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[Escarot POV.]
I had lost count of how many times I had transformed by now.
It had been weeks now. Weeks without rest. Weeks where the instructors would use the Power Ball, forcing me to change, forcing me to lose myself to the mindless rage of Ozaru, over and over again. Each time I woke up, I was more exhausted than before.
Each time I opened my eyes, I felt a little less like me.
At this point, I had spent more time in my transformed state than I had in my normal body.
And it was wearing on me. Physically and mentally.
The constant shifts between forms left me drained, my muscles aching in ways even the worst beatings in the training arena never had. My body felt heavier, sluggish. My thoughts felt slower.
I barely felt like myself.
And that terrified me.
The instructors kept hammering the same useless advice into us. Focus. Control it. Keep your mind intact.
As if it were that simple.
But I refused to give up… I wouldn't let this get the best of me!
So, when the instructors summoned the next Power Ball, I didn't resist.
I didn't brace myself. I didn't try to hold onto my thoughts. I simply focused my entire being into a singular goal, crushing one of the instructors.
My eyes locked onto the artificial moon, and everything else disappeared.
The pain tore through me, stretching, twisting. My body expanded, fur bristled across my skin, my jaw extended, my fingers curled into claws—
Then—
Nothing.
A sound cut through the static in my head.
A crack. Sharp. Loud.
It was familiar. Something I had heard before.
A bone breaking.
And I was the one holding it.
The weight in my hand was solid, struggling—alive.
I blinked.
I was aware. I was fucking aware!
The fog that usually swallowed me whole in this form wasn't as thick. It wasn't suffocating me completely. There was clarity, and it slammed into me all at once.
I looked down.
My massive claws were wrapped around something small. A body.
The instructor.
He was struggling, face contorted in pain, his scouter sparking from the pressure of my grip. I wasn't crushing him, but I could have been.
For weeks, I had fought against this form. Hated it.
But now?
Now I was controlling it.
A rumbling laugh built in my throat, something deep and guttural, shaking the ground beneath me. The other instructors stepped back slightly, their scouters locked onto me.
They were waiting.
Waiting to see if I would snap. If I would go berserk. If I had really done it.
I had.
The rage was still there, but it wasn't mindless anymore.
It had purpose.
I tightened my grip slightly, feeling the instructor's bones shift beneath my palm. He let out a sharp grunt, eyes wide, but he didn't panic. Saiyans didn't fear death—but he knew I had the power to end him right here if I wanted to.
The thought filled me with something electric, something alive.
A rush.
Without thinking, I let out a roar, not one of mindless rage, but one of exhilaration. The ground shook.
"I did it!" I laughed, my voice sounded incredibly deep.
I had won.
Then, without warning, as I celebrated my recent accomplishment, the power ball keeping my transformation active stopped, and my body shrunk.
The transformation collapsed, and suddenly, I was falling, my body shrinking down incredibly fast.
I hit the ground hard.
The exhaustion hit instantly, worse than anything I had ever felt before. Every muscle in my body felt like dead weight, my lungs burned, my vision blurred. My breathing was ragged, my heartbeat thunderous.
I barely had the strength to lift my head.
All around me, other trainees were in various states of collapse. Some were still unconscious, others were groaning, pushing themselves up onto their elbows. But based on their faces, I had been the only one to accomplish the goal thus far.
I forced myself to turn my head slightly, my gaze locking onto the instructor I had been holding just moments ago.
He was still standing. His arm looked damaged, twisted like a twig, his breathing was heavier than before, he had blood coming out of his nose and mouth, but he was alive. He stared down at me, expression unreadable, then scoffed.
"Took you long enough."
"I should've squished you harder…" I replied, glaring at him.
I really should've… and then say I wasn't in control.
He chuckled, a rough, grating sound. "You've got balls, brat, I'll give you that."
"Damn right I do," I growled back, trying to push myself up and onto my feet. I barely made it to a knee before the world started to spin. I collapsed back into the dirt, gritting my teeth against the wave of nausea that washed over me.
"Just rest," he said gruffly, already turning away from me. "You've earned it."
I tried to reply, to hurl some kind of biting retort at him, but the words never made it past my lips. My vision swam as exhaustion claimed me and I sank into unconsciousness once more.
