Rights: All rights belong to Akira Toriyama, Toyotarou and Toei Animation

This is based on the manga cannon, so there may be some discrepancies with the anime.

WARNINGS: This story is very, very dark, with a large amount of violence, gore, and sexual references, including references to non-consensual sex, and to a certain extent, scenes. It has been given the highest rating for a reason – you have been warned.

It was a kaleidoscope of horror, blood and bodily fluids splashing everywhere, covering his shoes as he walked. Pristine white boots now lacquered in crimson, the same as his gloves, one of which held a still beating heart.

Without a thought he cooked it with his ki, tasting the delicious flesh of the newly killed.

Bodies littered the space around him like an upturned cemetery, dismembered, spilling their intestines on the scorched earth.

Vegeta should have been confused, since this was not a purge mission, yet he was wearing the armour he had donned as one of Frieza's slaves.

No, this carnage was the result of someone insulting him. Insulting his mother, which he didn't have, knew he didn't have even as an image of the Queen of All Saiyans swam before his eyes. He was an Old God, and he had created himself in the dawn of the omniverse. He did not, therefore, have parents, even though King Vegeta was certainly his father.

This ought to have introduced a seed of doubt in Vegeta's mind, but it did not.

Just as the fact that he was clearly on Frieza Planet 95, but the bodies were of early Yardratians, onion-shaped heads not fully evolved, and he knew they did not live on this planet. Had never lived on this planet.

Like how this planet didn't have two suns.

There was a whimper, a sniffle, from behind, causing him to turn.

A small child, so weak his senses had not picked her up, leaned over a fallen body, probably her mother, mutilated beyond recognition.

Reminding him that he had not yet satisfied himself with the dead women on this planet.

No…

Strange. Why did he feel reluctant? He was always so keen to lose himself in the pleasure of his own organs, laughing at the way their relatives screamed with anguish. Mortals were so terribly fun to play with.

He stopped a moment, bloody finger finding his chin as he wondered whether he was a mortal. He felt he was, but at the same time, he wasn't.

Things weren't adding up, but Vegeta did not care. Shaking the hesitance from his mind, he refocused on his task.

Finish the child.

And have a nice time with the disfigured mother.

No!

The tiny scrub reminded him of someone, he thought as he reached her, chubby face staring up at him, radiating innocence and life. Giant blue eyes quivered with tears, running down her rosy cheeks. Two pig-tails the colour of her eyes sprouted from her head, skin completely unlike the Yardratians he had killed, a milk tea-like hue.

Unbidden, his heart began to pound as he raised a glowing palm, ready to end the tiny child.

It was probably the more merciful option, considering the destruction around her. She could join the family she was so distressed over. And he could have two females to play with; a younger one was surely far more interest—

No!

He wasn't sure where these objections were coming from, where the engulfing feeling of nausea originated from. Breath coming in sharp pants, heart trying to escape his ribs, he found the ki wouldn't come.

What was wrong with him?

Why did he feel so disgusted? This was normal behaviour for him. Enjoyable behaviour for him.

No! Wake up! WAKE UP!

Wake…?

"Vegeta!" one of the bodies leapt to their feet, grasping his shoulder and shaking it as he stood, stock still and uncomprehending. He was used to deformed corpses, familiar with pain and destruction, yet he couldn't look away from the horrid fascination that was this undead figure.

"Vegeta! Wake up!"

Funny he looked like Gohan—

Vegeta sat bolt upright with a gasp, aware of sweat coating his bed as his chest heaved. One hand raised shakily towards his heart, feeling the rapid thumping beneath his skin.

Just a dream, he told himself.

Just a dream.

Alone in his hospital room Vegeta realised that he hadn't been entirely truthful to the young hybrid, but through no fault of his own. He wasn't sure how the deities managed to communicate with disparate peoples across the universe, but it wasn't through the means of a communication chip like Vegeta remembered he didn't have anymore. Because it had been destroyed when his body had been brutalised.

He shuddered. He kept forgetting, kept slipping into feeling that he was in his own body, because the physical experience was almost the same, aside from the power, when suddenly a memory or a realisation would hit him, blindsiding him for a moment. He was supposed to be mourning, he thought. Mourning for the form he had lost in a moment of confusion on a forsaken planet. Mourning for the life he had left behind, and the horrific memories he had acquired.

It hadn't really hit him yet, though. He had not shed a single tear. No funeral, no internment in the family tomb, no burial at the very least. It was easy to pretend it hadn't happened, only it had, it really very truly had, because he kept waking in desperation trying to prevent himself from performing some grotesque act.

