Well, this is it! After a little over half a year and well over 40,000 words, we've reached the end.
Belmod cracked his knuckles. "Let's make this interesting."
Hit was tempted to ask how mortal combat between an assassin and a God of Destruction could be anything except interesting, but he kept his mouth shut. He was done speaking to the bastard clown.
"Marcarita," the Destroyer called.
His Angel attendant looked to him. "Yes, Lord Belmod?"
"No do-overs and no resurrections. Got it? Top can have the job if I can't beat this disgrace."
For a moment, Marcarita's eyes widened in surprise. She quickly recovered her poise and nodded. "If those are your wishes, sir."
Top, meanwhile, was thrown into a state of barely-controlled panic. "Please reconsider! Hit is here as Dyspo's guest and I have personally received assurance he won't engage in his trade while he's within this universe."
Dyspo didn't bother with half-measures and fully embraced his panic. "This is my fault. I just wanted a training partner who was more my speed. I never thought-"
The Destroyer rounded on the rabbit. "You're right on both accounts: it is your fault and you obviously didn't think. If you weren't a loyal Pride Trooper, I'd bury you right beside him."
Hit time-skipped, not into an attack but to put his intimidating frame between Dyspo and Belmod. "He was foolish but that's his only crime. If you're looking to punish someone, I've got the blood of thousands on my hands."
"So you're in a hurry to die. I'm happy to oblige," Belmod replied.
"Fine. Just not here. I'd prefer we not risk Spot or his territory."
"Huh, didn't have you pegged as an animal lover. Let's relocate to somewhere more appropriate. The training grounds good for you, killer?"
In silent response Hit rose into the air. Belmod and Marcarita followed suit and the three of them took the short flight to their new battlegrounds.
"We've got to do something. This isn't right and we both know it! What about your deal?" Dyspo demanded.
Top hesitated before speaking. "What's your relationship with Hit?"
Dyspo blushed bright red. "He's…my friend. And more, I think."
"I assumed it had to be something beyond rivals or sparring partners," Top replied.
"How'd you figure it out?" Dyspo asked.
"I just watched him step between Lord Belmod's wrath and you. And your defense of him shows me your love is mutual."
The rabbit sputtered. "I don't know if I'd go that far and say love!"
Top continued on, his heart focused on grand ideals and sweeping gestures. "Love is nothing to be ashamed of. I love justice in the same way I love this universe and I love my Pride Troopers! In the name of love and justice, Lord Belmod will hear us out!"
Cocotte and K'nsi exchanged glances and simultaneous nods. "We're coming too!"
"At least Belmod can't destroy us all at the same time, right?" Dyspo said. "As long as we don't stand in a straight line."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Top replied.
With Top in the lead and Dyspo right behind, the four of them took off in pursuit.
The fight was already underway by the time the Pride Troopers and their leader landed. Despite how intensely the combatants were grappling with each other, both of them glanced at the audience.
"Public executions aren't really my style but you deserve to be a spectacle," Belmod taunted.
Hit scoffed. "You're like everyone else from this universe: you never get sick of your own voice."
Belmod aimed a hastily-dodged punch at Hit's throat. "My universe has plenty worth talking about."
"So why subject me to drivel?" Hit responded with his own fist, which Belmod deflected with a lazy palm.
"Hell of a mouth on you." The Destroyer threw a wicked jab that would have fractured Hit's jaw if it had made contact. The assassin leaned back and just out of range, Belmod's knuckles passing inches from his chin.
"Lord Belmod!" Top shouted.
"Stay out of this!" Hit and Belmod snapped simultaneously.
Top took a step back. He'd expected vitriol from the Destroyer but not from the assassin. Unsure of his next move, the bulky warrior looked to Dyspo for ideas.
"Can you wade in there and just, I dunno, grab one of them?" Dyspo suggested. He mimed squeezing someone in a bear hug.
"Would either of them forgive me if I did that?" Top asked.
Dyspo sighed and shook his head. "Probably not. If Hit really wants to fight, I can't and won't talk him out of it. Stubborn old bastard. He's gonna get himself killed."
"It's possible, when Belmod defeats him, I can intercede for his life before a mortal blow is struck."
"You think that'll work? Because I don't. Hit's too proud and Belmod's too pissed off."
