The air on Planet Vegeta was thick with tension, an ominous prelude to the events that were about to unfold. The planet, home to the proud and formidable Saiyan race, stood on the brink of a momentous change, unbeknownst to its inhabitants. In the royal palace, situated at the heart of the Saiyan capital, King Vegeta sat on his throne, his demeanor betraying an unusual sense of apprehension. The vast throne room, adorned with trophies of conquest and banners of the Saiyan heritage, echoed with the soft footsteps of a lone servant approaching the king.
"My lord," the servant began, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the silence with the sharpness of a dagger. "King Cold and his forces have been spotted near the palace. They are expected to land shortly."
King Vegeta's grip tightened around the armrests of his throne, his knuckles turning white. The unexpected arrival of King Cold, the formidable and feared ruler of the Cold Force, was not a matter to be taken lightly. The Saiyans, a warrior race known throughout the galaxy for their prowess and strength, had long served under the dominion of King Cold and his forces. This unannounced visit could only mean significant news, and King Vegeta feared the worst.
"Summon the council and prepare our warriors. We shall meet our 'guests' with the honor they expect," King Vegeta commanded, rising from his throne with a grace that belied the turmoil brewing within him. His voice, firm and authoritative, masked his concern, but his eyes, those deep pools reflecting years of battle and leadership, could not hide the worry that shadowed his thoughts.
As the Saiyans gathered, the skies darkened with the silhouettes of incoming ships, a formidable fleet that cast a shadow over the palace grounds. The Saiyan warriors, assembled in ranks with King Vegeta at their forefront, watched in a mix of awe and apprehension as the ships landed. The ground trembled under the weight of the vessels, and a hush fell over the assembled crowd as the ramp of the lead ship lowered.
King Cold, a towering figure exuding an aura of power and command, descended flanked by his most trusted commanders: Zarbon, Dodoria, and the elite mercenaries known as the Ginyu Force. Their presence alone was enough to instill fear in the hearts of the bravest warriors, but the Saiyans stood their ground, their pride as warriors of Planet Vegeta unwavering.
With a gesture from King Vegeta, the Saiyans bowed in a show of respect and submission, a gesture that did not come easily to the proud race. King Vegeta then stepped forward, his voice steady as he addressed King Cold.
"King Cold, to what do we owe the honor of this unexpected visit?" King Vegeta inquired, his tone carefully neutral, betraying none of the anxiety that gnawed at his heart.
King Cold's gaze swept over the assembled Saiyans, a small, inscrutable smile playing on his lips before he addressed the Saiyan king. "King Vegeta, I have come with news that will herald a new era for the Cold Force, and by extension, for your people. I am retiring from my position as commander," he announced, his voice echoing with an authority that demanded attention.
A murmur of surprise and confusion rippled through the ranks of the Saiyans. King Vegeta's heart skipped a beat at the proclamation. For a fleeting moment, hope surged within him, a hope that perhaps the Saiyans would be freed from their servitude and that they could finally reclaim their destiny.
But this hope was short-lived.
King Cold continued, his eyes gleaming with a cold light. "My son, Frieza, will take over as the commander of our forces. The Cold Force will henceforth be known as the Frieza Force. Rest assured, this change in leadership will not affect our arrangement with the Saiyan race. You will continue to serve under my son, as you have under me."
The news fell like a hammer blow, crushing any fleeting hope King Vegeta and his warriors might have harbored. The Saiyan king's mind raced as he processed the implications of this announcement. Frieza, known throughout the galaxy for his cruelty and ruthlessness, was now their master. The change in leadership boded ill for the Saiyans, a foreboding that was soon to be confirmed in the most brutal manner.
Without warning, Frieza stepped forward, his presence chilling. With a cruel smile, he demonstrated his power and his willingness to assert his authority through fear. In a display of merciless strength, Frieza struck down several Saiyan warriors, their lives extinguished in an instant as a stark example to any who might dare to question his rule.
The message was clear: under Frieza's command, the Saiyans would face a reign of terror unlike any they had known. King Vegeta stood, frozen, as he watched the display of power, his heart heavy with the realization that his people's fate was sealed. They were at the mercy of a tyrant, a ruler more cold and cruel than his father.