—--------------------------------------------------------------
Two days had passed since I had finally—finally—completed my Great Ape training.
And honestly? I still felt like shit.
The exhaustion hadn't fully left my body, and I was sore in ways I didn't even know were possible. But at least I wasn't being thrown into another transformation/torture session like some kind of lab experiment.
That alone made walking around Planet Vegeta feel like a vacation.
No giant monkey breakdowns. No instructors yelling at me to "focus." No more waking up on the ground wondering if I had accidentally killed someone.
For the first time in weeks, I had nothing to do. Because, according to Saiyan culture, I had completed my training, I was ready to fight for the honor of the Saiyan race.
Which… was its own kind of problem.
My Ozaru training had been the last step before assignment. Now all that was left was to wait until they threw me into a squad. Until then, I was stuck in limbo.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I wandered through the city streets.
Their training, as their cooking, was sad and bland. I honestly had no idea how they considered themselves to be the strongest warrior race in the universe, two months of "training" and for them, you were good to go.
As I walked, my scouter beeped softly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I tapped the side of it, and my recorded power level flashed across the lens.
2837.
That was my updated reading after training. Apparently the strain of constantly transforming into the Great Ape had pushed my body to become stronger.
Not Bad. But definitely nowhere near the amount of power I needed to survive in this universe, but considering I had only been out of the pod for two months, I'd say I was doing alright.
Still, that number bothered me.
2837 was strong, but it wasn't enough.
Not for what was coming.
I didn't know when King Cold would hand the reigns over to Frieza, but it was only a matter of time. And once he took over, Planet Vegeta had an expiration date. Maybe a few years, maybe a decade if I was lucky.
Either way, if I stayed at this level, I wouldn't survive.
The thought gnawed at me as I kept walking.
Saiyans grew stronger through battle, and training, but as things were going, I wasn't going to be fighting anyone stronger than me anytime soon. And I wasn't going to get any kind of training to help me out.
I needed another way.
And that's when it hit me.
'Wait a second… didn't I already know one?'
My eyes widened slightly as a very dumb, very reckless idea started forming in my head.
I may not have remembered every detail of Dragon Ball, but I remembered enough.
I had seen Goku train in the anime.
Train under Master Roshi, Kami, King Kai.
They had methods. Techniques that Goku used to increase his power outside of just fighting stronger opponents.
And if he could do it… why couldn't I?
The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Saiyan training was stupidly straightforward, and lacking. It was all about raw power, brute force, and survival.
But what if I trained smarter?
What if I imitated the training methods I remembered from the anime?
Weight training. Meditation. Environmental conditioning.
Hell, I could probably even do gravity training, if I found the right place for it.
I didn't need to wait for someone to help me out, or show me the ropes, I could just do it.
The idea sent a rush of excitement through me.
I had a plan. A real plan.
And for the first time in a long time, I actually felt in control of something.
But first I needed a few things.
—-----------------------------------------------------------
Stealing turned out to be stupidly easy.
Saiyans weren't exactly the most security-conscious race. When your entire species was raised on combat, nobody really worried about someone running off with a few supplies. Especially not something as mundane as metal chains.
I found a storage unit near the barracks, and with a quick glance around to make sure no one was paying attention, I yanked open one of the crates. Inside, coiled and stacked neatly, were exactly what I needed—heavy, reinforced chains, probably meant for tying down cargo or securing training equipment.
Perfect.
I grabbed a few and slung them over my shoulder. They were heavy, but that was the whole point. If I was going to do this, I needed weight.
No one stopped me. No alarms blared. No angry shouts. I walked out like I belonged there.
Saiyan security at its finest.
With my stolen supplies in tow, I left the city, heading straight for the mountains.
—-------------------------------------------------------
The wastelands of Planet Vegeta stretched endlessly around me, all reds and browns, jagged cliffs and rocky terrain. The ground was cracked, scorched, lifeless. Even the air felt harsh, dry and thin, like it was daring anything weak to die already.
I had gotten used to it.
By the time I reached the base of the mountains, the suns were already dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the cliffs. It didn't matter. I wasn't planning on going back anytime soon.
Dropping the chains with a metallic clank, I rolled my shoulders and surveyed the area.
"Alright," I muttered, cracking my knuckles. "Time to get to work."