"I have one card I can play," Top said quietly. "I'd prefer not to, but if it's life or death, I will."
Dyspo was about to ask what Top's last resort was when action on the field demanded his attention. In quick succession, Belmod blocked two fists, an elbow, a time skip, and a boot. He answered Hit's attacks with a flurry of his own. The first punch grazed the assassin's shoulder, catching more coat than meat; the subsequent blows passed through empty space.
"I was wondering when I'd see this trick."
The Destroyer sounded less than impressed. He held up a hand and aimed for where Hit had just been standing. The ominous ball of destructive energy that emerged from his palm blazed through the air until it struck...something. Something that was both there and not there. After a moment of resistance, strange, rapidly-spreading cracks materialized in the air. It appeared like the very fabric of reality was on the verge of shattering.
Hit scrambled to keep his pocket dimension together. It was like maintaining a house built of straw in the midst of a hurricane. In seconds he was left completely exposed as his defenses burned away to nothing.
He was a sitting duck and he knew it. Hit tried to shake off the desolate feeling of watching his dimension implode. It wasn't the first time someone had destroyed his pocket dimension, but at least Goku had had to struggle for it.
"I never tested my hakai against another dimension before. Looks like it works just fine," Belmod said.
"I'm honored for the privilege," Hit muttered.
"Too bad there won't be anything else special about your end."
Belmod put Hit in the cross-hairs. The assassin raised his fists in front of him, a gesture he suspected was futile, and prepared to see how his phased energy attack fared against pure destruction. His honest bet was not well, but he wouldn't know until he tried.
The Destroyer abruptly altered his aim to something behind Hit. The assassin turned his head, his stomach dropping when he saw Dyspo approaching from the sidelines. Trying to look as non-confrontational as possible, Dyspo had his hands up above his head.
"Turn around. Don't be an idiot," Belmod ordered.
"I'm sorry but I guess I'm just dumb as hell." The Pride Trooper's steps showed no sign of faltering.
Belmod called to his pupil, "Top, I'm giving you one chance to get him out-"
The Destroyer's words died mid-sentence. Dyspo, realizing what had just happened, likewise froze.
Hit's mind went blank except for one purpose. He had no strength to squander on doubt or fear. It took every iota of his energy and willpower to cross the gap between himself and his target, draw back both fists, and deliver two synchronized blows.
He didn't even have time to judge his efforts' level of success before Top wrapped his arms around the assassin's torso and lifted him clean off the ground. There was no point in struggling. Even if containing Belmod hadn't drained everything Hit had, Top's grip was unbreakable.
"Dyspo, attend to Lord Belmod!" Top shouted.
The rabbit twitched at the sound of his own name. He then hastily nodded and ran to the fallen Destroyer.
Belmod had, like most of Hit's victims, simply crumpled as his knees buckled. He was laying face down, unmoving. Dyspo reached a tentative hand toward the body, hesitated, and gave Top a beseeching look.
"Is he alive?" Top asked. "We have to know."
Dyspo swallowed hard and laid his hand on Belmod's back. Gently, he shifted the Destroyer onto his side. From that position it was much easier to see the damage. Blood flowed freely down Belmod's face and the dead-center of his chest sported a bruise that was startlingly dark against his complexion.
Could a dead person bleed? Or bruise, for that matter? Dyspo wished he knew the medical answer, but as he didn't, the only thing he could think to do was check a pulse. He laid two fingers on the side of Belmod's neck.
And promptly screamed when the Destroyer gasped and rolled onto his back. Dyspo snatched his fingers away as though scalded.
"Lord Belmod, you're not a zombie, are you?" the rabbit asked.
The Destroyer coughed violently. One hand clutched his nose and the other traveled down to plaster against his chest, as though he was trying to hold his heart in behind his sternum. He groaned in misery.
"I don't think he's a zombie," Dyspo reported, his own heart thudding with a vigor that suggested it wanted to get out.
"Shut up with the zombie nonsense," Belmod muttered.
Top breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "He's alive."
"Pretty sure death wouldn't feel this shitty." The god propped himself into a sitting position, hissing through his teeth as he did so.
Marcarita approached, staff held aloft. "I can have you healed in a moment."
"Hang on a minute. I'm going to need something else from you first. Connect me to your sister and Champa."
