Kakarot came to the great arena of Planet Vegeta to fight for the warlord's throne. To claim it, he had to beat every rival champion in single combat. But before the first duel began, a tall warrior with a scarred jaw pointed at him and laughed. "This one wants the throne?" the warrior shouted. "He has no name worth fighting. Beat him, and you beat nobody." The crowd went quiet. Kakarot felt the eyes of the other champions on him. He knew what silence meant here. If he swallowed the insult, none of them would face him. Without duels, there was no throne. The scarred warrior had trapped him with words instead of fists. Kakarot did not answer. He turned toward the stone wall of the arena, where his old teacher sat in the shade. Master Roshi trained Kakarot from childhood in a fighting style he built with his own hands. The old man wore sunglasses and cheap sandals, and he looked half asleep. He had once been the greatest champion this planet ever crowned. Roshi stood. He walked to the center of the sand, slow and calm, and every fighter watched him. "I taught this boy," Roshi said. His voice carried without effort. "I have watched him bleed and stand again. Any man who calls him nothing calls me a liar." The scarred warrior stopped laughing. Roshi turned to Kakarot. "Answer him," the old man said. "But not with your mouth." Kakarot reached into his pack and pulled out the iron gauntlet. Its spikes caught the light. The core in its palm woke with a hiss, and blue and pink plasma crackled across the metal. He slid it onto his fist and clenched it once. The energy flashed and popped like lightning trapped in a jar. He walked to the scarred warrior and stopped an arm's length away. He raised the glowing fist between them. He said nothing. The threat was plain enough. The warrior's hand dropped to his own weapon. The crowd leaned in. For a long moment neither man moved. Then the scarred warrior spat in the sand. "Fine," he said. "First blood is mine." He drew his blade and stepped back to his mark. The insult was answered. The champions would fight him now. Roshi returned to the shade, but he did not smile. "You forced his hand," the old man said quietly. "So he chose the terms. He fights with steel. You have one glove and no shield." He nodded at the scarred warrior, who tested the edge of a long, curved sword. "He has killed challengers before the second round. Do not let him make you the next." Kakarot looked at his glowing fist, then at the drawn blade. He had won the right to fight. Now he had to survive the man who gave it to him.

The scarred warrior tested his blade's edge, and Kakarot faced a fight he could not survive with fists alone. One curved sword against one plasma glove. A single cut could end him. He looked to the shade for his teacher, but a small hand caught his arm first. Chi-Chi stepped onto the sand. His wife had fought in these tournaments before she married him, and she still moved like a champion. She did not beg him to quit. She pressed something cold into his empty hand. "You forgot this at home," she said. "You always rush out with half your gear." It was the second gauntlet. Its twin. Kakarot had left it behind in his haste to reach the arena. He slid it on, and the core in its palm hissed awake. Now both fists crackled blue and pink. He still had no blade and no shield. But he had two weapons instead of one. Behind Chi-Chi came his brother. Raddits shoved through the watching champions, cape torn, jaw set. He always arrived when Kakarot faced danger he could not handle alone. "Don't block his sword," Raddits said low. "You can't. So don't try. Take his arm." He gripped Kakarot's shoulder once, hard, then stepped back to the edge. The scarred warrior charged. His blade came down in a fast arc. Kakarot did not raise his fists to catch it. He remembered his brother's words. He twisted sideways. The sword hissed past his ear and bit the sand. Before the warrior could lift the blade again, Kakarot drove both gauntlets forward. He did not aim for the man. He aimed for the sword arm. The plasma cores struck the warrior's wrist together. The metal flashed white. The warrior screamed and his fingers sprang open. The curved sword spun away across the sand. Now the warrior had no steel. Kakarot had two burning fists and open ground. He stepped in and hammered the man's chest. The blow lifted the warrior off his feet. He crashed down and did not rise. The crowd roared. Kakarot stood over the fallen warrior, both gauntlets still smoking. The man who fought with steel lay disarmed in the dirt. First blood had gone to Kakarot after all. Master Roshi walked out from the shade. He did not smile, but he nodded. "One rival down," the old man said. "The rest were watching. Now they know your fists take swords." Raddits helped drag the beaten warrior aside. Chi-Chi wiped a cut on Kakarot's cheek with her thumb. "You still forgot your glove," she said. "Next time bring both." Across the sand, a huge man in shining armor stepped forward. He carried a two-handed greatsword as tall as a boy. He raised it and pointed the tip at Kakarot. "Beating a lesser blade means nothing," the big man said. "Face mine." The throne was still far away, and the next champion had already chosen his ground.

