Chapter 2: Night of the Ape

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2. Night of the Ape

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The scouters blare to life in unison, their mechanical chirping slicing through the night like a knife. I jolt awake inside the crumbling ruins of someone’s home, instinct driving my body into a defensive crouch before my mind fully registers the sound. Beside me, Gine stirs, her hand automatically reaching for Kakarot nestled into her chest.

“What’s happening?” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep. As she rises, the blanket Monaito conjured up for us slides down to reveal her bare chest. Gooseflesh prickles her skin as she paws at her eyes.

I don’t answer immediately, focusing instead on the panicked voices emanating from the scouters scattered throughout our makeshift camp. The message repeats, clinical and cold:

“Emergency alert to all Frieza Force personnel. Planet Vegeta has been destroyed by a meteor collision. All Saiyan warriors currently on assignment are to maintain positions and await further instructions. This is not a drill. Repeat: Planet Vegeta has been destroyed.”

A lie wrapped in the thinnest veneer of plausibility. My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood.

“Bardock?” Gine’s voice pulls me back. Her eyes, now fully alert, search mine for answers I’m not sure how to give.

“It’s happened,” I say simply. “Frieza’s destroyed our world.”

Gine’s breath catches, and for a moment, she doesn’t move. Her eyes go distant, widening as the weight of it sinks in. Then she turns to me again, her voice brittle and trembling with a mother’s terror.

“Raditz—where’s Raditz? He was supposed to be on a mission, but what if—what if he was recalled? What if he—” Her words splinter, caught between panic and disbelief, her arms tightening around Kakarot as if to anchor herself to what little remains.

I step closer, putting a steadying hand on her face. “He wasn’t recalled,” I say firmly, locking eyes with her so she feels the certainty behind my words. “Raditz is off-world. He’s safe.”

“But how can you be sure?” she asks, the words barely a whisper.

“Even if he were recalled, it would take too long for him to get back.”

She nods slowly, though the tremble in her lips doesn’t stop. I see the doubt flickering behind her eyes, but also the hope she clings to like a lifeline. I squeeze her shoulder once more.

“We’ll find him, Gine. I swear it.”

The camp—Saiyans sleeping under trees or in broken homes—erupts into chaos as the message registers with each awakened Saiyan. Shouts of disbelief, of rage, of grief. Many rush for their scouters, demanding confirmation, as if hearing the message again might somehow change its content. Others stand paralysed, minds unable to process the extinction of their species, or what they believe to be extinction.

I rise, squeezing Gine’s shoulder briefly before stepping away from our small shelter. Dawn is still hours away, but the camp blazes with impromptu lights as warriors ignite their energy in unconscious displays of agitation. In the eerie glow, their faces look ghostly—appropriate for a people who now exist only as phantoms in Frieza’s universe.

“BARDOCK!” The shout rises above the general clamour. Paragus pushes through the crowd, Broly clutched protectively against his chest. The boy is awake but eerily calm amid the chaos. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew this would happen!”

Others turn at his accusation, eyes fixing on me with newfound suspicion and desperate hope.

“Yes,” I admit, seeing no reason to lie. “That’s why I brought you here.”

The confession silences the nearest Saiyans, the quiet spreading outward like ripples in a pond until the entire camp stands watching me. Some with gratitude dawning in their eyes, others with scepticism, a few with outright hostility.

“How?” demands a scarred warrior I recognise as Totapo, one of the stronger low-class fighters. “How could you possibly know Frieza would destroy our planet?”

I tap the bloodied armband still tied around my forehead. “Let’s just say I received a warning.” The truth is too complex, too unbelievable—the Kanassan’s curse, memories from another life, visions of futures yet unwoven. They’d think me mad. Perhaps I am.

“And you saved only us?” another voice calls out. “The low class? The meat workers and tinkerers? What of our king? Our prince?”

“I saved who I could,” I reply, voice hardening. “Would King Vegeta have done the same for any of you?”

That silences them, at least momentarily. We all know the answer. In the hierarchy of Planet Vegeta, most of us were expendable, valuable only for the missions we completed, the worlds we purged.

“What now, then?” Paragus asks, his voice slightly less accusatory but no less intense. “We’re stranded on a ruined world.”

“Now,” I say, scanning the faces around me, “we build something new. Something better than what we had.”

