As the years passed, the boy—now in his teenage form—began to understand the magnitude of his abilities. His once quiet and innocent mind had transformed into something much darker, far colder. Voldemort, or whatever name he chose for himself now, no longer felt the human emotions of compassion or mercy. The rage and hatred that had burned in his former life were amplified by the Saiyan blood coursing through his veins.
He began to train harder, pushing himself beyond the limits of his body and mind. Every day, he would meditate, combining the ancient magics of Merlin and Gandalf with the raw power of his Saiyan heritage. In battle, he quickly learned to control the raw energy that surged within him. He could use ki blasts, like any Saiyan, but his magical abilities allowed him to manipulate reality itself—summoning shields of energy, casting spells that altered the environment, and even bending time for short bursts.
The Kai's continued to watch, their concern growing. Voldemort was powerful, perhaps too powerful. They could feel the darkness growing within him, his thirst for power feeding off his every victory. But they couldn't stop him. They had made him what he was, and now they could only guide him.
One day, during a private training session, Voldemort confronted the Kai's, his eyes burning with intensity.
"Why do you still keep me here?" he demanded, his voice cold, but laced with curiosity. "You've given me power beyond anything I could have imagined. What do you want from me?"
The Kai's exchanged a glance, hesitant. Finally, one spoke.
"We raised you because we saw your potential. You have the power to change the course of history. But be careful, young prince. Power can be a dangerous thing. It can twist a soul, turn a mind toward darkness if you are not careful."
Voldemort sneered, his eyes glinting with the fire of ambition. "I am not afraid of power. I was born to wield it. And I will take what is mine. No one can stop me—not even the gods."