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.
18 skidded back along the tiles, dislodging some as she went, hands scraping against the alien ceramic. She couldn't believe she had been affected by such an attack, and from such an opponent no less.
Lady Ribranne, as she was called, was a behemoth with no fashion sense, and no idea of real beauty, either.
How dare she call 18 ugly?!
Not that it mattered, of course. 18 was fully aware that she was beautiful, at least by Earth's standards, and those were the only ones that mattered. Besides, strength was what was important in this contest.
Ribranne was more powerful than she expected, holding her in position, on the defensive for a few seconds.
Then two sets of arms wrapped around 18, flexible, but tight. She wriggled desperately, but Ribranne's two henchwomen would not let up as Ribranne took to the sky, even though she was prevented from flying, and charged her attack.
That was until Krillen interrupted from the stands.
While 18 had always considered him 'handsome', it was more because his inner beauty shone out of his face, rather than the idea that he conformed to any standards of physical attractiveness.
After the interjection, Ribranne's power wavered, and 18's own was reinforced. Nothing like her man supporting her, even if he couldn't do so physically.
Shaking the henchwomen off, 18 prepared to blast them away-
-When suddenly a kick to the side launched her from the platform.
Darn it.
So much for repaying her debt to Vegeta.
She was joining Krillen in the audience.
I'm not interested. Now get out.
Trunk's words echoed in Gohan's mind as fought alongside his mentor. He remembered his serious face, marred with simmering rage, nothing like the carefree, mischievous child Gohan had known. Back when Gohan had still been living at home, he had seen Trunks often, because the boy was a constant visitor, enthusiastic to play with Goten.
Sometimes Gohan had joined in their games, sometimes he had been relegated to the sidelines for being too like an adult.
Gohan felt for the boy, though, he really did. Missed how he had been, too. It couldn't be easy for him, this whole situation. Losing a father like that, when he was around but not really there. It must have been horrible. To see him every day, only to be pushed away by the very man who had raised you, had loved you.
Gohan knew what it was like to live without a father, remembered the grief and the aching hole in his chest that Piccolo, and even Vegeta, had tried to fill. The nights burrowing his head in his pillow so his mother wouldn't hear his cries.
Gohan didn't like to recall those times, and wouldn't wish them on anyone. He had a feeling what Trunks was going through was even worse, though.
It must be heartbreaking for him. And for poor Bulma. Poor, pregnant Bulma, who had begged them to save her husband from his own mind. To bring him back to her.
Then 18 fell off the edge, no, was kicked, and they were facing an invisible fighter. No time to focus on what was important, what they were fighting for.
Gohan lashed out blindly, wishing he could see the figure. Piccolo, ever patient, always meditating Piccolo, was of course the one to succeed where he had failed.
Then he was gone too, over the edge faster than he could move to stretch his arms.
And as 17 was pushed back by another unseen foe, Gohan was left alone, the only people he could have counted on as companions gone. Except Master Roshi, but really, why was he even there? No offense to the Turtle Hermit meant of course, but…
No, he reflected, remembering their fight with Frieza's minions, he was the better option when compared to Yamcha. That still didn't make him the best choice.
A cry interrupted his thoughts. A cry from the combatant they were here for.
A cry from Vegeta.
Vegeta had been having the time of his life.
Unfortunately, his base form had not been sufficient for his first foes, but no matter, the super saiyan transformation had soon finished them off.
Knocking off enemies left, right and centre, Vegeta had been having a ball, blood roaring in his ears as energy surrounded him. Muscles coiled and uncoiled, all his hard work over the past nine months paying off as power swam in his veins.
Strength. Battle.
Yes, this was what it meant to be alive. This was what it meant to be a saiyan.
All Vegeta's misgivings about Frieza's presence, all his memories of his treatment under the tyrant's thumb, gave way to a pleasant buzz as he lost himself in combat. It was the perfect anodyne to any trouble, feeling blood pump, sweat cascade.
It was paradise. It was life.