The armored champion planted his boots in the sand. His greatsword was as tall as a boy. Before the fight began, Master Roshi caught Kakarot by the wrist. The old man lowered his sunglasses. "That plasma trick beat one man," he said. "It won't beat two. This one has watched you. Fight him like you fought the last, and he'll punish every mistake." Kakarot pulled his arm free. "I don't have time to be slow," he said. Roshi shook his head and stepped back. "Then learn the hard way." Kakarot charged. Both gauntlets flared blue and pink. He swung for the big man's arm, the same strike that won before. The champion was ready. He turned his shoulder plate and took the blow on solid steel. The plasma cores flashed and did nothing. Then the flat of the greatsword slammed into Kakarot's ribs. The blow lifted him off his feet and threw him across the sand. Kakarot rose. He swung again. The champion caught his wrist, spun him, and hammered him down. A boot pressed his face into the dirt. Roshi's warning rang true. Every wild attack opened a gap, and the big man filled each one. Kakarot's gauntlets sparked weaker now. His arms shook. Blood ran from his mouth. Across the arena, Chi-Chi gripped Raddits's arm, her knuckles white. Raddits started forward. Roshi held him back. "No. He needs this." The champion raised his greatsword over Kakarot's back for the killing blow. Kakarot pressed his hands into the sand. He stopped swinging. He went still. He breathed once, slow, the way Roshi had drilled into him for years. Discipline. Not fire. He felt the plasma in the gauntlets, and beneath it, something deeper. A light burst from him. His black hair lifted and turned gold. His eyes flashed green. Sand blew away in every direction. The champion staggered back, blade wavering. Kakarot stood, and the ground cracked under his feet. His strength was fifty times what it had been. He moved before the big man could think. Kakarot caught the falling greatsword in one bare hand and snapped the blade like a stick. The champion swung a fist. Kakarot ducked it easily and drove his glowing hand through the man's chest plate. The armor buckled. The champion coughed once and dropped. He did not move again. The crowd went silent, then screamed. Kakarot stood over the dead champion, hair gold, eyes burning green. Slowly the light faded. His hair fell black again. He dropped to one knee, empty, his whole body trembling. Chi-Chi ran to him. Raddits followed. Master Roshi walked out last. He looked at the golden glow already gone from Kakarot's skin. He did not smile. "So it woke," the old man said quietly. "That was not discipline, boy. That was luck and rage. You can't call that power. Not yet." He looked toward the far seats, where a figure watched from the shadows. "And now everyone here saw it. They'll come ready."

The dead champion's body was still being dragged from the sand when the next challenger stepped forward. He was tall and bald, with a black goatee and one white blind eye. Electricity crawled over his bare arms. He had watched Kakarot's golden transformation from the shadows. Now he smiled like a man who already knew the ending. "They call me Hindurock," he said. "I know your secret, boy. Your power comes from anger. So let us find your anger early." Hindurock raised one hand. From the far side of the arena, chains rattled. A huge black bear lumbered out, armored in bone, its keeper struggling to hold the leash. Hindurock pointed past Kakarot, toward the seats. "Attack the woman," he said. The bear turned its head and found Chi-Chi. Before Kakarot could move, Hindurock closed the distance. Lightning burst from his palms. It struck Kakarot's chest and locked his muscles. The monk seized him from behind and forced him to his knees. "Watch," Hindurock whispered. "Transform now. Burn yourself out before we even begin." The bear charged the stands. Chi-Chi shoved a screaming child aside. Raddits leaped down to help, but the crowd blocked him. The bear reared over Chi-Chi, claws wide. Kakarot screamed and fought the current, but Hindurock's grip held like iron. Rage flooded him. His hair lifted and turned gold. His eyes flashed green. But this time Kakarot did not let the fire swallow him. He remembered Roshi's drills. He breathed once, slow, even as the power roared. He held the rage in his fist instead of letting it burn wild. He was transformed, and for the first time, he was in control. Kakarot drove his elbow back into Hindurock's ribs. The monk flew off him. Kakarot rose, golden and steady, and struck with clean, measured blows. No wild swings. Every punch landed where he aimed. Hindurock caught each one and answered it, blow for blow, lightning against golden fists. They were matched. Across the arena, Chi-Chi did not wait to be saved. She rolled under the bear's claws, drew the knife from her boot, and drove it up through the beast's throat. The bear shuddered and collapsed. Chi-Chi stood over it, breathing hard, her sleeve torn and bloody but her eyes fierce. She had fought in tournaments before she ever married Kakarot. She had not forgotten how. Hindurock saw the bear fall. His trap was broken. Kakarot felt his own power holding steady, not draining away. "You wanted my rage," Kakarot said. "Now I own it." He slammed both fists into Hindurock's chest. The lightning scattered. The monk crashed into the wall and slid down, senseless. The golden light faded slowly. Kakarot stood, tired but not empty. He walked to Chi-Chi and gripped her hand. Roshi watched from the edge, and for the first time, the old man almost smiled. Kakarot had learned to hold the fire. But the throne still waited, and stronger rivals had seen him win.