As the reality of their situation settled in, King Vegeta's thoughts turned to his people, to the warriors who stood by his side, and to the future of the Saiyan race under the rule of Frieza. The weight of leadership pressed heavily upon him, a burden made all the more unbearable by the knowledge of the dark days that lay ahead.
In these moments of solitude, King Vegeta found himself wandering the halls of his ancestral home, each step a reminder of the proud history and fierce battles that had defined the Saiyan legacy. It was a legacy now threatened by subjugation, a future dictated by an external force devoid of honor or respect for the warrior code that had shaped Saiyan culture for generations. His heart ached for the lost, for those who had fallen in defiance of Frieza's tyranny, and for the uncertain fate of those who remained.
The silence that enveloped Planet Vegeta in the wake of Frieza's departure was more than just the absence of sound; it was a heavy, oppressive stillness that seemed to weigh on the very air itself. King Vegeta, his footsteps echoing through the vast, empty corridors of the palace, was a solitary figure amidst this silence. The encounter with Frieza and his forces had left a palpable tension hanging over the planet, a silent testament to the precarious future that now loomed over the Saiyan race.
As he made his way to the royal nursery, King Vegeta's mind was a tumult of thoughts and emotions. The pride he felt for his people and their warrior spirit was now tinged with a foreboding sense of vulnerability. The realization that they were at the mercy of Frieza's whims was a bitter pill to swallow, one that threatened the very foundation of Saiyan pride and autonomy.
But it was the thought of his son, Prince Vegeta, that drew a line through his tumultuous reflections, offering a beacon of hope amidst the uncertainty. The future king, even in his infancy, represented the potential for a new era of Saiyan strength and resilience. It was this hope that King Vegeta clung to as he stepped into the softly lit confines of the royal nursery.
The sight that greeted King Vegeta was one of peaceful innocence. Rows of cribs, each holding the future of the Saiyan race, filled the room with a sense of potential and promise. His eyes found Prince Vegeta's crib, and a surge of pride welled within him. Even in sleep, the infant prince radiated an aura of strength and royalty, his latent battle power a promise of the powerful king he was destined to become.
As King Vegeta stood there, lost in visions of the future, a movement in the corner of the room caught his eye. Another crib, placed unassumingly among the offspring of Saiyan elites, held a child whose presence in this royal sanctuary seemed out of place. The king's pride quickly turned to irritation, a low-class Saiyan child sharing the same air as his son was an insult, an oversight that demanded immediate rectification.
"Who is this child?" King Vegeta's voice was cold, his displeasure evident to the attendant who hurried to his side.
"My lord, this is Broly, the son of Lieutenant Paragus," the servant replied, a note of unease in his voice. "He is... an anomaly. His battle power, even in infancy, has shown spikes that, in some instances, surpass that of Prince Vegeta."
The words struck King Vegeta like a physical blow, his denial instantaneous and vehement. Such a thing was inconceivable; no low-class Saiyan could rival the potential of his heir. Determined to dispel this absurdity, King Vegeta snatched a scouter from the attendant and activated it, aiming the device at the sleeping form of Broly.
The numbers on the scouter's display began to climb, steadily at first, then with increasing speed, a silent testament to the child's extraordinary power. King Vegeta watched, disbelief turning to horror, as the scouter's readings spiraled beyond comprehension before the device finally succumbed, exploding in a shower of sparks and shattered components.
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the soft, untroubled breathing of the infants. King Vegeta stood frozen, the remnants of the scouter clenched in his fist, a stark symbol of the challenge to his son's supremacy that Broly represented.
"This child is a freak of nature," he whispered, the words tinged with a mix of fear and awe. "He must be dealt with."
One of the attendants, emboldened by a sense of duty to the Saiyan race, ventured, "My lord, Broly could be a powerful asset to the kingdom. His strength—"
"No," King Vegeta cut him off, his decision firm. "He is more of a danger than an asset. A threat to this planet and to the universe itself. He will be exiled."
The order was irrevocable, a command born out of a mixture of fear, jealousy, and a deep-seated need to protect the royal bloodline. King Vegeta turned his back on the nursery, leaving behind a future that might have been, had fear not dictated the path of a king.