All too soon, though, a giant, gloved hand slapped him back, sending him tumbling over the floor. Standing, he analysed his new opponent. This was the one Kakarot had spoken with, the one who hadn't told him to get lost.
The one Kakarot had fought with during the exhibition match.
And lost.
He would be the perfect test of Vegeta's newfound strength.
With a roar, Vegeta charged forward, electricity surrounding him he called forth the full power of super saiyan 2.
He was rebuffed easily, sent head over heels again, skidding over the ground like a rag doll.
With a growl, he fought back against the momentum, trying to rise to his feet, only to receive a kick to his face that sent him sprawling.
He tried to rise, tried to block, but there was nothing he could do.
His strength was futile compared to this monstrosity, who was overpowering him with ease. He roared as his frustration built within him, as the edge grew nearer.
He would not lose here.
I've always been stronger than you!
He was not second best! He would not stand being called second best!
Another kick, another punch, why couldn't he fight back, why did he just keep taking it?! Vegeta's mind whirled, anger mounting, rage blinding but he could get no relief from the incessant pummelling.
I've always been stronger than you!
He could feel tears building behind his eyes, but refused to shed them. No, it was not the pain, the pain he could take. He was used to being beaten up, used to being abused, hurt, aching. But it reminded him of the agony, striving to improve himself in those early days after his fusion. The leaden limbs, the panting breaths, his tender ribs, his broken finger. Waking up in a familiar room he wanted nothing to do with, unable to move. Helpless and at the mercy of the wife who had tried to kill him. Who would not let him be himself.
He remembered those days, those weeks of training, beginning before the sun rose and ending after midnight, dragging himself to bed or passing out on the floor. Remembered earlier times, seeing Kakarot training with Whis, jealousy rising inside him as Kakarot grew even stronger, while he could not manage the same rate of progress he had achieved prior to his poor decision. Whis agreeing to continue with Kakarot's training, but pushing Vegeta to the wayside. As if he was unimportant.
A side-kick.
Second best.
He couldn't take it anymore! His pride was more than wounded, it had been dealt a fatal blow. No one was ever looking to him to save the day, to come over victorious. Even his victory over Frieza had been stolen from him. It wasn't fair! What was he, chump change?
Why did he never succeed, no matter how hard he tried? Why did he have to struggle so hard to make progress, only for Kakarot to sail in even more powerful? The fates were having a field day with him, watching him fight against his own impotence.
He wishes you weren't his father.
Well, it was no wonder. Any child would be ashamed to have him as a father. Such a weakling, such a failure.
Worthless.
No.
No, it would not end like this, Vegeta determined, just metres from the edge. It would not end here.
He would not be beaten here.
Vegeta snarled wildly, feeling something snap within him, deep within.
He was not about to be beaten by an obese man with a ridiculous moustache.
No. He would win, he would claim the victory because
"I am not second-best!"
Power exploded out of him, sending Toppo a step back as a familiar strength throbbed in his veins. He felt unstoppable, unconquerable. Because he had reached it, for the first time in nine months he had broken through.
He wanted to laugh, to cry, to woop with joy and dance around the arena.
But he didn't, because for some reason he felt calm. Completely calm, as he had not been in months. Bloodlust, rage, futility and helplessness all faded to the background as Vegeta gained the grasp of his own mind.
He could see clearly.
This was what the god power was. Where super saiyan was powered by rage, god power needed composure.
And as the sky-blue aura enveloped him, Vegeta finally had that tranquillity.
In that stillness, Vegeta realised with a heart-felt jolt, that he had left his wife to give birth alone in favour of exercising his saiyan prowess in a tournament. The decision bothered him now in a way it hadn't before, Vegeta remembering that vulnerable bump in a way he hadn't considered.
So precious, that bump and his beautiful wife. And Trunks, Trunks. Capable, distraught Trunks, who needed a father without realising it.
It was all coming back to him, in the calmness of the super saiyan god transformation. The family he had left behind. The person he had left behind.
