Narrator voice (Dragon Ball-style):
The mysterious figure walked silently through the mountain valley, his boots crunching the soil beneath him. His gaze swept across the peaks and cliffs, his expression unchanging, as though he were calculating every detail of this foreign world. Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, an object materialized before him—a colossal dragon skull, adorned with jagged horns that curved menacingly outward. Without hesitation, he climbed onto it.
The skull floated ominously, as if propelled by an unseen force, and with a low hum, it began to rise. Gliding effortlessly, it picked up speed, cutting through the mountain air like a ghost. The figure's darkened green-and-blue eyes roamed the surroundings, scanning the landscape with a detached curiosity, as though he were searching for something—or perhaps someone.
The dragon skull soared past a humble home nestled in the mountains. Goku's house. Inside, Chi-Chi caught a glimpse of the bizarre sight—a figure cloaked in a dark jacket riding atop a flying dragon skull. She paused, a chill running down her spine as she tried to make sense of what she had seen. But before she could act, the figure was gone, vanishing into the horizon.
His journey was aimless, yet deliberate, as though led by some unseen purpose. Soon, he reached the outskirts of a cluster of villages nestled in the valley below. The tranquility of the townsfolk was shattered as the figure descended into their midst, his presence radiating an unnatural dread.
He raised a single hand, and with a twitch of his fingers, the ground beneath the village began to rumble. From the earth erupted bones, sharp and jagged, tearing through homes and streets, piercing the very foundation of the village. The cries of the people were drowned out by the chaos as walls crumbled and structures were reduced to rubble.
Then, with another motion of his hand, flames erupted from his palms, roaring with an otherworldly intensity. The village was engulfed in destruction, fire and ash blanketing the skies. Yet, his attack was not one of rage or anger—it was cold, mechanical, and methodical.
From the bodies of the fallen, a strange phenomenon occurred. Their energy coalesced into glowing hearts of vibrant colors—red, green, blue, yellow—hovering momentarily before him. He calmly produced glass jars, sealing the glowing hearts inside as if they were mere trophies. Once the jars were filled, he extended his hands once more, and a smaller version of the glitching portal appeared before him.
The jars disappeared into the portal, vanishing into some unknown realm beyond comprehension. When the portal closed, the hearts were gone. But something darker lingered in the air. In the Other World, the afterlife, the souls of the villagers did not appear. Neither King Yemma nor the Kais could sense their presence. These people had been erased—not simply from life, but from existence itself.
The figure stood amidst the smoldering remains of the village, unflinching, as if the destruction meant nothing to him. He turned away, stepping back onto his dragon skull, which floated silently to his side. With no sign of remorse, he mounted it once more and rose into the air, his path veiled in mystery. His purpose remained unknown, his methods incomprehensible.
Who—or what—is this being? What is he doing with the hearts he collects? And why do even the rules of life and death seem to bend in his presence?
One thing is certain: this is no ordinary foe. And the stakes may be higher than anyone could have ever imagined.