Scoffs and mutterings ripple through the crowd. Saiyans aren’t known for their imagination or their capacity for change. We’re warriors, conquerors—that’s all we’ve ever been under Frieza’s rule and King Vegeta’s leadership.

“Better how?” challenges a female warrior, her arms crossed defensively. “By becoming farmers? Builders? We’re Saiyans. We fight. We conquer. It’s what we are.”

“It’s what we were forced to be,” I correct her. “But we can be more.”

My words alone won’t convince them. I’ve known this moment would come since the plan formed in my mind. Saiyans respect strength above all else. So be it.

“Those who disagree with me,” I announce, raising my voice to carry across the entire gathering, “meet me at the western gorge as the sun rises. If you can defeat me, you can lead our people however you see fit.”

A traditional challenge. The strongest leads—this, at least, they understand. Murmurs of approval spread through the crowd, and I see several warriors straightening, measuring themselves against me with calculating eyes.

“And if no one defeats you?” Paragus asks, his expression revealing he already knows the answer.

“Then we do things my way,” I state simply.

As the crowd disperses—some to prepare for the coming challenge, others to process the news of our planet’s destruction—I make my way to Monaito’s dwelling. The Namekian waits at his doorway, clearly having overheard everything.

“You need a healer,” he observes, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Yes,” I confirm. “And I need our people to see that not all the species they’ve terrorised are their enemies.”

Monaito’s lips thin at the implied manipulation, but he nods once, gathering a small satchel of supplies. “The child still sleeps,” he says, glancing back into his hut in the distant mountains where Granola lies undisturbed. “It would be best if he doesn’t wake to find his world invaded by the very species that destroyed it.”

“He’ll discover the truth eventually,” I point out. “Better to face it head-on than hide it.”

The Namekian regards me thoughtfully. “Perhaps you Saiyans are more capable of change than I first believed.”

Dawn breaks over the western gorge, painting the ruined landscape in hues of amber and gold. Nearly every transplanted Saiyan has gathered to witness the challenges—some out of curiosity, others hoping to see me humbled. Gine stands at the periphery, Kakarot strapped to her back with a makeshift sling, her expression a mixture of concern and fierce pride.

Monaito stands beside me, hands grasped around his gnarled staff. His presence draws curious and sometimes hostile glances from the assembled Saiyans. I’ve chosen this location carefully—a natural arena with high walls that will contain our battle while providing ample space to demonstrate power without endangering the others.

“Who challenges me?” I call out, voice echoing against the stone walls.

For a moment, silence reigns. Then Paragus steps forward. “I do,” he announces, shedding his upper armour to a dark vest and muscled arms mapped with battle scars.

I expected this. Revenge is the only thing he lives for now. In another timeline, another life, Paragus becomes consumed by vengeance, warping his son into a weapon. Here, perhaps, I can redirect that ambition.

“Anyone else?” I ask, scanning the crowd.

Totapo steps forward next, followed by three more of our strongest remaining warriors—Pumbukin, a heavyset fighter with surprising speed; Celipa, and Nion, a lanky veteran whose technique compensates for his average power level.

Five challengers. More than I anticipated, but not unexpected. Saiyans never could resist a fight with stakes this high.

“All at once,” I declare, “or one by one?”

“One by one,” Paragus answers before the others can speak. “Starting with me.”

I nod, removing my upper armour. Unlike him, I don’t wear anything beneath my battle gear, leaving my scarred chest bare, and drop into a fighting stance as Monaito and the others clear the area. Paragus mirrors my posture, his muscles tensing as he evaluates openings and angles of attack.

We circle each other once, twice—then he lunges, faster than most would give him credit for. His fist whistles past my ear as I weave left, countering with a strike to his exposed ribs that connects with a satisfying thud. Paragus grunts but doesn’t falter, using the momentum to spin into a roundhouse kick that catches my shoulder.

The impact sends me skidding back several feet, dust billowing around my boots. Not bad. The blow had genuine weight behind it.

“You’re holding back,” Paragus accuses, dropping back into his stance.

“So are you,” I reply with a tight smile.

The pretence falls away. We launch at each other simultaneously, meeting in mid-air with a thunderclap. My fist connects with his jaw at the same moment his knee drives into my stomach. Pain blossoms as we separate, both breathing harder, both grinning the feral Saiyan grin that precedes our most vicious fighting.