But it didn't feel real without a proper ceremony, even if he had given his body a few final words as it was dropped into the lonely cosmos. There would be no flowers, no headstone.

No mourners, because no one else knew what he had lost.

But he had also gained something, in turn. Something he hadn't asked for, didn't even want, but had received all the same. Apart from the physical power, he wondered what other gifts he had received with the body and its memories. What abilities he now possessed, if he dove into the horrific recesses of his mind. He wondered how he could speak without a translation chip, a device he had relied upon when living on this planet.

Would he be able to switch more easily to his native language, now?

It was worth testing out.

"Get back, fiend!"

Vegeta rubbed his forehead as he regarded the enraged and cautious individual before him, which was pointing a bow staff at his sternum. He really wasn't in the mood for this. He had been imbibed into a famished body through his own agonising and stressful death, had been engaged in rapid recovery from starvation, and had just spent the last several hours in fierce concentration.

The First One may have been an Old God, but physical matter was more his expertise – gases, rocks, suns, planets, you name it. Not life forms, biological or metaphysical. What he had just done relied on the combination of The First One's very limited expertise, and his own recent undertakings in the realm of the spirit.

He had just brought an angel back from non-existence.

And that angel was not happy.

Neither was Vegeta, staring nonplussed at his accuser and massaging his temples. Good gracious, is this what the great dragon went through to bring all of those universes back? Vegeta had barely managed one angel.

Some God.

"Gemuse! What are you doing here?! What do you want?!"

The fact that he was standing right in front of Merus was not, in fact, his ideal choice – he didn't want to be exactly 'here' at all. Far better for Merus to wake and put his own spin on the situation rather than see him and, First One forbid (and that was an ironic phrase now) try to capture him with his self-sacrificing sense of justice. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to perform the rite of restoration (he believed that was what it was called, but the First One was hardly an expert on such matters, given he really hadn't cared one whit about neutral parties) from a distance. No, he had needed to be in close proximity to the meagre echoes which remained of Merus' presence.

There hadn't been much of an essence to work with at all, making Vegeta's still vulnerable stomach clench at how close they had come to losing this...rather endearing, if quite naïve being.

The being who was now prodding Vegeta experimentally with the edge of his bow staff as said prince's eyeballs clamoured for attention amongst the cacophony of his syncopating brain.

"GEMUSE!"

"Could you tone it down?" Vegeta groaned, "I have a headache."

"You..." the bowstaff dropped, "You have a...headache? As in...Lord Gemuse, terror of the omniverse and depraved nightmare, has a headache?"

"Yes, so kindly lower your voice. Inducing a galaxy-sized migraine is no way to treat your saviour."

"Saviour?"

Darn, he wasn't thinking straight.

"Ah...well actually, you...came back out of Moro, because he had an echo of you inside him."

"That is the worst false explanation I have ever heard," Merus deadpanned.

"You can think of something better, then! I was not involved!"

Vegeta wondered idly if sensu beans could cure a magic-induced fatigue headache, since he absolutely did not have the concentration to manage a healing on himself.

"You want this to be a secret?" Merus confirmed.

"Yes."

"What do you want, anyway?" Merus questioned, still refusing to remove his weapon from the field.

"Three roasted sheep, television programs that do not turn my brain into mashed potato, and an aspirin that will work on saiyan gods."

"Don't mock me!"

Vegeta completely ignored the rigid stance of his 'patient', his set eyes and grim mouth, and instead decided that the cool, patchy soil beneath him would be a good place to sit. He hoped that Merus would leave soon – his trick at locking the bathroom from the outside with telekinesis would not last long with the nursing staff.

"Like I attempted to convey to you earlier, there is no need to yell. I am right here, and I am, as they say, entirely made of ears."

"What." Merus shook himself, "Look, here you are, evil incarnate and...incarnate!"

Merus' eyes bugged, drawing a gasp as he tightened his grip on his weapon.

"Who are you?!"

Vegeta gave him a bland look, "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not say."

"Well, you'd have to be really powerful, and it's very unlikely for you not to be a saiyan, with the way Destiny acts –."

Now she was one strange Old God. He rather liked to think he would have had some say in the process, though.

"—Goku?"

Merus was looking at him expectantly, while Vegeta tried not to let that festering scab infect his thought process. He didn't want to think about Merus' assumptions, not one bit.

Damn Kakarot.