Hindurock still lay against the wall when the next challenger walked onto the sand. He wore light armor and steel gauntlets. His head was bald, his beard trimmed, small glasses over sharp eyes. He moved loose and easy, like a man who had never once hurried. Roshi stiffened at the arena's edge. Kakarot saw the old man's jaw tighten. That told him enough. "You're Sir Papa," Roshi said quietly. "My first student." The paladin smiled at his old master, then turned to Kakarot. "So this is who he trains now. A boy who leans on borrowed anger." He circled slowly. "Roshi taught me before he softened. Before he started handing his tricks to angry children. He was better then. You are proof of how far he has fallen." Heat rose in Kakarot's chest. He had learned to hold the fire. He held it now on purpose. His hair lifted gold. His eyes flashed green. But this time he chose it, calm and ready, before a single blow landed. "Good," Sir Papa said. "Now I don't have to wait." Kakarot lunged. He punched fast, faster than he had ever thrown. Sir Papa was already gone. A gauntlet snapped into Kakarot's ribs. The blow felt like a wall. Kakarot staggered, shocked. Even golden, even ready, he had not seen it coming. He threw a hook. Sir Papa slipped it and drove his knuckles up under Kakarot's chin. Kakarot's head snapped back. He swung wild now, and each miss cost him. The paladin was twice as fast. Every counter landed clean. Kakarot's power meant nothing against a man who read each punch before it opened. "You feel it?" Sir Papa said, not even breathing hard. "Strength with no craft. Roshi's newest failure." Kakarot dropped to one knee, spitting blood. Across the sand, Raddits gripped the rail, jaw clenched, ready to leap. But he did not. He met Kakarot's eyes instead. "Stop swinging!" Raddits shouted. "You're chasing him. Make him come to you. Watch his feet, not his fists." Kakarot stilled. He breathed slow, the way Roshi had drilled him. He stopped attacking. He watched Sir Papa's boots, the small shift before each strike. The paladin stepped in. This time Kakarot did not chase the fist. He read the foot, turned inside the blow, and drove one clean punch into the man's jaw. Sir Papa dropped. He blinked up from the sand, surprised for the first time. Kakarot stood over him, gold fading, chest heaving. "You're right," he said. "I had no craft. Now I'm learning." He walked to Roshi. The old man did not smile. "He beat you in one moment," Roshi said. "The next one won't give you that moment. Raw power is spent. From now you drill. Every day. Or the last fight ends you." Kakarot nodded. The throne was closer. So was the rival who would not miss.