The palace's atmosphere was heavy with tension, a stark contrast to the routine serenity that usually pervaded the grand halls. The unsettling silence that had fallen over Planet Vegeta was abruptly shattered by the sound of the throne room's doors being forcefully flung open. Lieutenant Paragus, his face a mask of barely contained fury and desperation, stormed into the room. His eyes, burning with a singular purpose, fixed upon King Vegeta, who sat upon his throne, the very picture of sovereign authority.
"Your Majesty!" Paragus's voice echoed through the chamber, each word laced with accusation. "What have you decreed for my son? Why is he being sent away?"
King Vegeta, unflustered by the intrusion and the tone of the inquiry, regarded Paragus with a cool, measured gaze. "Lieutenant Paragus," he began, his voice steady and devoid of any apparent concern, "your son is being given a mission of great honor. He is to conquer a world on behalf of the Saiyan race, a task befitting his... unique talents."
Confusion and disbelief warred on Paragus's features. "I've checked the flight logs," he countered, his voice gaining strength as he confronted the king. "Broly's destination is an unknown region of space, far from any habitable planet. What sort of mission sends a child to nowhere?"
The accusation hung in the air between them, a palpable force that threatened to shatter the facade of royal decorum. King Vegeta's expression darkened, a warning in his eyes. "Careful, Paragus. You tread on dangerous ground with your accusations. Remember to whom you speak."
But Paragus, driven by a father's desperation, pushed forward, his voice rising in both volume and conviction. "You're lying! You fear my son's power, fear that it surpasses that of your own heir. That is why you sent him away!"
The throne room was silent in the wake of Paragus's challenge, the assembled courtiers and guards unsure of how their king would respond. King Vegeta's laugh, when it came, was devoid of humor, a cold, menacing sound that filled the room.
"Jealousy? Of a low-class warrior's offspring?" King Vegeta sneered, the mask of civility finally slipping away. "Yes, Paragus, I lied. Your son is not being sent to conquer any world. His destination is far more... final."
Paragus's heart skipped a beat, a premonition of dread settling over him. "What have you done?" he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.
King Vegeta's next words were delivered with a cruel satisfaction. "I've sent him into a black hole. By now, he's already beyond our reach."
The revelation struck Paragus like a physical blow, his worst fears realized in a single, devastating sentence. For a moment, he stood frozen, the implications of King Vegeta's words sinking in. Then, with a clarity born of desperation, he turned and ran towards the nearest window, shattering the glass with his body as he launched himself into the sky.
The courtiers and guards watched in stunned silence as Paragus flew with all the speed his Saiyan body could muster, heading for the spaceport. His mind was a whirlwind of fear and hope, the slim chance of saving his son from an unthinkable fate propelling him forward. The vast expanse of space loomed before him, a daunting obstacle, but the love of a father knows no bounds. Paragus was determined to defy the king, the empire, and even the universe itself to save his child from the darkness that threatened to consume him.
The spaceport was in chaos, alarms blaring and personnel scrambling to understand the sudden unauthorized launch. But none of that mattered to Paragus as he piloted the stolen spacecraft, pushing its engines beyond their limits. His eyes were fixed on the navigation screen, where the blip representing Broly's space pod moved inexorably closer to the event horizon of the black hole.
Paragus's heart raced as he saw the pod, a tiny speck against the vastness of space, visible through the viewport. His hands flew over the controls, attempting every maneuver he knew to alter his course and intercept his son's pod before it was too late. The space around the black hole distorted, a visual reminder of the powerful gravitational forces at play, forces that seemed to mock his efforts.
"Broly!" Paragus's voice was a mixture of desperation and determination, though there was no one there to hear it. He pushed the ship harder, the engines whining in protest, as he tried to close the gap between them.
But space is unforgiving, and the laws of physics are not swayed by the desires of a father. Despite Paragus's best efforts, the distance between them continued to shrink too slowly. He watched, heart in his throat, as Broly's pod neared the black hole, the gravitational pull becoming too strong to resist.
And then, in a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Broly's pod was engulfed by the black hole, disappearing from sight, swallowed by the void. Paragus's scream of anguish was lost in the vacuum of space, a silent testament to his pain.