Paragus is good—better than I remembered. His technique has a clinical precision rare among low-class warriors, and his power level is impressive, perhaps half my own. In another life, with proper training, he might have rivalled the elites.

But this isn’t about evaluation. It’s about dominance. I allow him one more exchange, meeting him blow for blow, letting him believe the fight is even. Then I see it—the flicker of hope in his eyes, the momentary conviction that he might actually win.

That’s when I unleash my true speed.

One moment I’m before him, the next behind. Before he can react, my elbow connects with the base of his skull, sending him stumbling forward. I don’t let up. A knee to his back, a chop to his right shoulder, a kick that lifts him off his feet. Each blow designed to demonstrate the gulf between us without causing permanent damage.

Paragus fights back admirably, landing a solid punch to my sternum that actually forces the air from my lungs. But for every strike he lands, I deliver three. For every defence he mounts, I find a way through.

The end comes when he overextends on a desperate lunge. I catch his wrist, twist, and use his momentum to slam him into the ground hard enough to create a small crater. Before he can rise, my boot rests lightly on his throat—not pressing, just present.

“Yield,” I say quietly.

For a moment, hatred flashes in his eyes—pure and undiluted. The same hatred I glimpsed when he spoke the name Vegeta. The same hatred that will consume him and twist his innocent son into a weapon of vengeance. Then, just as quickly, it’s masked behind a veil of pragmatism.

“I yield,” he rasps.

I remove my foot and offer a hand. After a heartbeat’s hesitation, he takes it, allowing me to pull him to his feet. As I do, I lean in close enough that only he can hear my next words:

“Your son has the potential to become the strongest Saiyan who has ever lived. Help me build a world worthy of that power.”

Surprise flickers across his features, followed by calculation. Good. I’ll give him ambition beyond mere survival or revenge. Give him a stake in what we build here.

The remaining challengers prove less formidable than Paragus. Totapo lasts barely two minutes before a well-placed energy blast sends him careening into the gorge wall. Pumbukin’s strength is impressive, but he is too slow to connect with any meaningful impact. Celipa’s technique is almost elegant, but her power level can’t match mine. Nion puts up the best fight after Paragus, using the terrain and clever tricks to extend the battle, but ultimately falls to a simple, overwhelming display of raw power.

As the final challenger yields, I stand alone in the centre of the arena, bruised but unbowed. Sweat drips from my brow, but I remain upright, breathing controlled, gaze steady as I survey my people.

“Anyone else?” I call out, scanning the crowd.

Silence answers. The challenge is over.

“Then from this day forward,” I announce, my voice carrying to every ear, “we forge a new path. Not as Frieza’s attack dogs, but as a free people.”

I signal to Monaito, who approaches with his satchel. To the astonishment of the watching Saiyans, the Namekian’s hands glow with healing energy as he tends to my wounds, then moves on to Paragus and the other challengers.

“This is Monaito,” I tell them as he works. “One of the last survivors of this world we raided in that bastard’s name. He could have refused to help us. Instead, he offers healing. Remember that before you dismiss the possibility of change.”

As Monaito finishes with the last challenger, I gesture toward the rising sun. “Rest. But after we eat, we’ll start building.”

The crowd disperses slowly, many still processing what they’ve witnessed. I catch Gine’s eye across the gorge and see relief mingled with something fiercer—pride and no small amount of desire. With Kakarot still strapped to her back, she makes her way toward me, ignoring the warriors who part before her.

“That was quite a show,” she says when she reaches me, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Had to be done,” I reply, allowing myself to lean slightly against her.

Together, we make our way back to our shelter, Monaito following at a respectful distance. The strain of the morning’s exertions pulls at my muscles, but there’s a lightness in my step I haven’t felt in what feels like years. The first hurdle is cleared. The first step taken toward a future different from the one I glimpsed in those fractured visions.

Sleep claims me almost instantly when we reach our shelter, but not before I wrap my arms around Gine’s lithe form under the covers. She giggles and leans into me, her wild hair pressing against my face. Its scent is calming, and I find sleep before I know it.

No dreams disturb my rest—no visions of destruction, no memories of lives unlived. Just darkness and peace. I wake to the sensation of small hands patting my face with innocent curiosity. Opening my eyes, I find Kakarot sitting on my chest, his dark eyes wide and inquisitive as he explores the contours of my battle-scarred features. 