With a roar Vegeta leapt at Toppo, bringing the fullness of his power to the fore to meet those monstrous arms. He punched and kicked, unleashing a flurry of blows against his opponent, trying to push him back, give Vegeta more room between him and the edge.
Because winning had taken on a whole new meaning. Before, Vegeta had just been concerned with restoring his lost strength. Nothing else had mattered, he could have done without the extra baggage of feelings, thank you. But the god transformation had broken a barrier, unleashing the Vegeta that had been locked away in the maelstrom of rage and hatred.
He needed that wish. He needed to get back to Bulma.
He could see her face, hear her shouts, smell the scent of shed tears on her cheeks.
His Bulma had been hurt. So hurt by his decision. He didn't think he could have chosen any differently, even if he had to redo things, because she would not take a life on his watch; the fact that it was his own was only partially relevant.
But she was suffering, had been for nine months. The whole of her pregnancy.
And he had missed it, hiding away in his gravity chamber in his unbridled lust to grow stronger.
He had missed every trimester, every kick, every … everything that happened during that period of a baby's life.
He had missed it all.
And his other child. Gosh, Trunks. The poor kid. He was a wreck, really, a wreck. To have succumbed to his distress so much as to take it out on his pregnant mother. To pitch a fragile plate at his father's face.
Fuck you.
He couldn't get that voice out of his mind.
The problem was that while Vegeta had this awareness now, he knew for certain that it would fade along with his super saiyan blue transformation. As soon as he lost that, the loathing, the rage would all return and drown out his true self. And Vegeta wasn't sure, in the absence of a hectic battle, blood roaring and senses singing, if he would be able to manage the transformation again.
Or if rage-filled Vegeta would even want to, knowing it would result in emotions he didn't want to handle.
Meanwhile, unaware of the emotions roiling, the thoughts campaigning in Vegeta's mind, Toppo was starting to fight back, recovering from his initial shock.
The pair exchanged blows, trading kicks and punches as the time wound down on the clock.
He's holding back. Vegeta thought to himself, charging a ki-blast. Saving his energy. But for who? Who else has the necessary power?
Almost in answer to his question, a blur reached the pair, arms still locked, shoving them aside. The power emanating from it was extraordinary, Vegeta thought, using Goku Black's blade technique to return to the stage. Taking a closer look, he identified the figure as Caulifla, but far more muscular, and with spiky yellow hair instead of her ponytail.
But the power…!
And she was going on a rampage, sweeping combatants off like a broom as she barrelled through them. There were no holds barred for her, was no hesitation, just movement, just fighting. She was pitching most of the participants off, running about like a bull in a china shop. Throwing even her own allies over the edge.
But there was something wrong.
She's going to destroy herself.
Just as he thought that, a yell from the stands prompted something Vegeta hadn't been expecting.
A fusion.
His battle with Toppo continued to be neglected by both sides as Caulifla and Kale, the remaining saiyans from Universe 6, used the Potara Earrings to fuse, after a suggestion from Cabba in the stands. He must have been knocked off at some point. In his blue form, Vegeta couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, both in the young warrior and in himself for not providing the necessary support. The boy looked up to him as a kind of teacher – which was ridiculous, he'd merely put him on the right path, that was all. But he was out of the contest now, though, which was a pity. The boy could have done with more training against the universes' strongest fighters.
Vegeta had probably not cared at the time, or else been occupied fending off Toppo. He cared now, but it was too late.
The fused form was sensible, able to think and act coherently, much to Vegeta's ire. How were they going to fight that as well? Toppo and Jiren were bad enough, and occupying all of Kakarot and Vegeta's energies. Frieza was…he wasn't sure actually. 17 was occupied with Dypso, and Gohan…
Gohan launched himself forward as the fusion, calling herself Kefla, neared Kakarot and Jiren. With a deft punch that he certainly wouldn't have been able to pull off some months ago (so kudos to Piccolo) Gohan succeeded in knocking Kefla off the stage.
At the cost of his own participation.
What a fool.