The next challenger would not arrive for days. Roshi used the time. He led Kakarot from the arena to the old colosseum outside the city, a ring of weathered stone with towering arches and empty stone seats. "You drill here," Roshi said. "But you need a training partner who won't die." Kakarot looked at the vast, empty floor. He had the space now. He had no one to test the technique against. Chi-Chi waited at the center, sleeves tied back. Raddits stood beside her, arms crossed, his red cape hanging behind his armor. Kakarot's brother had saved him twice in the arena with cool advice while Kakarot bled. Now Raddits only smirked. "Show us what Roshi wants," he said. "Or admit you can't do it yet." Kakarot raised his fists and let the gold rise. His hair lifted. His eyes went green. He showed his brother the transformation up close, the calm control he had won against Hindurock. Raddits watched, then closed his eyes. His own hair burned gold. Green light filled his stare. He had the power too. The brothers circled, gold against gold. They traded blows. Raddits read footwork the way he had taught Kakarot to read Sir Papa. Every strike Kakarot threw came from thought, and Raddits slipped each one. Kakarot's chained bear paced its post at the arch, dragon-bone armor rattling, orange eyes tracking the fight. Kakarot's mind moved fast, but his body moved a half-beat slower. "Too slow!" Raddits said, and cracked him across the jaw. "You think too much." The voice came from an arch above. Sir Papa dropped to the sand, gauntlets loose, glasses catching the light. Roshi's first student. The man who had nearly killed Kakarot with pure craft days before. He walked onto the floor without asking. "Roshi drills the mind," Sir Papa said. "But the fast opponent kills the mind. You must let the body fight alone." Kakarot frowned. "Fight without thinking?" "Instinct." Sir Papa raised his hands. "I'll teach you. Attack me." Kakarot lunged. Sir Papa struck his shoulder, his ribs, his knee, faster than thought. "Stop planning," Sir Papa said. "Let go." Kakarot stopped counting his moves. He stopped watching feet. He breathed and let his hands move on their own. The next punch flew before he chose it. It clipped Sir Papa's cheek. Sir Papa smiled. "There." He pressed harder, and Kakarot answered without thinking, blocking, slipping, striking. His body fought alone. His mind went quiet and clear. For a long stretch he matched the paladin blow for blow, purely on instinct. Roshi nodded from the arch. "Now you have the technique," he said. "The last fight won't kill you." Sir Papa lowered his hands, breathing hard for the first time. "You learned it fast," he said. "But instinct has a cost. When the body rules, the mind can't stop it. Not even for the ones you love." He looked toward Chi-Chi. Kakarot's stomach turned cold.

Sir Papa's warning still burned in Kakarot's ears. Instinct could not be stopped, not even for those he loved. He had drilled it in the empty colosseum for days. He had no live opponent to test it. When the horn sounded and the next challenger came, Kakarot would fight untested. That day came sooner than he wanted. Three strangers walked onto the arena floor. The first was small, purple and white, with a whip-thin tail and cold red eyes. He smiled like the fight was already won. "I am Frieza," he said. "My brothers and I came for the throne." Beside him stood Cooler, broad and armored, his fists like stone. Behind them came Cell, green-skinned, his tail curling, orange eyes glowing. The crowd went silent. Even Raddits stopped smirking. "A team match," Frieza said. "You, and whoever you trust." Roshi's jaw tightened. Kakarot called Raddits and Sir Papa to his side. Three against three. The paladin cracked his gauntlets. "Now you test it," Sir Papa said. "For real." They went gold from the first bell. Kakarot let his hair rise, his eyes turn green. Raddits burned gold beside him. But Frieza's team was faster than anything they had faced. Cooler drove a fist into Kakarot's chest and threw him across the sand. Cell wrapped his tail around Raddits and slammed him down. Sir Papa fought Frieza blow for blow, then took a kick that cracked his light armor. Kakarot rose, blood in his mouth. His mind screamed to plan. He remembered Sir Papa's lesson. He stopped thinking. He let his body move alone. His hands blocked Cooler's next strike before he chose to. He slipped Cell's tail and struck the green ribs. For one long stretch, instinct held. He matched all three. But power has a limit. Cooler laughed and raised both hands over his head. "Then we take the whole planet," he said. A ball of energy grew above him, red and roaring. Frieza and Cell backed away, grinning. Cooler hurled it down at the arena floor. It would crack the planet open. Roshi shouted one word. "The wave!" Kakarot cupped his hands at his side. Roshi had taught him this move years ago, the one he saved for the end. His body knew it. Blue light gathered between his palms. He thrust his hands forward and fired. The blue wave met Cooler's red ball in the air. They pressed against each other, throwing sparks across the seats. Kakarot poured everything into the beam. His arms shook. The two forces held, dead even, grinding between them. Cooler pushed harder. Kakarot's feet slid back in the sand. Raddits dragged himself up. Sir Papa found his footing. The wave still held, but Kakarot felt his strength draining fast. The clash would break soon, one way or the other. Whoever gave first would lose the planet.