Behind him, Gine watches with undisguised affection.

“He’s been doing that for ten minutes,” she informs me, amusement colouring her voice. “I think he’s trying to figure out if you’re real.”

I catch one of Kakarot’s tiny hands in mine, marvelling at the perfect miniature fingers, the unblemished skin. In those other memories—the ones fading like dreams upon waking—this child grows up without me, without his people, shaped by a gentler world than the one that formed me. He becomes something I couldn’t imagine, something beyond a Saiyan.

Now, that future is unwritten. Now, he has both his parents and a community of his own kind. And yet, just as love blooms in my heart for him, overwhelming concern for my other son, Raditz, is right beside it. I told Gine he was alive. I know he’s alive, just as I knew my team was dead.

But what if I’m wrong?

“Real enough,” I tell Gine, sitting up and settling Kakarot in my lap. “How long did I sleep?”

“Most of the morning,” she replies. “The others have been organising themselves. Hunting parties went out. The service workers have set up cooking stations. Even found some of the local edible flora.”

Impressive initiative for a people so recently transplanted. Then again, Saiyans are nothing if not adaptable survivors.

“And you?” I ask, noting the shadows under her eyes.

“Keeping an eye on this little warrior,” she says, reaching out to ruffle Kakarot’s wild hair. “And on you. I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

There’s something in her tone—a question unasked. I meet her gaze and see it there: the need to understand what’s happening, what changed me, what drives this mad gambit I’ve undertaken.

I brush my knuckles against her cheek. “I’ll explain everything when we have time. For now, I’m starving.”

That earns me a genuine laugh. “Now that sounds like the Bardock I know.” She rises gracefully, lifting Kakarot from my lap. “Come on. The hunting parties returned with something big.”

Outside, the camp has transformed in my absence. What was a haphazard collection of bewildered refugees now resembles the beginnings of a settlement. Crude shelters are arranged in organised clusters. Central fire pits where massive carcasses roast on improvised spits. Saiyan efficiency at work.

My arrival draws attention, but it’s different from before. Less hostility, more deference. News of the morning’s challenges has spread. My position is secure, at least for now. Paragus approaches as Gine leads me toward the nearest cooking pit. Despite the healing, he moves stiffly, the aftermath of our battle evident in his cautious gait.

“Bardock,” he acknowledges with a nod that stops just short of respectful. “Your woman tells me you intend to hunt with us tomorrow.”

“That’s right,” I confirm. “We all need to eat. Everything else can come afterwards.”

“We?” Paragus’s eyebrow rises slightly. “You’re including yourself with the commoners now? You might as well be king.”

“I’m including myself with my people,” I correct him. “All of them.”

Something flickers across his face—surprise, perhaps, or scepticism. “As you wish. We leave at first light.”

He withdraws, returning to where Broly sits quietly observing everything with those unnervingly calm eyes. The boy’s potential is staggering, even now. In those fading memories, he becomes a berserker, his power uncontrolled and devastating. Here, with proper guidance, who knows what he might achieve?

And yet the colder part of me—the part that desires revenge knows that he is a walking threat. Saiyans follow strength first, no matter what I want them to become, and Paragus is nothing if ambitious. I shake the dark thought off as quickly as it arrives once the aroma hits my nose.

The meal is simple but satisfying—roasted meat from some massive reptilian creature the hunting parties found, supplemented with local roots and berries the service workers deemed safe. As we eat, I observe the natural divisions that have formed—warriors clustered together, service workers in their own groups, the few remaining technical specialists huddled near the salvaged incubation pods.

Old habits. Old hierarchies. They’ll need to be broken down if we’re to build something truly new.

After eating, I make my way to the technicians. Their surprise at being approached directly by a warrior is obvious in their wary expressions.

“The scouters,” I begin without preamble. “They transmit as well as receive. The Frieza Force can track and listen through them.”

The lead technician, a thin man with nervous hands, nods cautiously. “Yes. Standard monitoring protocols.”

“Can you disable the transmission capabilities while maintaining the battle power scanning functions?”

His eyes widen slightly. “It’s possible, but—”

“Do it,” I interrupt. “For every scouter. We can’t risk Frieza discovering we survived.”

“All due respect,” another technician interjects, bolder than his colleague, “but that’s technical treason against the Frieza Force. Punishable by death.”