The spacecraft's alarms blared, warning of the dangerous proximity to the black hole, but Paragus barely heard them. His mind was consumed by a storm of rage and grief. In that moment, something within him fractured, a break that would never fully heal. But amidst the devastation of his loss, a fierce resolve took root.
Paragus turned the ship away from the black hole, his decision made in the depth of his despair. He would not believe that Broly was gone, not truly. The same extraordinary power that had marked his son as a threat to King Vegeta could also be his salvation. Somehow, Paragus knew in his heart that Broly would survive, that the black hole was not the end but the beginning of a new story.
"I will find you, Broly," Paragus vowed, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of his newfound purpose. "And when I do, we will return. King Vegeta, your treachery will not go unanswered. I will raise my son to be the warrior he was born to be, and together, we will have our vengeance."
With that vow, Paragus set a course away from the black hole, away from Planet Vegeta, but not away from his mission. The galaxy was vast, and finding Broly would be like searching for a needle in an unimaginable cosmic haystack. But Paragus's determination wasn't fueled by love; it was driven by the promise of vengeance against those who had wronged them.
As the spacecraft disappeared into the star-filled expanse of space, Paragus's mission began. It was a quest that would span years, a journey fraught with challenges and driven by the hope of reunion and the fire of revenge. The saga of Broly and Paragus was far from over; it was merely entering its next chapter.
In the quiet expanse of the Fittoa Region, nestled among rolling plains, lay Buena Village, a quaint settlement where life moved with the gentle pace of the seasons. Here, in a modest but lovingly maintained home, lived Paul and Zenith Greyrat. Their household, once filled with the light of anticipation for their firstborn, now lay under the shadow of profound loss.
The night was solemn, a silent witness to the grief that had enveloped the Greyrat home. Zenith, her eyes once bright with joy, now gazed listlessly out the window, her gaze fixed on the starless sky, a mirror to the void within her heart. The loss of their son, who would have been named Rudeus, was a wound that cut deep, its pain magnified in the quiet of the night.
Paul, a man of strength both in spirit and body, found himself adrift in a sea of sorrow. The loss of his would-be heir was a heavy blow, but what pained him more was witnessing Zenith's despair. Her silence was a constant reminder of their shared heartache, a bond of grief that was both a solace and a torment.
Seeking some respite from his own swirling thoughts, Paul found his way to the kitchen, where Lilia, the housemaid, was tidying up for the night. Lilia, who had been with the family for years, had become more than just a housemaid; she was a friend, a confidante in times of joy and sorrow.
"Lilia," Paul began, his voice barely above a whisper, betraying the turmoil beneath his composed exterior. "I'm... I'm worried about Zenith. She's been so quiet, so withdrawn since... since we lost him."
Lilia paused in her work, her expression one of empathetic sorrow. "Mr. Greyrat, it's only been a few days. Grief... it takes time. Mrs. Greyrat is strong, but this... losing a child is a pain unlike any other."
Paul nodded, the weight of his own sorrow momentarily grounding him. "I know. I just feel so helpless. I want to do something, anything, to ease her pain, but I... I don't know how. Is there... Is there any way we can recover from this loss?"
Lilia placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her gaze meeting his. "Recovery... it's not about forgetting or moving on as if nothing happened. It's about learning to live with the loss and finding a way to carry it with you. It won't be easy, and it won't be quick. But together, you and Mrs. Greyrat can find a way through this darkness."
Their conversation was interrupted by a soft sound from the living room. Zenith, who had been lost in her own world of grief, had stood up and was now looking towards them, her eyes filled with unshed tears.
Paul's heart ached at the sight of her, and he quickly excused himself from Lilia's comforting presence to be by his wife's side. As he approached her, Zenith's gaze shifted back to the night sky, as if searching for answers in its vast emptiness.
"Zenith," Paul said softly, reaching out to gently grasp her hand. "I... we lost our precious son, and I cannot begin to imagine the depth of your pain. But I want you to know, you're not alone in this. I'm here, we're in this together."