"I can neither confirm nor deny your hypothesis."

"Goku's not bright or educated enough to know what that means."

"Ah, but maybe I was pretending to be a buffoon all along."

"No, you're right," Merus considered aloud, "You couldn't be Goku, because he's too good natured—"

Vegeta snorted in the quiet of his own head.

"—and the re-incarnation process never managed to cleanse Gemuse of his villainy, although it did remove a lot of his spiritual power..."

Well, that revelation certainly warranted a swear word that Vegeta was not allowed to say in front of the children on pain of death.

"Would you catch sight of the time!" Vegeta announced, leaping to his feet, "Another ineffectual round of painkillers calls."

"Hey wait!" Merus tried to forestall his hasty exit, "I don't know who you are! I don't know what you'll do with that power! I can't just let you leave!"

"I need to get back! I only locked the bathroom to allay suspicion!"

"You..." Merus blinked at him, "Why didn't you just leave a clone?"

"I can do that?! Darn, that would have been a good idea."

There must be a treasure trove of weird techniques in this brain, just waiting for Vegeta to be brave enough to look. He had tried out cloning on Yardrat but had needed to cut that short.

"You're...not what I was expecting to be honest," Merus still had his staff raised, and Vegeta desperately wanted to get back without breaking it, preferably before his wife arrived for her daily visit.

"Yes, yes, I defy all expectations. Can I leave now, or do I need to activate your insurance on that thing?"

Merus gazed down at his staff, then back at Vegeta, who was tapping his foot impatiently, and unintentionally in time with the throbbing of his skull.

"I suppose I can just ask Whis," Merus conceded, "He always knows what's going on."

Vegeta did have the ability, he had discovered along with an odd sensation the previous day, to tell if someone was watching him using magic (and perhaps he could learn to copy Moro's strange omniscience technique). However, he wasn't sure if anyone had been spying on him during the precious moments of transition, when he had been adjusting to the situation, and generally in bad shape.

"Make sure he keeps quiet," Vegeta warned in a low voice before taking to the skies, although he understood that if Beerus ordered the angel to reveal the prince's secrets, he would.

There was really no point worrying about it in any case.

But he would need to prepare.

She had left.

After all of her reassurances to the contrary, the reality of his history was too much for her. Finally, she comprehended the scale of what he had done. What he had been raised and destined for, built for as a saiyan and particularly as saiyan royalty.

He no longer revelled in his achievements, no longer glorified death, was ashamed, even, of his actions in choosing the easy route of blind obedience, only rebelling when he was too far gone as a person for it to make much difference. He would have been the same kind of ruler as Frieza eventually, he was sure, which he believed was the bastard's plan all along. An heir before he had learned of immortality.

Or just a plaything which reminded him of himself.

Either way, Vegeta had been evil, truly evil, a corrupt heart and bitter mind, cutting down all who stood in his way to greatness. To revenge. At some point he had stopped caring about his people, his species and the base of his pride, feeling himself superior. He had learned to detach himself from his emotions, to the point where at times he had felt nothing at all.

It wasn't helping him now.

Bulma had left him. She had become disgusted upon finally understanding his history, and had fled the room, leaving him alone in their shared bed.

Cold.

Even though she produced a minimal amount of body heat.

He shouldn't have trusted her at all, no matter what she had said. But he hadn't expected his words to have such an effect, not when she knew what he had done.

Only, she hadn't known had she? Not really.

But now she did, now she comprehended. A very small part of him was relieved at the confirmation that she could not be trusted with the new piece of information about what he had become. She would never be able to stand being touched by the hands that had done such depraved things to his victims, particularly the females.

But the rest of him was devastated, because the one woman he loved above all things had proven herself as transient as the clouds. Yet again, since this was hardly the first split of their relationship. She had recoiled from him, the disgust on her features burned on his retina as he tried to fall asleep. After everything they had endured together, after all of their fights which usually ended in him vacating the bed. After baring his misdeeds, after the calamity with the World Martial Arts Tournament. She had always been steadfast to him, always resolute in her love, always determined that he would return to her, that they would be a happy couple, like a fairy-tale. Well, after a fair bit of yelling, he had to confess. And eventually, they had. Bonded together in a way which would have caused them to be ostracised on his home planet. She had become his world. And with her the children he would give everything for.

His greatest love. And she had left him.