I meet his gaze steadily. “The Frieza Force just committed genocide against our people. I think we’re past concerns of treason. You being here alone is punishable by death.”

The man swallows hard, then nods. “We’ll need tools. Parts.”

“Make a list. I’ll see that you get them.”

The technicians exchange glances, clearly unused to being consulted rather than commanded. “It will be done,” the lead technician finally says.

As we turn to leave, a commotion erupts from the direction of Monaito’s dwelling. Raised voices, the sound of something crashing. Without hesitation, I sprint toward the disturbance.

We arrive to find Monaito attempting to calm a young, teal-haired boy—Granola—who has finally awakened to find his world populated by Saiyans. The child’s face is contorted with rage and grief, his slight frame trembling as he backs away from both Monaito and the gathering crowd of curious onlookers.

“Murderers!” he screams, eyes wild as they dart from face to face. “You killed everyone! My mother! Everyone!”

Guilt, an emotion I’ve rarely allowed myself to acknowledge, twists in my gut. This child’s suffering—his entire species’ extinction—lies at our feet. At my feet.

“Granola,” Monaito says softly, reaching for the boy.

“Liars!” The boy’s voice cracks with emotion. “All of you!” His gaze finally lands on me, standing at the front of the crowd, and something in his expression shifts from general hatred to specific recognition. “You. I remember you.”

A memory flashes through my mind—this same child, hiding behind his mother as we descended upon their village. The mother I couldn’t save, though I’d managed to spare him and Monaito.

“Yes,” I acknowledge, stepping forward despite Monaito’s warning gesture. “I was there.”

“I’ll kill you,” the boy declares, his young voice dripping with conviction beyond his years. “I’ll get stronger, and I’ll kill all of you for what you did.”

“If that’s the path you choose,” I tell him calmly, “I won’t stop you from trying. But I won’t die easily, and I won’t let you harm those who’ve done nothing to you.”

Granola’s eyes widen at my response—clearly not what he expected. Before he can reply, Monaito places a protective hand on his shoulder.

“Enough,” the Namekian says firmly. “Granola needs rest and time.”

“No!” The boy twists away from Monaito’s grasp and darts between the legs of the gathered Saiyans, disappearing into the ruins of the city before anyone can react.

Monaito sighs heavily. “He will return when hunger overcomes anger. I’ll speak with him then.”

“Let him be for now,” I agree, signalling the curious Saiyans to disperse. “He has every right to his hatred.”

When we’re alone, Monaito fixes me with a penetrating stare. “You handled that better than I expected.”

“His anger is justified,” I reply simply. “Denying that would only make things worse.”

The Namekian studies me for a long moment before speaking again. “What exactly do you intend for my world, Bardock? For my boy?”

A fair question, deserving of a straight answer.

“I intend to make this world our home,” I tell him. “A place where we won’t repeat the sins of our past.”

“And Granola?”

“He’ll choose his own path. If that path leads him to challenge me someday, so be it.”

Monaito nods slowly, seemingly satisfied for now. “And what is your next step in this grand plan?”

I glance skyward, toward the stars that hide countless worlds—including one small blue planet where, in another life, my son would have found a different destiny.

“Earth,” I say decisively. “Primitive by galactic standards, but it holds potential. I intend to take our strongest to Earth, alongside volunteer tinkerers.”

Monaito’s brow furrows. “To conquer?”

“To protect,” I correct him. “To eliminate threats that could endanger both worlds. To strengthen us all against Frieza’s eventual discovery of our survival.”

“Earth,” Monaito repeats thoughtfully.

“Exactly.” I reach beneath my armour, extracting the Dragon Balls I had secured during the wish. They sit inert in my palm, transformed to stone by the power expended in granting my wish. “When will these be usable again?”

Monaito’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of the Dragon Balls in my possession.

“They might be needed again,” I reply, not bothering to deny the obvious. “Closer to immediately, Monaito.”

“A year,” the Namekian answers after a moment’s hesitation. “They require a full cycle to regenerate their power.”

A year. Longer than I’d hoped, but not an insurmountable delay.

“Unless,” Monaito continues carefully, “one is willing to exchange life energy to accelerate the process.”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “Explain.”

“These dragon balls are unique in that one can use their life to achieve that which is otherwise impossible. The other wishing orbs of my race are limited by the power of the Namekian to whom they are tied. As are these… but offer your life force, and those limits can be bent.”

