still able to move—Krillin, Tien, Chiaotzu, Gohan—obeyed instinctively.
The Saiyan brute halted, tilting his head in mock curiosity.
"What now? A team meeting before you die?"
But Piccolo wasn't looking at him. He was already facing his allies.
"We have to regroup. This isn't a fight anymore… it's containment."
"Containment?" Krillin panted. "Contain that?"
"Yes," Piccolo replied firmly. "We don't know how long until Goku arrives—minutes, hours, maybe never. But if we keep fighting like this, he'll kill us one by one."
Tien's face was drenched in sweat. "You have a plan?"
Piccolo nodded slightly.
"A distraction. Multi-angle. We'll rotate."
"Rotate?" Chiaotzu asked nervously.
"Exactly. One attacks head-on while two strike from opposite flanks. The fourth stays back to cover the wounded. Then we switch."
Krillin blinked. Brutally simple. Perfectly logical.
"But… who starts?"
Piccolo looked toward the battlefield, where Nappa was cracking his knuckles impatiently.
"I do."
⸻
He moved forward. His ki surged, drawing the giant's attention.
"You again, little green man?"
"This time with more than fists."
ZAAAH!
A blast shot from Piccolo's fingers. Nappa blocked it easily—
but didn't see the second one, a burst of smoke aimed right at his face.
"Tch! You can't hide forever!" he growled, blinded by the haze.
That was the cue.
From the right flank, Krillin dove downward, spinning like a beam of light.
"KIAIHO!"
A sonic wave struck Nappa, staggering him for a second—just enough.
Tien appeared from the left, leaping high, fingers forming a stance.
"DODONPA!"
The golden blast pierced Nappa's side, forcing a roar of pain.
"ARGHHH! THAT'S ENOUGH!"
He staggered back two steps.
And then—
"Gohan! Now! Rear flank—aim for the neck!" Piccolo shouted.
Silence.
Nothing.
⸻
Gohan was in position.
Hands raised. Ki gathered.
But his heart…
His heart beat like an empty drum in his chest.
He saw Nappa bleeding. The torn earth. The monster's roar.
Everything told him this was the moment.
But his legs…
They wouldn't move.
The air grew heavy.
His breath short, erratic.
He remembered Yamcha.
The scream. The explosion. The still body.
And suddenly… he didn't see Nappa anymore.
He saw that memory.
"No… I can't…"
His ki faded.
⸻
"Gohan!" Piccolo's voice tore through the smoke.
"NOW, DAMN IT!"
But it was too late.
Nappa felt it.
He reacted.
With a furious roar, he swung his arm, smashing Krillin into a wall of rocks.
Then kicked Tien away like a broken doll.
And finally…
he turned toward Piccolo.
"DIEEEE!"
His punch struck the Namekian, wrapped in a storm of dust and debris.
Piccolo's body shot across the battlefield, crashed into a mountain, and vanished in rubble.
⸻
"PICCOLO!" Chiaotzu screamed.
Tien spat blood, dragging himself forward.
Krillin gasped for air, half-buried in stone.
Gohan… could only cry.
And Nappa laughed.
"HAHAHAHA! IS THAT IT?! THIS IS HOW YOUR LITTLE GAMES END!"
Something cracked inside Chiaotzu's soul.
A silent fracture.
A moment of understanding.
No more strategies.
He looked at Tien—his friend, his teacher, his brother.
Tien looked back, not yet realizing what was about to happen.
Chiaotzu smiled.
Sadly.
Decidedly.
"Ten…"
The tone in his voice froze Tien where he stood.
"What are you—?"
Chiaotzu rose into the air. Quickly. Silently.
Nappa barely noticed him.
"Huh?"
And then…
Chiaotzu clung to his back.
His tiny arms locked around the Saiyan's neck like anchors.
"What—?!" Nappa shouted, trying to shake him off. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU LITTLE BUG?!"
But Chiaotzu didn't answer.
He only closed his eyes.
⸻
"CHIAOTZU! NO!" Tien screamed.
Gohan's voice trembled.
"W-what's he doing?"
Krillin… couldn't move.
⸻
Chiaotzu spoke softly.
A voice full of pain—and love.
"Ten…"
His ki began to rise—not with shape or form, but as pure energy.
Uncontrolled. Unrestrained.
"Thank you… for taking care of me."
Tien dragged himself forward, tears mixing with dust.
"No! Don't do it! There's another way!"
"There isn't…" Chiaotzu whispered, cheeks wet with tears. "This is the only one."