Zenith's hand trembled in his, a silent testament to the turmoil raging within her. For a long moment, she remained silent, her eyes still fixed on the darkness outside. Then, in a voice so soft it was almost lost in the quiet of the room, she spoke.
"I know, Paul. I feel so lost, so empty. It's like... like a part of me has been torn away, and I don't know how to begin to heal."
Paul wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close in a tender embrace. "We'll find a way, together. It won't be easy, but we have each other. And with time, I believe we can heal."
As Paul and Zenith stood by the window, lost in their shared grief, the night was pierced by an unexpected streak of light. What they initially mistook for a shooting star quickly revealed itself to be something far more extraordinary. The mysterious object, glowing with an intense light, hurtled closer to their home, veering off at the last moment to crash-land with a thunderous roar a short distance behind their house.
The suddenness of the event jolted them from their sorrowful reverie. Paul, ever the protector, instructed Lilia to stay behind and guard the house, his voice firm despite the uncertainty that gripped him. Together, Paul and Zenith rushed outside, propelled by a mix of alarm and curiosity, making their way toward the site of the crash.
As they approached the crater, the night's silence was broken by the unmistakable sound of an infant's cries. The sound, so raw and needy, tugged at Zenith's heart, awakening a maternal instinct she thought was buried with her son. The crater's edge loomed before them, revealing the source of the cries: a strange, spherical object unlike anything they had ever seen.
Paul hesitated, caution warring with curiosity as he lagged a few steps behind Zenith. "Be careful," he called out to her, his voice laced with concern. "We don't know what that is. It could be dangerous."
But Zenith, driven by a force she couldn't resist, moved closer to the object. The crying grew louder, more insistent, until, with a hiss of releasing pressure, the object opened to reveal a crying child within. The baby, with its unusual monkey-like tail, was unlike any child they had seen, yet the sight of it stirred something deep within Zenith.
Paul and Zenith could only stare in wonder at the child, who, for all intents and purposes, seemed to belong to the mythical "Beast Race," known in tales for their animalistic traits. Yet, despite the initial shock and confusion, Zenith's actions were guided by an innate compassion that overrode all else. She reached into the pod, gently lifting the child into her arms, soothing its cries with a tenderness she thought she had lost.
Paul watched, stunned, as Zenith cradled the Saiyan child. The transformation in her demeanor was immediate and profound. The light that had dimmed in her eyes in the days following their loss began to flicker back to life, kindled by the presence of this mysterious child in need of care and love.
Zenith looked up at Paul, her eyes shining with a mixture of wonder and determination. "We can't just leave him," she whispered, her voice firm with resolve. "He needs us."
Paul, still reeling from the shock of the night's events, looked from Zenith to the child in her arms. The fear and uncertainty that had clouded his mind began to dissipate, replaced by a burgeoning sense of purpose. Here, in the aftermath of their deepest sorrow, fate had delivered to them a child in need—a child who, in some inexplicable way, seemed to be mending the fractures in their hearts.
As Zenith cradled the Saiyan child, a small glimmer caught Paul's eye. Attached to the child's strange attire was a tag, adorned with writing neither of them could decipher. The characters were unlike any script known in the Fittoa Region or even the broader world they were familiar with. Paul gently took the tag between his fingers, turning it over in the faint light, hoping for some clue to its meaning.
"What do you think it is?" Zenith asked, her gaze shifting from the sleeping child to the tag in Paul's hand.
"It looks like some sort of name tag, but this writing..." Paul trailed off, frustration evident in his voice. "It's nothing like I've ever seen. It could be his name, but there's no way for us to know for sure."
The mystery of the child's origins deepened with the discovery of the tag, adding another layer to the already baffling circumstances of his arrival. The writing, so alien and unreadable, symbolized the vast chasm between their world and the child's. Yet, as they pondered over the tag, the realization dawned on them that the name of the child mattered less than the bond that was already forming between them.
Zenith, looking down at the child who had quieted in her arms, felt a surge of affection. "Then we'll give him a name," she declared, her voice filled with determination.
Paul nodded, the initial shock of the night's events giving way to a sense of resolve. "We'll name him 'Rudeus,'" he suggested, the name echoing with a profound significance.