He hadn't wanted Bulma to find out about his tail. It was inevitable, that, as his wife, he would only garner suspicion hiding his body from her but…

He thought the knowledge of his newly regrown appendage was worse. Worse because it made zero sense, might send her mind into dark areas that really weren't the cause. He could make a few guesses of things which might trigger a regrowth which he did not want to think about.

He should have lied and said that Yardratian magic was more effective, could bring back dead limbs. But then she might have told Kakarot and his spawn, who might have wanted their own tails returned. And that would have opened up a whole new can of worms.

Vegeta didn't like that earth phrase, but he thought it was apt now.

Glad to be sleeping in the same bed, to be feeling her comforting warmth, Vegeta couldn't help but tense up as he almost heard the cogs turning in her mind. Wondering. Thinking. Considering.

Was she going to figure it out? She knew Puar and Oolong after all. She might twig.

But, then again, she might not.

Probably wouldn't, if he could just keep his head.

It was strange. His family had certainly noticed him being quiet, almost submissive.

He was so ashamed of the actions of this body he had found himself in that he…he didn't want to cause any more trouble, he supposed. But it wasn't only that. No, it was also simple overcompensation. The saiyan traits which he had controlled so easily in his old body, that rage, that violence, those bloodthirsty tendencies. They had all increased, so much so that he felt as if he were in his Great Ape form all of the time.

So he overcorrected his nature in order not to give in to those instincts.

The blood continued to haunt him, though. He had heard of a human play where the perpetrator of a murder kept trying to wash the blood from their hands, but it was only in their imagination. Vegeta himself was showing some symptoms of that, scrubbing for longer than necessary, showering with more vigour than usual. He couldn't physically see the blood, though. Only in his dreams.

He hated those dreams. He would rather not have the memories he had acquired, but they refused to be subdued, haunting his every sleeping moment and emerging suddenly throughout the day. A movement, an action, a flash of colour could trigger a recollection which Vegeta would rather not have had.

He wished they would go away. He wished he wasn't stuck in this body, this body responsible for so many worse atrocities than Vegeta had been struggling to come to terms with from his own past. He wished none of this had happened, but it was too late, now. Too late because he hadn't found a way, bewildered and starved that he was, to maintain the rouse while salvaging his old body. And the rouse was essential, because if Beerus ever found out his identity…

The cat-god might not be much trouble for Vegeta with his current power, but he could easily take out his frustrations and thirst for revenge on his family. And that was something Vegeta couldn't risk.

Nothing was going to happen to Vegeta's family on his watch. They were more important to him than anything else. More important than his saiyan heritage, which only made him cringe now, more important than his pride. More important than power and strength, although it had taken discarding everything for him to finally realise that.

Speaking of power and strength, though, he now possessed more than he could ever have dreamed of. Even recovering from starvation, the First One was a truly supreme being, the epitome of physical perfection.

He should have been ecstatic. All the power he could have ever wanted was at his disposal, or soon would be, once he recovered. Strength he had striven for all of his life. He had finally surpassed Kakarot, had surpassed the gods themselves, even.

But it didn't satisfy him. It was cheating, arriving at this ultimate physique without the scars or sweat to show for it. This body had no scars, no flaws. Hiding under the battered and broken form he had assumed, there were no blemishes.

It had never suffered.

It felt duplicitous, to claim he had finally bested his ultimate rival, when really, he hadn't. He had been handed a new form, handed new strength, on a silver platter.

Handed a horde of memories he wanted nothing to do with.

Vegeta himself felt cheated out of the gut-wrenching process he should have endured to reach this pinnacle.

What would he have to show for himself in Shindakan?

Only, he would never have the opportunity to see that place again, that place of myth and legend which had been so important to his people.

Because he was immortal.

He didn't want to think about what that might mean for his relationships with his family. Just wanted to live in the present, adjusting to his memories and trying to return to normalcy. There would be no need to worry about such things yet, even though Bulma was, despite her protests, middle-aged.

Even though her parents were certainly passed that point.

Not yet, he decided.

And when the time came, he would find a way to visit.

The First One had a whole host of techniques which he had yet to tap into.

Vegeta found himself in the throne room, a vast expanse of gold plated tiles and tapestries hanging down over granite-coloured walls embedded with the bones of his detractors. Crimson was the order of the day, decorating every surface and adding blood-like touches to the otherwise ebony furniture.

It was the right colour, but Vegeta couldn't help but feel a little uncertain. His location looked nothing like the throne room in which he had knelt, shivering before the father he had both admired and feared.