The energy built higher.
The air trembled.
"GET OFF ME! GET OFF!" Nappa roared, clawing at his back like a raging beast.
But Chiaotzu held on.
"Goodbye, Ten…"
"NOOOOO!" Tien's scream shattered the air.
Chiaotzu smiled.
"…Thank you… for being my friend."
And he shone.
A white explosion devoured the world.
No warning.
No sound.
Only light.
As if the universe itself held its breath—for a single minute of silence.
⸻
The world was mute.
Chiaotzu's explosion had erased sound itself.
No echoes. No voices.
Only light, carving the sky in half.
For five seconds, there was nothing.
No screams.
No pain.
Only farewell.
Then the light faded.
Smoke drifted, reluctant to leave.
And through the haze… a silhouette emerged.
Tall.
Unshaken.
When the last curtain of smoke dissolved, horror revealed itself.
Nappa still stood.
His body charred with soot, breathing heavy—but not broken.
His left shoulder plate was gone. His right glove shredded.
But beneath the grime, his skin still gleamed gold.
No blood.
No real wounds.
Only filth.
And rage.
"AAARRGHHH! THAT LITTLE BUG DARED TO DO THAT TO ME?!" he roared, brushing ash from his armor.
The crater around him spread for miles, but he remained in the center—
unmoved.
like a statue of hell itself.
Krillin was speechless.
Piccolo clenched his fists.
And Tien…
fell to his knees.
His face turned to stone.
His single arm hung limp.
His chest rose and fell like he was breathing lead.
"N-no…" Krillin whispered. "That can't be…"
Gohan covered his mouth.
"Chiaotzu…?"
He looked up at the empty sky.
No energy. No trace.
Nothing.
Chiaotzu was gone.
Forever.
He had already died once—against King Piccolo.
And Kami himself had said it: a soul that dies twice… can never return.
Tien closed his eyes.
He saw his friend in his mind.
That gentle smile. That soft voice.
That promise once made:
"No matter where you go, Ten… I'll always follow."
And now…
that always was gone.
Something inside him broke.
The silence shattered under a scream of pure agony.
"CHIAAAOTZUUUUU!" Tien howled, and the air trembled.
His ki exploded—wild, chaotic, furious.
Krillin stumbled back. "T-Tien, stop!"
Tien raised his only arm.
His fingers extended.
"I WON'T FORGIVE YOU, BASTARD!"
Nappa stared, still grinning.
"What now? You alone? With one arm?"
"TRI —BEAAAAAAAM!"
The technique formed in the air like a hammer of golden light—
a perfect square of energy, bright and trembling with raw power.
The air vanished all at once, sucked toward the space between Tien and Nappa.
The ground cracked.
Stones lifted.
Mountains trembled in the distance.
And then—
the energy was released.
BOOOOOOOM!
The diamond-shaped blast crashed down like a divine verdict, straight at Nappa.
The earth split open.
The sky shuddered.
"TEN, STOP! YOU'RE GONNA KILL YOURSELF!" Krillin shouted.
But Tien didn't hear him.
⸻
From the distant ridge, Vegetta rose to her feet for the first time in minutes.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Hmph… that technique…"
She tapped her scouter.
"Unstable power. Fluctuating. Dangerous… but far too inefficient."
She analyzed it coldly.
"An attack with a life of its own—
but it drains more than it delivers."
⸻
Down below, Nappa lifted both arms, bracing himself.
The Tri-Beam struck him head-on, forcing him backward.
The ground beneath him shattered, earth sliding away in violent waves.
For ten whole seconds, the monster wavered—
his boots digging trenches in the soil.
Then—
the light faded.
Tien fell to his knees, gasping.
"Haaa… Haaah… Haaaaaa…!"
But he didn't stop.
He raised his arm again, face pale, veins bulging.
"HAAAAAAAAA!"
The ground split open once more.
Another blast.
Another quake.
Krillin covered his face.
"YOU'RE KILLING YOURSELF, TEN!"
But he didn't listen.
Tien wasn't thinking anymore.
He wasn't even seeing.
Only rage. Only grief. Only the need to strike again.
"HAAAAAAAA!" —again.
Nappa blocked with both arms now, growling.
"STOP THAT, YOU PATHETIC FOOL!"
The third blast hit.
The earth burned.
And then… silence.
⸻
Tien collapsed.
Face-first into the dirt.
No cry. No breath. No movement.
His ki vanished.
Krillin ran to him.