Zenith smiled, the name resonating with her immediately. "Rudeus," she repeated, looking down at the child with a gentle affection that seemed to banish the shadows of their recent loss. "Our second chance."
The tag, with its unknown script, was carefully set aside. While they acknowledged its importance as a link to Rudeus's mysterious past, Paul and Zenith chose to focus on the future they could build together. The child, now named Rudeus, symbolized hope—a beacon guiding them through their grief toward a future filled with new possibilities.
As they made their way back into the warmth of their home, the night seemed less oppressive, the stars shining a bit brighter. The unknown writing on the tag remained a puzzle, but it was a puzzle for another day. For now, they had Rudeus, their unexpected blessing, and that was all that mattered.
Bringing the Saiyan child back into their home, Paul and Zenith were met with Lilia's anxious gaze, her concern palpable as she took in their unexpected return, especially under such extraordinary circumstances. The night, already laden with the shock of the celestial event, seemed to press in closer around them as they stepped through the doorway, the warmth of the hearth a stark contrast to the cool, enigmatic darkness from which they'd just emerged.
"Lilia," Paul began, his voice steady despite the surreal nature of their tale, "we found this child inside the object that fell from the sky. He was crying, alone, and... we couldn't just leave him there."
Lilia's initial reaction was one of apprehension, her eyes darting from the child in Zenith's arms to Paul and back again. The idea of a child encased within a fallen star was the stuff of old wives' tales and legends, not the kind of story one expected to confront on an ordinary night. Her concern wasn't just for the safety of the household but also for the well-being of Zenith and Paul, who had so recently faced a devastating loss.
However, as Lilia observed the way Zenith held the child—how a semblance of light seemed to return to her eyes, a gentle glow that had been painfully absent these past few days—her worry began to dissipate. It was as if the child's arrival had pierced through the veil of sorrow that had shrouded the house, offering a glimmer of something like hope, or perhaps the promise of healing.
Zenith, sensing Lilia's gaze upon them, looked up and met her eyes. "We're taking this child in as our own," she said, her voice imbued with a newfound strength and resolve. "After everything, it feels like... like this is meant to be."
Lilia, ever practical yet sensitive to the emotional undercurrents of the household, nodded slowly. "And what will you name him?" she asked, her tone soft, recognizing the significance of the moment.
Paul exchanged a glance with Zenith, a silent communication passing between them, before turning back to Lilia. "We've decided to name him Rudeus," he announced, the name resonating in the quiet of the room like a solemn vow.
Lilia's surprise was evident, her eyes widening slightly at the revelation. The name Rudeus, chosen with so much love and hope for the child they had lost, was now bestowed upon this mysterious boy from the stars, carrying a weight of significance that was not lost on her. It was a name laden with the dreams and aspirations of two parents for their son—a son who had been taken from them too soon, and now, in some ways, returned to them under the most extraordinary circumstances.
For a moment, the room was thick with emotion, the air heavy with the unspoken thoughts and feelings of its occupants. Then, Lilia stepped forward, her movements deliberate, and looked down at the child now named Rudeus. The apprehension that had initially clouded her expression gave way to something softer, a tentative acceptance, and perhaps even the stirrings of affection.
"It's a strong name," she finally said, her voice steady.
The affirmation from Lilia seemed to cement the decision in the hearts of Paul and Zenith. The child, Rudeus, represented a new chapter for them, a chance to embrace life anew amidst the remnants of their sorrow. And as they stood together in their home, surrounded by the familiar yet forever changed by the night's events, they felt a sense of unity and purpose enveloping them.
Rudeus, the child from the stars, had arrived in their lives as a beacon of unexpected hope, a symbol of renewal and love. As the family gathered around him, each in their own way coming to terms with the miraculous turn of events, they stepped forward into a future filled with possibilities, their hearts cautiously opening to embrace the joy and challenges that lay ahead.
Hey everyone!
Wow, writing this one-shot story was an absolute blast! I'm definitely planning to circle back to this adventure in the future. Just imagine Paul and Zenith, completely unaware, raising a Saiyan child— and not just any child, but Broly himself! The twists and turns their lives are about to take, the surprises waiting around every corner... it's going to be epic.