The blue wave still held, but Kakarot felt his arms failing. Cooler pushed harder, and the red ball crept closer. Kakarot's feet dug into the sand and slid. He was almost empty. One more push and the planet would break. Then a voice cut through the roar. "Kakarot!" Chi-Chi ran to the edge of the arena floor. His wife had fought in tournaments before she married him, and she did not scare easy. But now her face was pale. "I love you," she shouted. "Push harder! If you lose, we all die!" Something burned in Kakarot's chest. It was not rage this time. It was her. Heat spread through his arms and up into his skull. His golden hair flashed brighter, then drained to solid white. His green eyes turned white too. The pain left. His strength came back tenfold. He screamed and shoved his hands forward. The blue wave swelled and roared. It swallowed the red ball and pushed it back with ease. Cooler's eyes went wide. He threw himself sideways at the last moment. The energy tore past him and burst high in the empty sky. Kakarot did not wait. In a blink he crossed the sand. Cooler turned, too slow. Kakarot appeared behind him and chopped the side of his neck with the edge of his hand. Cooler dropped face-first and did not move. Frieza spun toward the empty space where Kakarot had been. "Where—" He never finished. Kakarot was already on him. One strike behind the head, and the small purple fighter crumpled into the sand. Cell lashed his tail out on instinct. Kakarot slipped under it. His body moved on its own, faster than thought, the way Sir Papa had taught him. He drove a fist into Cell's stomach, then struck the back of his neck. Cell folded and went still. The arena went silent. Three of the strongest fighters lay in the sand, out cold. Raddits pushed himself up and stared at his brother. "White," he said, breathing hard. "That's new." Sir Papa wiped blood from his mouth and nodded once, like a teacher who had seen his lesson pay off. Kakarot let the white power fade. His hair fell dark again. His legs shook, but he stood. Chi-Chi climbed over the wall and ran to him. He caught her and held on. Roshi walked onto the floor and looked down at the three fallen fighters. "They came for the throne," he said. "They will wake in chains." Then he studied Kakarot with a careful eye. "That white form saved us. But I have never seen it. Neither has anyone else." Kakarot looked at his own hands. The power was gone now, but he had felt its edge. He did not know how to call it back. And somewhere above them, on a high seat, the true holder of the throne had watched the whole thing. That fight was still to come.

Kakarot stood over the three fallen fighters, still catching his breath. Then laughter rolled down from the high seat. A short warrior with wild black hair leaped into the arena and landed light on the sand. Gold bands shone on his wrists. Raddits stepped in front of his brother at once, jaw tight. "That's him," Raddits said low. "The one who owns the throne." This was Warlord Broly, and even Raddits looked afraid. "You want my throne?" Broly grinned. "Then be the strongest there is. Beat me, brother. A fight to the death." Kakarot reached for his golden power. His hair flashed gold and his eyes turned green. He rushed in and threw a punch. Broly caught the fist without moving his feet. Then his own hair drained white, just like Kakarot's had. His eyes went white too. He held the white form steady, calm and easy. "I mastered these forms long ago," Broly said. He shoved Kakarot back across the sand. "Yours comes by accident. Mine comes when I call it." Kakarot's stomach dropped. He did not know how to summon his own white form. It had only come once, when Chi-Chi shouted her love from the wall. He could not force it now. His gold would burn out, and then Broly would break him. From the edge, Chi-Chi gripped the wall. Sir Papa watched with folded arms, and Roshi's face was grim. Broly's grin widened. "But there is a third form. Watch." He spread his arms. The ground began to shake. Lightning cracked down all around the arena and struck the sand in white bolts. Broly's white hair burned red. His eyes turned red too. The air itself seemed to press down on Kakarot's chest. Kakarot's gold flickered. His power was running low, fast. He could not match red with gold. He thought of Chi-Chi, of Raddits, of the love that had lit him before. He tried to feel it on command. Nothing came. The white would not answer to fear or wanting alone. Then Sir Papa's voice cut across the arena. "Stop thinking! Let the body call it!" The paladin had taught him this once, to act on instinct, without the mind. Kakarot let go. He stopped chasing the feeling. He breathed and let his body decide. Heat surged up his spine on its own. His gold hair drained to white. His eyes went white and clear. The panic left. He had done it, awake and by choice this time. But across the sand, Broly stood in his red form, lightning still crawling over his skin. His power dwarfed the white glow around Kakarot. Broly laughed and stepped forward. "Good. Now you'll die at your best." Kakarot could summon his white form at will now. He had solved that. But it was not enough. Broly's third form towered over him, and the real fight had only begun.