"TEN! TEN! ANSWER ME!"
He fell to his knees beside him, turning him over.
Tien's face was calm.
Eyes closed.
Breath gone.
Krillin clenched his teeth.
"No… not you too…"
Gohan approached, trembling.
"Is… he gone?"
Piccolo—barely standing again—answered quietly.
"Yes."
Krillin lowered his head.
"First Yamcha… then Chiaotzu… and now…"
Piccolo turned slowly toward Gohan.
When he spoke, his voice wasn't loud.
It was cold.
"And all of this…"
Gohan's eyes widened.
"B-because of me?"
"You were supposed to fire. You had the shot."
"I know!" the boy cried, tears spilling. "I know, but… I was scared! I couldn't move—!"
Piccolo's stare was a storm held back by discipline.
"In war, fear costs lives. Understand that."
Gohan dropped his head, sobbing.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
Piccolo said nothing more.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because there was no time.
⸻
Nappa was walking again.
His ki was a wall.
His shadow stretched like a threat.
The ground bent beneath his steps.
"Now you all pay!" he growled. "I'll crush every last one of you to dust!"
And then—
Krillin stood up.
His eyes burned—not with hope, but with something sharper.
"Enough…"
His voice was low, steady, carrying through the wind.
"Enough!"
He gathered ki into both hands.
Not to hurl forward—
but to lift upward.
A sphere began to form above him.
Thin. Circular. Sharp.
It spun.
It sang.
The wind itself bent around it.
A living blade.
A ring of death.
Piccolo squinted.
"That technique…"
Gohan wiped his tears.
"What… what is that?"
Krillin didn't answer.
He just raised his voice.
"Nappa!"
The giant paused.
"What do you want now, Baldie?"
Krillin glared straight into his eyes.
"This… is for everyone."
He threw the disk.
⸻
The Destructo Disc sliced through the air at incredible speed.
Not with brute force—but with surgical precision.
Its trajectory curved, unpredictable, impossible to read.
Nappa laughed.
"That? A wheel?"
He didn't even move.
The spinning disk screamed through the air.
And on the ridge—
Vegetta reacted.
Her scouter beeped violently.
Her mind processed the data instantly.
Pure energy. No dispersion. Piercing type. Focused… too focused!
Her pupils widened.
"Nappa!"
Her shout cracked like thunder.
"DODGE IT—NOW!"
⸻
Nappa turned just in time to see the disk inches away.
His reflexes kicked in, pure instinct—he threw himself sideways.
FWWWWSSH!
The Destructo Disc grazed his ear.
The top half of his armor vanished—cleanly sliced off.
Nappa crashed to the ground, panting.
The disk continued, flying off into the distance—
cutting a mountain in two before fading into the horizon.
Silence.
Krillin stood, breathing hard.
"Damn it…" Nappa muttered, touching his face. "Wh-what was that…?"
From her perch, Vegetta sat back down, calm again.
"That," she said softly, "was something you should never underestimate."
She crossed her arms.
"That bald one… he's not strong."
A pause.
"But he's clever."
Her voice stayed level—
but her eyes, once bored, now glimmered with interest.
⸻
The battlefield lay drowned in silence.
Dust. Blood. The faint hiss of dying energy.
The blasts had ceased.
The planet itself seemed to hold its breath.
Only three figures remained standing—
Piccolo, Krillin, and Gohan.
And before them, two Saiyans.
Nappa, armor shattered, spat to the side, his breath heavy—not from exhaustion, but from frustration.
He wanted more screams, more destruction.
And beside him, standing on a flat rock like a throne of stone—
Vegetta.
Calm.
Still.
Hair flowing softly with the wind, arms crossed, her ki slumbering beneath the surface like a caged beast.
Watching.
Calculating.
Judging.
⸻
Piccolo swallowed hard.
His mind raced—every thought, every plan tangled in the chaos of what had just happened.
"Three," he whispered.
"Three are gone."
Yamcha. Chiaotzu. Tien.
Each one had fallen with courage.
None had turned away.
And still… it wasn't enough.
Now, only they remained—
himself, running on fumes;
Krillin, battered and bleeding;
and Gohan, a child—shaking, eyes wet with tears he tried to hide.
"This isn't a fight anymore," Piccolo thought. "It's a countdown."
He glanced at the boy beside him.
Gohan tried to stand tall, trembling, his jaw set.
"We need time," Piccolo realized. "Just time. Even a little."
Because Goku still hadn't come.