“One year of my life,” I say. “In return for being able to use them here and now.”

“Precisely,” he replies, his gaze steady. “What would you wish for, Saiyan, that means you cannot wait the year out?”

“A ship. Grand and fit to carry everyone on this planet. Outfitted with facilities, perhaps resources, and cloaking abilities to hide from our enemies.”

“...For?”

I smile. “Making a speedy getaway if need be and heading to another planet in case of emergency. But beyond that, I want to bring back plenty of materials for the tinkerers and the rebuilding effort as well. We need space for that, no?”

Monaito chuckles, which is a good sign considering what else I’m going to ask of him.

“But I need something else, old man,” I say before taking a breath. “Before I can use the dragon balls, I need your help.”

He looks back at me, curious and slightly cautious. I tell him of my plan to teach as many low-class warriors to control the Great Ape transformation as possible and the need for his healing abilities to speed up the process.

He recoils at the notion, naked fear in his eyes. For a moment, my stomach trembles with guilt. I am the reason he fears us so, but then it hardens, and I Iook him in the eyes.

“In the end, it’s for safety, too, Monaito. The transformation is triggered by the full moon. Three of which hang in the sky. You could have four full moons a month and, without control, the Great Ape is mindless destruction. With control, it could be harnessed, directed, used to protect as well as fight.”

Once he calms himself, the Namekian’s expression remains sceptical. “And you believe this control would lead to protection rather than conquest?”

“I can’t guarantee what every Saiyan would choose,” I admit. “But I can start with those I trust. Those who will set an example for the others.”

Monaito falls silent, considering my words. Finally, he shakes his head. “I need time to consider this request. It is not a decision to be made lightly.”

“Fair enough,” I concede, returning the stone Dragon Balls to their hiding place. “In the meantime, we’ll focus on immediate needs. Food. Shelter. Security.”

As I turn to leave, Monaito’s voice stops me. “The boy who ran—Granola. He has potential far beyond what you might expect.”

“I know,” I reply without turning around. “In another life, he nearly kills my flesh and blood.”

Before the Namekian can question this cryptic statement, I walk away, returning to where Gine waits with Kakarot. The child has fallen asleep against her shoulder, his tiny features peaceful in repose.

“Everything alright?” she asks softly as I approach. “What was that boy screaming about?”

“As well as can be expected,” I answer, gently brushing a strand of hair from Kakarot’s face. “The boy has every right to his anger. Me and my team laid waste to his world.”

Gine studies my expression, reading more than I intend to reveal. “You’re different,” she observes, not for the first time. “Since Kanassa. Since before all this.”

“Yes,” I acknowledge, offering no further explanation.

To my surprise, she doesn’t press the issue. Instead, she shifts Kakarot to her other shoulder and steps closer, her free hand coming up to rest against my cheek.

“Whatever changed,” she says quietly, “I’m grateful for it. The Bardock who left for Kanassa wouldn’t have saved his people. Wouldn’t have thought them worth saving.”

Her words cut deeper than any battle wound, precisely because they’re true. The Bardock who left for Kanassa was a killer, a conqueror, a tool wielded by forces he never questioned. The Bardock who returned is... something else. Something still taking shape.

“Get some rest,” I tell her, covering her hand with mine. “I reckon tomorrow brings new challenges.”

The next morning, I join the hunting party as promised. Paragus leads the group, his stance still wary but less openly hostile than before. We spend half the day tracking and bringing down massive herbivores that roam Cereal’s plains, and the other half scavenging for materials the technicians requested.

By early evening, we return laden with meat and salvage. The camp has evolved further in our absence—more permanent structures rising, clear pathways established, even a crude training ground where warriors spar under Totapo’s watchful eye. Slowly, our ragtag collection of survivors transforms into something resembling a community. 

The old divisions between warrior and servant class don’t disappear entirely, but they soften, blurred by shared labour and shared purpose.

Monaito finds me bathed in the warmth of an open fire. Kakarot on my knee with his stubby hands grasping towards my chest. The other Saiyan parents, originally finding my handling of my son strange, mimic me with their own children. To them, it seems like training and games to play with the infants while idle.

I simply enjoy my son’s company. Gine tears into bits of meat while I hold him. We haven’t talked about my team yet, but she knows. I see it in the sadness circling her shoulders. She loved them just as much as I—in Fasha, she found a sister. Her eyes dart to Tora’s headband so often, but she doesn’t say anything.