Kakarot held his white form steady, but Broly's red glow crushed the air from his lungs. Broly rushed in. His fist drove into Kakarot's ribs. Kakarot flew across the sand and struck the wall. He tried to rise. Broly was already there. The next blow snapped his head back. Blood ran from his mouth. His white glow flickered and died. He lay in the dirt, spent. No form left to call. "Weak," Broly said. He crouched over Kakarot. But he wasn't smiling with cruelty now. He looked almost bored. "I wanted a real fight." He reached into his sash and pulled out a small piece of candy. He pressed it into Kakarot's shaking hand. "Eat it. It heals every wound. You'll be whole again, at full strength." He stood. "I don't want to kill a broken man. I want to beat you at your best." Kakarot stared at the candy. Trap or not, his body was ruined. He put it in his mouth. Warmth spread through him. His ribs knit. The blood dried. Strength poured back until he stood tall, whole, breathing easy. Broly grinned and raised his fists. "Now we start." Then a scream tore across the arena. Kakarot turned. At the far wall, three figures had risen from where they'd lain unconscious. Cooler, Cell, and their fallen ally's brother. Cooler's red eyes burned in his purple face. "Frieza is dead," Cooler said. His voice shook the stands. "He died of the wounds you gave him. We came for you." Cell hissed and lashed his tail. Sir Papa leaped between them and Kakarot, gauntlets up. "You'll go through me first," the bald paladin said. Raddits landed at his brother's side, cape torn, fists clenched. "And me," Raddits growled. Broly watched, his own duel forgotten for a breath. Chaos spilled into the sand. Cell went for Sir Papa. Raddits caught the brother's charge. Kakarot faced Cooler alone. Cooler laughed. White plates snapped shut over his purple body, locking into a full suit of gleaming armor. His muscles swelled beneath it. "You beat the old me," Cooler said. "This is the new one." He blurred forward faster than before. His armored fist smashed Kakarot's guard aside and cracked his jaw. Kakarot skidded back, stunned. The candy had healed him, but Cooler's new form outpaced his every block. Kakarot spat blood into the sand. His duel with Broly was on hold. Now a healed body wasn't enough. Cooler's armored form was quicker and harder than anything he'd faced, and Cell was tearing through the others behind him. He had traded one impossible enemy for a battlefield of them.

