How could Kakarot have failed? He had achieved the status legendary among the Saiyan people; none could have stood against him. The dragon said he had survived Frieza and escaped, and Frieza had allegedly disintegrated in the devastation of Planet Namek. Vegeta knew the tyrant's race did not have the power of self-regeneration. Only if Kakarot had not actually killed Frieza could Frieza still draw breath. Apparently, the tyrant had not died, and he had escaped. Vegeta could only imagine why his fellow Saiyan had either mistaken Frieza for dead or, worse, had spared his life.

As he beamed through the atmosphere, heading towards the source of Frieza's dark energy, Vegeta sensed Gohan, Piccolo, Krillin, Yamcha, and the others following him to the same spot. He had not imagined it; the others had felt Frieza's immanent arrival as well. Never could Vegeta forget the precise impression the tyrant's essence made upon him—it likened to a sensation of hopeless dread, a shortness of breath, the sudden absence of warmth and oxygen. As Frieza's power would escalate and reach a critical mass, Vegeta remembered how everything in the monster's presence would seem to, like a black hole, draw even light into itself. Once he felt the consuming energy looming directly above him, his feet landed on the ground. The others met him there.

"So I'm finally going to meet this Frieza," Yamcha said.

"He's not alone," Vegeta declared soberly. "Another of his race is with him. Probably his father."

"Frieza has a father?" Gohan asked, shocked.

"Yes. His father is King Cold, ruler of most of this galaxy. Frieza is the most powerful warrior of his empire."

"Oh, a genocidal warrior prince with a grudge. Never heard of that one before," huffed Krillin.

Vegeta twitched at Krillin's comment. "He will obliterate you all, do you not understand that? And for what you said, weakling, I will delight in seeing him vaporize you—again." He cackled darkly. "I am nothing like Frieza." No one dared challenge this assertion.

The sound of a small aircraft hummed nearby. Bulma had tracked everyone down, and she landed a few yards away from where they stood. "Seriously, guys, what is going on?"

"Why are you here, Bulma? It's not safe!" Yamcha cried.

"Don't tell me what to do or where to be," she retorted. "I want to get a look at this Frieza character."

Vegeta snarled, clenching his fists. "Woman, what you have done is perhaps the most idiotic thing I have ever witnessed. Frieza will murder you slowly for his amusement's sake! Go back, you stupid female!"

Yamcha glared at the Saiyan. "You can't talk to Bulma that way!"

"Silence, fool. Your prattle will do nothing but alert Frieza of our presence if he has landed. Bulma—I highly suggest you flee this place, though it may not help you in the end." Vegeta realized in passing that he had used the woman's name. "All of us will die."

"Why are you even here, Saiyan scum?" Tien spat.

"Enough," Vegeta growled austerely. Why was he here? Frieza had slaughtered his father, his mother, his people. Vegeta couldn't bring himself to think about any of the things the tyrant had done to him personally.

Piccolo's voice rumbled from a few yards away. "Vegeta is right. Keep quiet, and suppress your energy. Frieza will land just beyond that ledge. We have barely more than a minute."

"Hey, Krillin, do you feel that?" Gohan asked.

"Yeah. There's somebody else. Came out of nowhere too. Doesn't feel like Frieza or his father, either."

"Do you think it's my dad?"

"I don't know, Gohan. I've never felt that kind of power from Goku."

Vegeta felt the energy as well. Its power exceeded that of Kakarot on Namek. He would have assumed that Kakarot had returned, but the energy bore a signature that he knew could not belong to him.

"Frieza has landed," Piccolo announced calmly.

"We will proceed on foot to meet him," Vegeta ordered. None disputed him.

A blinding light flashed, and the sound of a violent explosion followed it. Could Frieza have already dealt his planet-bursting blast? It made no sense for him enter the Earth's atmosphere at all, then, for he could destroy it from its orbit. Clearly, Frieza had not sensed Vegeta nor any of those accompanying him. If anything, the sudden surges and declines of power levels indicated the exchange of a battle between distinct forces.

"I see something!" shouted Gohan.

"It's Frieza! And—what? A Super Saiyan! He's not Goku!" said Krillin. "What if he needs our help?" He flexed his legs, preparing to jump into flight.

"Stay," Vegeta barked. "Hold your position until we know what we're dealing with." Focusing his eyes on the point in the sky to which Gohan had pointed, Vegeta indeed saw Frieza. Metal and circuitry seemed to make up more than half of his person, more machine now that living creature. The other figure, his body glowing with glittering aura, could be none other than a Super Saiyan. He brandished a sword, its steel hot with the Saiyan's power.

Frieza shrieked—it was a scream of unadulterated terror. The cry surprised Vegeta, but he relished it once it met his ears. How many times had the tyrant elicited such trembling cries from him? He remembered how, when he was but a child, Frieza had ordered Zarbon to torture him. Frieza had considered Vegeta too insolent, and he would have none of the little prince's overblown self-importance. After binding the boy to something like an operating table, Frieza had grinned as Zarbon injected a serum into Vegeta's neck. The chemical solution would set the blood on fire with pain, spreading to every limb and organ, including the heart and brain. Periodically, Frieza had set his hand over the boy's chest, jolting him with energy to beat his heart for him. Zarbon had strapped a mask delivering pure oxygen over the child's mouth and nose. Vegeta needed to stay alive and conscious to fully experience his agony. According to Frieza, only this could break such stubborn monkey wills, and his belief neared the truth. The young Saiyan's screams, though muffled by the oxygen mask, pierced the depths of Frieza's ship. The process would have forced anyone but Vegeta into total submission. His pride let him keep hold of his soul.

Vegeta hoped that Frieza consciously registered the telling timbre of his terrorized cries at the hand of none other than a Saiyan warrior.

The Saiyan youth let his blade sing as it fended off each of Frieza's sorry attempts to strike him. Even with his new cybernetic form, Frieza had already lost. The youth's sword sliced through him at a dozen different angles, and the once mighty tyrant fell apart into cuts of blood-gushing flesh and flickering scrap metal. With a single blast of energy, the phosphorescent-haired Saiyan reduced him to dust and ashes. Vegeta shuddered in awe at the young man's perfect, efficient brutality—a true Super Saiyan if ever one lived. He couldn't believe it.

Frieza's father, King Cold, looked on slack-jawed. "My son!" he cried. The Saiyan chased after him. Vegeta could sense his fear. King Cold sought desperately for a way to stall his immanent destruction, and he admired the youth's sword. But the Saiyan would have none of it, and, at the first opportunity he had, he fired a fatal beam between the wicked emperor's ribs. As Kakarot would never have done, the youth did not heed King Cold's pleas for mercy, and he vaporized him as remorselessly and effortlessly as he had Frieza. Vegeta's heart swelled with esteem and envy.

Frieza and his father were no more. This enigmatic Super Saiyan had avenged the people of Planet Vegeta. Vegeta wondered if he had dreamed the whole ordeal or if he had lost his mind. Out of the entire Saiyan race, only he, Kakarot, and Kakarot's half-breed son remained. It did not make sense for the young man to exist. Vegeta had to know who he was. Curiosity trumped any instinct of caution, and he leaped into the air, set on finding out.