While he waited for Marcarita to establish a line between the universes, Belmod managed to get to his feet. Once he was standing, he glared at Hit. No, the assassin realized, that wasn't quite correct. The god seemed more irritated with Top.
"What the hell is this?" Belmod asked, gesturing to the restrained assassin. "I made it pretty clear I wanted no interference."
"I apologize, sir. I acted on instinct," Top replied, eyes downcast.
"Now we've got to toss the whole match. I can't claim a clean victory if my successor is doing the fighting for me. Or if my opponent is holding back."
Hit stared at him. "I didn't-"
"Don't piss me off by lying. You could have killed me but you stopped yourself. Why?"
"My agreement with Top. I've sworn to never take a life in this universe."
"Huh. I guess you do have some honor after all."
Marcarita chose that moment to announce she had successfully connected. Champa's irate voice filled the air a second later.
"Do you know what time it is here?! Too early to be awake, that's what time! Vados, how many times do I have to say no calls before breakfast?"
"It's Lord Belmod, sir," Vados replied cheerfully. "It seems rather urgent."
Champa groaned. "Why don't emergencies ever wait for a decent hour? What is it? Hurry up so I can get back to sleep."
Belmod rolled his eyes at the other god's complaints. "Is this yours?"
"Is what mine?" Champa's eyes narrowed. "What happened to you? Did Top think you were taking too long to retire?"
"Not exactly." Belmod shifted his position a bit, providing a better view.
"Is that- Is that Hit? Did he do that?"
"Sure is and sure did. You've got one hour to get here, collect him, and get the hell out of my universe or he's dead."
"Why is Hit in the Eleventh Universe? Why is Top hugging him? What's going on?!"
"Clock's ticking."
Ignoring the feline Destroyer's yowls and bluster, Belmod ordered Marcarita to terminate the connection. The Angel bid her sister and Champa a fond farewell—not that Champa stopped yelling long enough to hear it—and severed the link.
"You might as well drop him," Belmod said to Top. "Unless you want to stand there for an hour."
Top did as bidden and released Hit. The assassin swayed on his feet, still exhausted from his efforts. Much to his chagrin, he was almost forced to rely on Top for support. Instead of enduring that, Hit chose to sink to the ground.
"Good place for you." Belmod grinned at Hit's death-glare. "Alright, Marcarita, work your magic."
Hit watched with blatant jealousy as Marcarita healed the Destroyer, erasing all evidence the assassin had ever laid a hand on him. Knowing there would be no sharing the Angel's gift, Hit focused on recouping his energy the old-fashioned way: with rest and patience.
As the hour progressed, everyone else eventually got sick of standing around and joined Hit on the ground. Dyspo sat back-to-back with him, which probably wasn't the safest place for the Pride Trooper given how Belmod had already threatened to kill him, but it was comforting. Belmod, Top, and Marcarita made their little sewing circle. K'nsi and Cocotte joined Hit and Dyspo's group, but didn't sit quite as intimately.
Though there were some burning questions Dyspo wanted answered, he had the good sense not to discuss anything too outrageous with Belmod in the vicinity. Maybe, in the far-off future, he'd get the chance to ask them. For right then, he was happy to keep the tone light, with the occasional apology thrown in for how things had ended up.
Forty minutes later, a disheveled, sleep-deprived Destroyer and his always immaculate attendant touched down on the planet. Champa glared at every person assembled and at the world at large.
"What are you waiting for? Chop-chop! It'll be too bright to sleep by the time we get back," Champa kvetched.
Hit rose, happy to find his legs were nowhere near as weak and shaky. "It's nice to see you too, Lord Champa."
"One more thing," Belmod said.
"Ugh!" Champa groaned. "What now?"
"Take the rabbit with you."
Complete silence fell.
It was broken by Champa's protests. "Why would I do that? I don't want your scrawny bunny anywhere near me!"
"Because my universe hosted your assassin and you're even getting him back in one piece. Consider it returning the favor."
"I didn't even know Hit was here!"
"And that's why your universe's mortal level is so abysmal. You're too lazy to keep track of your only decent warrior."
Champa was instantly in Belmod's face. "We both lost to my idiot brother's universe so I wouldn't get too high and mighty!"