Neither do I want to.

“I will aid you,” Monaito says.

His words draw eyes, so I gesture for him to wait. We walk under the cover of trees, Kakarot in my arms as he babbles to himself. Despite his words, there’s a bone-deep fear in Monaito’s eyes. One, I can’t blame him for feeling, but even then, he swallows it for the possibility of a better future.

I can’t help but smile.

“We’ll start with one,” I decide. “A test case to prove it’s possible. It will make things easier on you, too.”

“Yourself?” Monaito suggests.

I shake my head. “I can already control it. Paragus. He’s the second strongest among us and the most likely to succeed. Then, he can teach it to the others as well.”

Monaito seems surprised by my choice but doesn’t object. “Very well. But we must conduct this training far from the settlement. And from Granola.”

The boy has returned to Monaito’s dwelling, as predicted, but maintains his distance from the Saiyans. His hatred burns no less brightly, but he’s learning to live alongside the source of that hatred—a difficult lesson, but necessary.

“Agreed,” I say, rising to my feet. “I’ll speak with Paragus. We begin tonight, if that’s fine with you.”

He nods.

Finding Paragus proves simple enough—he’s at the training grounds, supervising as Broly goes through basic combat forms. The boy’s movements are fluid, precise, and unnaturally advanced for his age. Even now, his potential dwarfs that of warriors ten times his age.

“A word,” I tell Paragus, gesturing him away from the others.

He follows with measured steps, curiosity evident beneath his carefully neutral expression.

“I have a proposition,” I begin once we’re out of earshot.

Interest flashes in his eyes, quickly masked. “I’m listening.”

“The Great Ape transformation. For low-class warriors, it’s the equivalent of a warhead.” I continue. “What if you could control it? Maintain your consciousness, direct your actions, like me, while accessing that tenfold increase in strength?”

Calculation plays across Paragus’s features as he weighs risk against potential reward. Finally, he asks the question I knew would come: “Why me?”

“Because you are the strongest after me,” I answer bluntly. “And because you’ve earned the opportunity.”

The lure of increased power proves stronger than wounded pride; it seems. “When do we start?”

“Tonight,” I tell him. “Meet me where all the incubators are near the fountain. We’ll travel north with Monaito, away from the settlement. The transformation is too dangerous to attempt near others.”

Paragus nods once, decision made.

As he turns to leave, a thought strikes me. “Paragus,” I call after him. “If this works—if we master this technique—what do you think comes next?”

He pauses, glancing back with a sardonic half-smile. “After all you’ve done already? What’s next? Will you reveal that you’re secretly the Legendary Super Saiyan?”

The question is meant as mockery, but it triggers something in those fading memories—images of golden hair, teal eyes, power beyond imagining. And something else beyond imagining, too.

“Maybe something new altogether.”

Paragus shakes his head, clearly believing I’ve missed his sarcasm, and returns to where Broly continues his training. I remain where I stand, mind racing with possibilities unveiled by his casual jibe.

What if the Oozaru form could be compressed on its own? The power contained within a Saiyan’s normal body? The tenfold multiplier maintained without the massive, lumbering form? What is that if not a Super Saiyan?

A project for another day. For now, one step at a time.

When night falls, Paragus and I meet Monaito at the edge of the settlement. Gine sees us off, Kakarot balanced on her hip. She didn’t have to be here, but she is, and I love her for it and make sure she knows. The look in her eye when I’m done promises dangerous things—fun, but dangerous.

We travel north for hours, putting significant distance between ourselves and the settlement before Monaito deems it safe to proceed. The landscape here is barren, rocky, and devastated by the purge that claimed most of Cereal’s population using the very same powers I’m trying to control.

“This will do,” the Namekian announces, setting down his small pack of supplies. “No life within fifty miles. No chance of Granola witnessing what happens here.”

Paragus surveys the desolate terrain with a warrior’s eye.

I stand beneath Cereal’s night sky, three pale moons hanging overhead like watchful eyes. The barren landscape stretches around us—rocky, devastated, perfect for what we’re about to attempt. No one to harm and nothing left to destroy.

“Are you ready?” I ask Paragus, who stands several paces away, tension evident in every line of his body.

He nods once, sharp and determined. Monaito keeps his distance, healing powers at the ready, fear still lingering in his ancient eyes.