Cooler's armored fist blurred again. Kakarot blocked, but too slow. The blow drove him to one knee in the sand. Across the arena, Cell whipped his tail at Sir Papa's head. The paladin ducked and jabbed back with his gauntlets. Broly stood apart, arms folded, watching the chaos he had paused his own duel to see. Kakarot pushed himself up. His white form burned, yet Cooler still moved a step ahead of every guard. He could not close the gap. If he stayed this slow, Cooler would cut him down long before he ever faced Broly again. Raddits landed hard beside him. Kakarot's older brother had always stepped between him and danger, since they were boys. He had done it against every rival in this arena. He did it now. His cape hung in shreds. His fists shook, but his eyes were steady. "You can't match him thinking," Raddits said. "You told me yourself. Stop thinking. Let your body move." It was the lesson Sir Papa had drilled into them both. Kakarot nodded once. Raddits roared. Golden light burst around him. He tore across the sand and slammed into Cell, wrenching the creature off Sir Papa. Cell's tail cracked against Raddits's ribs. Raddits held on. He drove Cell into the far wall and pinned him there. "Go, brother!" Raddits shouted. "He's yours now!" Kakarot let his mind go quiet. He stopped watching Cooler. He stopped planning the block. His body took over. Cooler's fist came, and Kakarot was no longer there. He moved without deciding to. He flickered to Cooler's side, then behind him, faster than his eyes could follow. For the first time, he matched the armored form's speed. His instinct answered every strike before his thoughts could name it. Cooler spun, confused. "You were slow a moment ago!" His fist swung wide. Kakarot slipped under it. He caught Cooler's arm and hurled him back. Then he raised both palms. Blue light gathered. "Raddits!" Kakarot called. Raddits dropped Cell and thrust his own hands forward. Golden energy poured from his palms. Two beams met Cooler at once, blue and gold crashing into the armored chest. Cooler screamed. He pushed back, plates glowing, but two forces pressed him from both sides. The white armor cracked. Light swallowed him. When it faded, Cooler lay still in the sand, his armor split open, his form gone. Cell stumbled back, staring at his fallen ally, then fled into the tunnels. Kakarot stood, breathing hard, the white glow steady around him. The revenge attack was broken. Raddits gripped his shoulder and grinned through cracked lips. But the arena was not empty. Broly unfolded his arms and stepped forward onto the sand. His black hair lifted. Red light crept along his skin. "Well fought," Broly said. "Now finish what we started." The throne was still his. And the fight to the death waited.

Cell's footsteps faded into the tunnels. Kakarot turned to face Broly. The Warlord of Planet Vegeta stood on the sand, arms folded, black hair lifting. He had already beaten Kakarot once and then healed him with candy, wanting a real fight. Now the crowd filled the weathered stone seats of the great colosseum. They waited for the death duel to finish. Broly reached into his sash. He pulled out a small candy and tossed it. Kakarot caught it. "Eat," Broly said. "I want you whole. I want no excuses." Kakarot swallowed it. His cracked ribs knit. His strength returned in a rush. He summoned his white form and charged. He threw everything at once. Broly blocked each strike without moving his feet. Then red light crept up Broly's arms. "Are you ready?" Broly asked. His muscles swelled. Lightning split the sky. Thunder cracked. The air pressed down so hard that ordinary people in the stands dropped to one knee. Broly's kick landed in Kakarot's chest before he saw it move. Kakarot flew back and slammed into the wall. He slid down and coughed blood. The white form was not enough. Charging in only got him hit. He pushed himself up and rushed again anyway, and Broly's fist buried into his gut. He crumpled. "Kakarot, stop!" Raddits shouted from the sand. His older brother had shielded him since they were boys, and he tried to now, stepping toward the fight. "You can't win by rushing him!" Sir Papa caught Raddits's arm. The bald paladin held him back. "No. This is Kakarot's," Sir Papa said. He looked at Kakarot through his glasses. "Stop attacking. You're thinking. Let your body read him." It was the lesson that had beaten Cooler. Chi-Chi stood at the wall. "I believe in you," she called. Her voice cut through the storm. She had never once doubted him. Kakarot stood. He stopped planning the next punch. He let his mind go quiet and let his body take over. Broly swung. Kakarot was no longer there. He flickered aside on instinct. Broly's fist tore only air. For the first time, Kakarot moved with the red form, not behind it. Broly grinned and pressed harder. Blow after blow came, and Kakarot slipped each one. He was not stronger. But he was no longer being killed. His body answered every attack before his thoughts could name it. Then his foot caught a crack in the sand. His body dodged the punch it saw coming. It ignored the second fist. Instinct could not be stopped, even to save himself. Broly's uppercut smashed his jaw. Kakarot spun and dropped. He rose slowly. He had survived the red form now. Instinct closed the gap Broly's power had opened. But the same instinct had left him open, and Broly had found the hole. To win the throne, Kakarot needed more than speed he could not control.