The idea was simple—if it worked.
I was going to recreate Master Roshi's training. Or at least, the parts I could remember. He had made Goku and Krillin wear turtle shells to build their endurance and strength over time. I didn't have a turtle shell.
I wasn't even sure if Planet Vegeta had turtles for that matter.
But I did have rocks. 90% of the planet was full of them.
Big, heavy, red looking-rocks.
I spent the next hour searching for a suitable boulder. Most of them were either too small or too brittle, crumbling under their own weight. I needed something solid. Something that could take a beating.
Eventually, I found it—a massive chunk of stone, nearly twice my size, wedged into the side of a cliff.
Perfect.
I took a step back, bracing myself, then threw a punch straight into its surface.
The impact cracked the rock, sending a sharp tremor up my arm.
Okay. That was solid.
Good.
This was going to suck.
Grinning to myself, I cracked my knuckles again.
"Alright," I said, rolling my shoulders. "Let's see if this works."
The rock was solid. Good. That meant it wouldn't crumble the second I tried to use it.
Now, I just needed to shape it.
I took a step back, exhaling slowly as I focused. I had never really tried to use ki for anything other than basic blasts, but I was feeling creative today, so why not?
I lifted my hand, feeling the energy build in my palm. A faint hum filled the air as I concentrated, molding the energy into a thin, controlled edge.
Then, with a sharp swing, I released it.
A thin arc of ki sliced cleanly through the rock's surface.
I blinked. "Huh. That actually worked."
Encouraged, I fired another one, then another. Each slash cut away chunks of stone, shaping the massive boulder into something more manageable. It wasn't perfect—hell, it was still way too big—but after a few minutes of cutting, I had a rough, flattened shape.
It looked like a deformed turtle shell. "Close enough."
Now for the fun part.
I grabbed the metal chains I had stolen and looped them around the boulder, testing the weight. Just lifting the damn thing was a workout. My muscles strained as I hoisted it up, draping it over my back.
Then I pulled the chains tight, securing the rock to me like some kind of makeshift backpack.
The second I let go, my body nearly buckled.
"Holy shit, this is heavier than I expected," I grunted, adjusting my stance. The sheer weight of it threatened to drive me straight into the ground. My legs screamed in protest, my spine popped, and my shoulders already felt like they were on fire.
I felt like I was seconds away from being crushed.
Which meant it was perfect.
I grinned, despite myself.
"Alright," I muttered under my breath. "Let's see if this actually works."
And with that, I took my first step forward—beginning what might have been the dumbest training plan in Saiyan history, or the smartest one. I would let the results speak for themselves.
—--------------------------------------------------------------
[Third Person POV.]
[Beerus.]
Beerus hummed to himself, lazily tapping his fingers against the armrest of his throne. His long, feline ears twitched as he glanced around his sleeping quarters, golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
Something was off.
His bed was perfect—soft, yet firm enough to provide proper support. His sheets were of the finest cosmic silk, woven from the threads of a dying star. His covers were enchanted to maintain the ideal sleeping temperature, ensuring his comfort at all times.
And yet…
He still wasn't sleeping as well as he should. As he deserved.
Something was missing.
Beerus frowned, lifting a hand to his chin in deep thought. He wasn't hungry, he had just finished a delightful meal of roasted Vortigon crab with a side of exploding fruit. He wasn't bored, not yet, at least. And it certainly wasn't anything as trivial as stress. A Destroyer had no reason to be stressed.
No, this was something else. Something subtle, yet crucial.
Then it hit him.
"Ah!" Beerus snapped his fingers, eyes widening. "That's it!"
Whis, who had been standing nearby, his staff resting lightly in his hands, arched a single, amused brow. "Oh? Have you made an important realization, Lord Beerus?"
Beerus crossed his arms, nodding to himself. "I have everything, the finest bed, the softest covers, the best sheets in the entire universe. But there's still one thing missing." He narrowed his eyes. "The best pillow!"
Whis blinked, then smiled in mild amusement. "Ah. Of course."
Beerus ignored the tone, too lost in his own revelation. "It's so obvious now. My sleep has been less than perfect, less than optimal, because I don't have the best pillow in the universe. To think I've settled for mediocrity all this time."