And if he didn't soon… there'd be no one left to save.
⸻
Piccolo drew a deep breath.
Then he did something the old Piccolo never would have imagined.
He lowered his arms.
Not in surrender.
In negotiation.
Krillin blinked. "Piccolo—what are you doing?"
"Quiet," Piccolo said. "Let me talk."
He stepped forward, boots crunching over scorched earth.
"Hey, Saiyans!" he shouted.
Nappa frowned, annoyed.
"What now, Namekian? Begging for mercy?"
Piccolo ignored him.
His eyes were fixed on her.
The woman who hadn't moved since the battle began.
The queen without a throne.
Vegetta.
"Listen," Piccolo said. His voice carried steel. "We can't win like this. We know that."
Krillin's eyes widened. "Piccolo—"
But Piccolo raised a hand, silencing him.
"There's still one card you haven't seen," he continued.
The air grew heavier.
Even Vegetta's gaze sharpened.
"There's a warrior on his way. The strongest we have. Someone who can actually challenge you."
A pause.
"His name is Son Goku."
⸻
The name hung in the air.
Then—Vegetta spoke.
Her voice was low, but clear.
Musical, dangerous.
"Goku?"
Her brow lifted slightly.
"Ah… right. That's his Earth name, isn't it?"
A thin smile curved her lips.
"Kakarot…"
She rose gracefully from her perch, feline and precise.
"So it's true, then," she murmured. "You Earthlings really can bring the dead back."
There was no fear in her tone.
Only interest.
As if she'd just discovered a myth that turned out to be real.
"So you used those Dragon Balls, did you? The intel was accurate, after all."
She met Piccolo's stare directly.
"And what are you proposing, Namekian?"
Piccolo didn't blink.
"A truce. Three hours."
"Three hours?" Nappa barked. "Are you insane?! We could wipe them out in three minutes!"
"Shut up," Vegetta said—without raising her voice.
And silence fell like gravity.
Nappa's throat tightened. He stepped back instinctively, his ki flickering in submission.
The monster who had crushed cities now cowered like a beaten dog.
Krillin froze.
Gohan shuddered.
Even Piccolo felt the shift in the air.
Nappa wasn't afraid of her strength.
He was afraid of her authority.
⸻
Vegetta descended from her stone throne.
Her steps were measured, deliberate.
With every motion, the wind itself seemed to pause.
She stopped less than five meters from Piccolo.
Her gaze dissected him—calm, assessing, predatory.
Not stripping flesh, but soul.
Weighing resolve. Measuring will.
"Three hours, you say…" she murmured.
"Yes," Piccolo replied.
"And you believe this… Kakarot can challenge me?"
"Yes."
He didn't hesitate.
Vegetta's eyes narrowed.
"That infant with a power level of two…"
Her smile held no warmth.
"I remember his capsule—fragile, disposable. A genetic joke."
Gohan frowned.
"Don't talk about my dad like that!"
Vegetta glanced at him briefly.
That spark—hesitant, frightened, but proud—didn't escape her notice.
So the boy had Saiyan blood after all.
She sighed.
Not in contempt.
In something dangerously close to… curiosity.
"Hmph…"
She turned away, heading back to her perch.
"Interesting."
"Then you accept?" Piccolo asked.
Without looking back, she answered.
"Yes."
The silence that followed felt almost sacred.
Krillin blinked. "W-wait… seriously?"
"Princess!" Nappa shouted, stepping forward. "We can crush them right now! They're finished!"
Vegetta didn't turn around.
"I know."
"Then why—?!"
She turned—just once.
And with a single glance, he froze.
No shouting.
No blast.
Just power.
"Because," she said quietly,
"I want to see with my own eyes what Kakarot has become."
Her tone was a blade drawn in the dark.
"I want to know if death can change destiny.
If trash… can stand beside the elite."
And then—
she smiled.
For the first time, there was fire in her voice.
"Maybe… I'll finally find a rival who can make me break a sweat."
⸻
Krillin swallowed hard.
Gohan stepped closer to Piccolo.
"Mr. Piccolo… does that mean…?"
Piccolo nodded slowly, his gaze locked on the horizon.
"We have three hours."
Not hope.
Not victory.
Just time.
Goku hadn't arrived yet.
But they were alive.
For now.
And that sliver of time—
that fragile pause between death and salvation—
was everything.
A calm before the storm.
A heartbeat before the climax.
The sky remained clear.
But everyone knew—
the storm hadn't ended.
It was only…
on hold.