“When it begins,” I explain, “don’t fight the transformation itself. It’s the rage you must master.”

I tilt my head back, allowing moonlight to wash over my face. The familiar tingling begins immediately—a prickling beneath my skin, a quickening of blood, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. My vision shifts, taking on a crimson tint as the primal part of me awakens.

The transformation comes in a rush of pain and power. Bones crack and reform, muscles tear and expand, fur erupts across my skin. I feel my consciousness threatening to slip beneath waves of ancient promises of violence—the beast that lives in every Saiyan’s blood howling for release.

This is where most fail. This is where I once failed. But not tonight. Tonight, I stand firm in the centre of that storm, anchoring myself to purpose—to memories of Gine’s face, of Kakarot’s tiny hands. To the future I glimpsed and the destiny I’m rewriting.

My massive form completes its change, towering against the starlit sky. I breathe deeply, my massive chest expanding as I draw into myself fully. The rage is there—always there—but it’s a tool now, not my master. I turn my massive head to see Paragus mid-transformation, his form expanding, distorting, becoming the Great Ape. His roar splits the night air, primal and unrestrained. His newly formed tail lashes behind him, pulverising a nearby rock formation.

Monaito flies so far away that he’s a fleck in my vision, a fly in the wind, and totally out of Paragus’ sight—and for good reason.

“Focus, Paragus!” I bellow, my voice unnaturally deep in this form.

His huge eyes, glowing red with bloodlust, fix on me. There’s no recognition there—only the mindless fury of an unleashed Great Ape. He lunges forward, massive fists swinging wildly. I sidestep—still graceful despite my enormous bulk—and catch his arm.

“Your name is Paragus,” I growl, deflecting another wild blow. “You are a Saiyan warrior. You have a son named Broly. Remember him!”

Something flickers in those rage-filled eyes—a moment of hesitation.

“The power is yours to command,” I continue, maintaining my grip on his arm. “The beast serves you, not the other way around. Find the centre of the storm!”

He roars again, but it’s different this time, tinged with frustration rather than pure mindlessness. He’s fighting now, not just against me but against the tide of instinct threatening to drown his consciousness.

“Your mind is the anchor,” I instruct, releasing him and stepping back. “Let the rage flow through you without consuming you. Harness it!”

Paragus staggers, massive hands clutching his head. I recognise the battle waging within—his conscious mind struggling to assert control over primal instinct. It’s an internal war I know all too well.

“Look at me,” I command, and those huge red eyes lift to meet mine. “I am in control. You can be too. Remember why we’re doing this. For our people. For our future.”

Something changes in his posture—a subtle shift from hunched aggression to something more measured. His breathing slows.

“Yes,” I encourage, “just like that.”

The massive creature before me straightens, its movements becoming less erratic. Those glowing eyes blink, and I see intelligence returning—Paragus fighting his way back to the surface.

“...Bar-dock?” The voice is distorted, guttural, but unmistakably Paragus.

“I’m here,” I confirm, relief washing through me. “You’re doing it. Stay with it.”

He looks down at his transformed body, massive hands opening and closing experimentally. “The power...” he rumbles, wonder in his voice. “It’s incredible.”

“And now it’s truly yours,” I tell him. “Not just a mindless berserker state, but a controlled transformation. A weapon you wield rather than one that wields you.”

In the distance, I see Monaito watching, astonishment clear on his face. He hadn’t believed it possible—that Saiyans could be more than the monsters of his nightmares.

“Control your breathing,” I instruct Paragus. “Find the rhythm. The rage is still there—it always will be—but you stand apart from it now. You direct it.”

Paragus nods his massive head, practising the exercises I’ve shown him. With each passing moment, his movements become more deliberate, more controlled.

“Tomorrow,” I tell him, “we begin actual training in this form. Learning to fight with precision rather than just destruction. But for tonight—” I pause, allowing a menacing smile to spread across my transformed face, ”—for tonight, feel what it truly means to be a Saiyan.”

In the alien sky of our new home, two Great Apes stand tall—not as mindless beasts of legend, but as warriors conscious of the electrifying violence that dances and sizzles beneath our skin. I look at my massive hands, feeling the raw power coursing through my transformed body, and then, I tilt my head back and open my maw wide.

Paragus does the same, and as one, we roar at the three moons adrift on the night’s velvet sea.

— — —