Whis giggled.
He scoffed, disgusted with himself. "Unacceptable."
Whis twirled his staff, eyes twinkling. "Then I assume you'll be searching for this perfect pillow yourself?"
Beerus paused. Then frowned.
That… sounded like work.
And he really didn't feel like working right now.
"No, no, no," Beerus said, waving a hand dismissively. "That sounds exhausting. I have better things to do."
"Like… sleeping?" Whis offered, smile widening.
"Don't think I don't hear your tone, but yes, like sleeping," Beerus pointed at him. "Which is why I need the best pillow. Which is also why I need someone else to find it for me."
He pondered for a moment, tapping a claw against the armrest. Who was annoying enough that he could bother with this task?
Then he smirked.
"Whis," he said, stretching leisurely. "Prepare some snacks. We're going to Planet Vegeta."
Whis tilted his head. "Oh? And what business do you have with the Saiyans, Lord Beerus?"
Beerus grinned, leaning back on his throne.
"I have a mission for their overly-inflated king."
—------------------------------------------------------------
[Third Person POV.]
[Cooler.]
Cooler sat on his throne aboard his flagship, his arms crossed as he stared out into the endless void of space. The cold glow of distant stars reflected off the polished surface of the control panels, casting faint shadows across the room.
His scouter beeped softly in the background—reports, fleet movements, minor skirmishes along the outer rim of his territory. None of it mattered right now.
His mind was elsewhere.
Father would be retiring soon.
And when he did, Frieza would take his place.
Cooler exhaled through his nose, his tail flicking once against the metallic floor. It was an absurd decision. Reckless. Short-sighted. His little brother was strong, yes, but he was also impulsive, arrogant, careless. The kind of leader who ruled with destruction first, strategy second.
King Cold was blind to it.
No, willfully blind.
For whatever reason, their father had always favored Frieza. He had chosen to mold him, to shape him into his successor, while Cooler had been left to carve out his own empire.
Not that Cooler had needed the attention, he had built himself into something greater through sheer will.
And now?
Now he was stronger than ever. Stronger than Frieza.
His new transformation ensured that.
Cooler smirked slightly, flexing his fingers as he thought about it. He had surpassed his father's expectations, surpassed even Frieza's current power. If it came down to a fight between them now, he had no doubt he could crush his little brother.
But his father?
His father was another story.
King Cold's true strength was unknown. He had never revealed his full power, not even to Cooler. And that was the problem. He could assume he had surpassed Frieza, but with Cold, there were too many unknowns.
And Cooler did not take unnecessary risks.
Which meant patience.
For now.
He had no intention of letting Frieza inherit what should have been his. When the time was right, he would deal with both of them. But he needed to be certain.
And certainty required time.
His tail flicked again in irritation.
Still… It was such a waste.
With Cold stepping down anytime soon, Frieza would gain control over the best parts of the empire, the core worlds, the most resource-rich planets, and the most advanced technology. All because their father had chosen him.
"How disgustingly unfair," Cooler's lips curled slightly.
Of course, it wasn't like he couldn't do anything about it.
The moment Frieza took over, he would do what Frieza always did—run rampant, destroy valuable assets, waste resources in his little temper tantrums.
But before that happened…
Cooler could take a few things for himself.
After all, his little brother wouldn't miss what he never knew was gone.
A slow, amused smile spread across his face as the thought took root.
"Salza," he called, his voice smooth and controlled.
The blue-skinned soldier perked up from his position near the navigation console, immediately standing at attention. "Yes, Lord Cooler?"
Cooler leaned back slightly, his smirk widening.
"Change course."
Salza blinked. "A new target, my lord?"
Cooler's red eyes gleamed as he turned toward his loyal lieutenant.
"Take us to Planet Vegeta."
Salza hesitated, brow furrowing slightly. "Vegeta? That world belongs to Lord Frieza's territory, does it not?"
"It does," Cooler said casually, inspecting his claws. "Or rather, it will, once our dear little emperor takes the throne. But that still hasn't happened."
Salza remained silent, though his confusion was obvious.
Cooler chuckled, deciding to elaborate more. "I simply want to see if there's anything worth keeping before my little brother inevitably ruins it."
A beat of silence.
Then Salza grinned. "Understood, my lord."