But it was still his throne room, his seat of power, and speaking of, he was reclined lazily, a posture so out of character yet so normal for him, on an ornate gold throne. In one hand was a goblet, the same hue as the seat, decorated with sapphires, and filled with a dark red liquid.

Blood, he realised, swirling it about.

It was his favourite drink which he absolutely hated the taste of. His father had relished the beverage, forcing Vegeta to chug at his own princely cup whenever there was a banquet, but Vegeta had always preferred his meals well done.

Even though he didn't have a father.

Sweeping aside the misgivings, Vegeta focused on the worm in front of him. Not a literal one, since Vegeta would have recoiled in horror, even though such creatures had never frightened him. No, this was a person, if Vegeta cared enough to recognise that, and she was well and truly beneath his notice.

The only reason she was here was because he wanted her beneath him.

Down below, a part of him which he had no shame and all the shame in the world for, twitched pleasantly as he regarded his latest specimen.

Blue hair, the colour of his favourite oceans, a beautiful colour which stirred a deep feeling within him even though he had previously preferred red up until now. Creamy white skin, pale and glistening in the light of the torches which danced in their brackets. Blue eyes, the same colour as her hair. Roughly his height, which was always ideal, and no extra limbs to worry about. No, just the four.

A human. And a delectable one at that.

Even if she was a little older than was optimum for Vegeta. He didn't care, though, not really, the ages of his female conquests. He had pleasured his way around the omniverse, savouring the best all society's had to offer, leaving some alive to produce more, enjoying the still bodies of some he had killed, on purpose or by accident with the force of his passion.

All of which was odd, considering that he had not actually done the deed, consensually, with anyone until…

He couldn't remember her name, but had a feeling it matched the face in front of him.

The face he was going to enjoy watching as he –

No!

That voice again, that annoying stick-in-the-mud voice which always interrupted when things were about to get interesting. How vexing. But he wasn't about to let an agitated conscience stop him. He had never had one of those before, even though it had been making him feel remorseful lately.

It wasn't an emotion he was familiar with, yet he recognised it.

...

Vegeta dismissed his uncertainty, rising in one swift motion to his feet, discarding the regal robe which concealed his naked, perfect body.

Now all he wore was a tail, wrapped around his waist even though there was no danger to it. The woman was tightly bound, but not gagged, since he wanted to savour her expressions as he had his way with her. In any case the appendage would grow back nearly instantaneously if removed.

Even though he had waited years to have it back. And it was black, like midnight, like the cosmos he traversed easily in search of prey. For some reason this unnerved him.

But it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all because he was going to have fun. It had been almost –

three months –

-a week since he had last satiated his yearnings. And this little beauty was perfect.

No!

Flicking the objection away as one would a fly he advanced on his prisoner, savouring the terror in her eyes, the realisation, upon witnessing his unclothing, of exactly what he had planned for her.

"No!" she cried, a different language to the one in his own mind. A familiar language, which tugged at the heart strings he did not possess.

"No! Please!" her eyes filled with tears as she squirmed, wriggling back along the floor away from him. He could smell the sweet scent of her fear, the startled, quick, panic-filled breaths. Watched with fascination what such movements did to the parts he liked so much to play with, even though she was still fully clothed.

He liked to –

No!

—remove those strips of clothing, enjoyed the show as innocent flesh was revealed to his hungry eyes. Reaching out, he took a handful of her top, drinking in her dread like the blood he had lapped up earlier.

"No! Stop! Please!" she begged shamelessly, breathlessly as she struggled in his grip.

Vegeta's own heart was pounding with –

-rage

-lust, breaths panting as he felt his body prepare.

No! Not my Bulma!

Her eyes, gorgeous blue eyes, took up the entirety of his vision as he let his hands roam, the expression causing a tsunami of…something within him.

No! NO!

"Vegeta!"

It was a familiar voice, comforting, wrapping him up in the feelings of safety and home. He paused, confused, as he had no idea where such a voice could come from.

"Vegeta!"

An invisible hand pressed against his shoulder, shaking him roughly, shaking him back to consciousness.

To the real world.

He woke with a start, eyes swerving about in the artificial light, breath rushing in and out of his lungs like a balloon pump. His heart was hammering painfully, throwing itself at his ribcage with reckless abandon.

"Vegeta?"

His gaze fell on her.

His Bulma. His perfect, wonderful Bulma, eyes so full of concern as she watched him, hand outstretched to console him from whatever terror had invaded his mind.

His Bulma, who he had violated in the depths of his imagination.

He couldn't help it.

He vomited.