Kakarot pushed himself off the sand. His jaw throbbed where Broly's uppercut had landed. Instinct had let him dodge the red form, but instinct alone left him open. Broly waited across the ring, arms folded, red light rolling off his skin. The crowd in the weathered stone seats sat silent. They had watched their Warlord toy with a man who could not win. Kakarot needed more power, and he had none left to find. He looked past Broly to the wall. Master Roshi stood there in his orange robe and dark glasses, the old master who had made every technique Kakarot knew. Roshi met his eyes and said one word. "Fusion." Kakarot remembered it then. Years ago, he and Raddits had learned a fusion dance from Roshi. Two warriors became one body, one power far beyond either alone. They had never once used it. Kakarot turned to his brother on the sand. Raddits stared back. His older brother had shielded him their whole lives, stepping between Kakarot and every threat. Now Raddits nodded. "I remember the steps," he said. He crossed onto the sand beside Kakarot. "It only lasts two hours. Make them count." Sir Papa pulled the others back to the wall to clear the space. Broly frowned but did not attack. He wanted a worthy fight, so he let them move. The brothers faced each other. They spread their arms, stepped in mirror, and pressed their fingers together at the last beat. White light swallowed them both. One warrior stood where two had been. His power slammed across the colosseum. The stone seats trembled. Broly's grin returned. "Now," he said, and charged. The fused warrior met him fist to fist. The shock cracked the sand into a wide ring. This time no one flew back. Broly's red blows landed and were answered blow for blow. They rose off the ground and traded strikes in the air. Each impact boomed like thunder over the arches. Chi-Chi gripped the wall. "They're even," she said. "He's finally even." Around her, ordinary people stared with open mouths. One whispered that these were not warriors but gods. Another said no one in the seats would survive if a single blast went wide. They pressed low against the stone and watched anyway. Broly and the fused warrior collided again. The ground split beneath them. A chunk of the outer arches broke loose and crashed into the empty upper seats. For the first time, Broly took a step back. Blood ran from his lip. His red form had never bled before. The fused warrior wiped his own mouth and smiled with Kakarot's grin and Raddits's fire both at once. "We can win this," he said. Broly's eyes narrowed. The power gap was gone. But the clock had started, and two hours would not last forever.

The fused warrior drove Broly across the sand. Each blow cracked the air. Blood ran from both their mouths now. But the fused warrior felt his own edges thinning. The two hours were nearly gone. Deep inside the single body, two minds knew it. Kakarot and Raddits both felt the clock pulling at them. They had one strike left before the fusion broke. Broly stepped back and raised both hands. Red light gathered above his palms. It stretched long and sharp, a spear of energy taller than the broken arches. The heat of it dried the sweat on every face in the seats. "Enough," Broly said. He aimed the spear at the fused warrior's chest. The fused warrior planted his feet. He cupped his hands at his side. Blue light bloomed there, the wave Master Roshi had drilled into Kakarot years ago. On the wall, Roshi gripped his cane. "Hold nothing back," the old master shouted. Sir Papa pushed Chi-Chi lower behind the stone, his gauntlets spread like a shield over her head. "Stay down," the paladin said. "If this breaks, the whole arena goes." Broly threw the spear. The fused warrior fired the blue wave. The two beams slammed together in the center of the ring. The ground split outward. Stone arches toppled. Far beyond the colosseum, the land itself shook. People in distant towns screamed and ran. Cracks opened in the fields. The sky filled with dust. Everyone who watched felt the whole planet tremble under the clash. The fused warrior pushed. The blue wave crept forward one hand's width. Broly's spear bent back. For one breath, victory was close enough to touch. Then the white glow around the fused body flickered. The two hours had run out. The single warrior tore apart. Kakarot and Raddits split back into two men. They stumbled where one had stood, hands empty, the blue wave gone. Broly's red spear rolled forward unopposed. Raddits shoved Kakarot sideways with the last of his strength. The spear tore past them both and struck the far wall. The blast threw the brothers across the sand. They landed hard and did not rise. Dust swallowed the ring. When it cleared, Broly still stood, breathing hard, his lip split, his arm hanging. Chi-Chi climbed over the stone and ran to them. Kakarot opened his eyes. His brother lay beside him, chest rising slow. "We had him," Raddits whispered. "We had him for one second." Broly looked down at the two broken men. He did not finish them. "Fusion is a crutch," he said. "Come back as one man. Or not at all." He turned and walked from the ring. Kakarot pushed up on one elbow. The throne was still Broly's. The fusion was spent and could not be used again today. But he had made the Warlord bleed and bend. Next time, he would have to do it alone.