The air crackled around the Destroyers. Dyspo took that as a sign it was time to pack his bags. Literally. With two quick trips—so quick nobody even realized he'd gone anywhere, as most attention was focused on the impending doomsday battle—Dyspo had gathered as much of his crap as he could carry. He'd also taken a moment to grab Hit's bag and what little property the assassin had ever removed from it.
"Looks like we're all packed and ready to go!" the Pride Trooper announced.
He was ignored. Belmod and Champa continued to eyeball each other with increasing venom.
Vados sighed. Like a schoolteacher getting the attention of an unruly class, the Angel clapped her hands three times. The sound was surprisingly loud and sharp, enough so that the Destroyers were forced to look at her.
"Lord Champa, you're going to miss breakfast at this rate," Vados warned.
"No, that's the most important meal of the day! Fine, I'll take your rabbit. Just watch, he's going to prefer my universe in no time."
"Uh-huh," Belmod replied. "We'll see."
"That's right, we will. Vados, let's go."
Champa, Hit, Dyspo, and Vados were cruising the cosmos seconds later. The Pride Trooper was able to maintain his forced excitement for about a minute before his trembling became too obvious to ignore. Hit rested a hand on the rabbit's back and waited for the inevitable flood.
"I can't believe I got banished," Dyspo whimpered. "What if Lord Belmod never takes me back? Who's gonna tell my mom what happened to me?"
"Somehow, I don't think it's meant as a punishment. Or as permanent," Hit replied. "I'm also sure any of your friends can and will inform your mother."
"But I don't know anything about the Sixth Universe. Can I even eat the food there? And where am I gonna live?"
"My universe has the best food anywhere! If you can stomach the slop from the Eleventh, you'll be fine," Champa said.
"That answers the question of food, though the issue of lodging remains," Vados said. "The moon Hit was inhabiting does offer plenty of space."
The thought of Dyspo seeing his depression camp made Hit cringe. There would be no return to Rat Planet. But where was preferable? Hit did have a network of safe houses on several planets, but he visited them so rarely and they had so few stocked amenities it would hardly be better than staying in the wilderness. He also wasn't keen on the idea of Vados or Champa knowing the location of any of his secret hideaways.
"Sadala." The name was out of Hit's mouth before he could over-think or talk himself out of it.
"Planet Sadala? That's so far out of the way," Champa grumbled.
"We can be there in nine minutes, Lord Champa. And I'll make it up to you. I'll lift the ban on chocolate for breakfast, just for today."
The hefty cat fist-pumped the air. "I can't wait for chocolate-covered bacon!"
"What's on Planet Sadala?" Dyspo asked.
"Three Saiyans I should have treated better," Hit replied.
"Your teammates from the Tournament?"
Hit nodded. "I imagine they've gotten stronger in the time I've been away. They may be too much for you to handle."
Dyspo scoffed. "I'll still run circles around them."
"We'll find our shortly."
A few minutes later, they touched down in an unpopulated expanse of desert. Champa wasted no time shooing Hit and Dyspo away from himself and Vados. As he stepped away from the irate Destroyer, Hit raised his energy just enough to announce his arrival.
"Don't bother me again," Champa said. The Destroyer laid his palm against Vados's back. Just before she raised her staff, Champa added, "I don't know how you did it, but I'm glad you punched that stupid, stuck-up clown. Good work, Hit."
The assassin bowed his head. "Thank you."
With that, Champa and Vados headed for home. Once the pair had vanished from sight, Dyspo turned in a full circle, surveying the desert. There was little except sand, mesas, and distant mountain ranges.
"The whole planet isn't like this, is it? Dry and nothing going on?" the rabbit asked.
"Not at all. The Saiyan civilization has numerous cities and settlements, though there are wild spaces, too. Which do you prefer?"
Dyspo shrugged. "I'm good with whatever you like."
Hit raised a brow. "I don't remember agreeing to live with you. This planet has options."
The Pride Trooper leaned against Hit. "Here are some options for you. Do we want one bed or two? How do you feel about potted plants? What's your favorite color for accent rugs?"
"I'm not discussing accent rugs or plants with you. Now or ever."
"I see you're avoiding the bed question."
"I still haven't agreed to live with you!"
"You better make a decision quick. I think your buddies are on their way."
Hit tamped down his annoyance and focused. Sure enough, he sensed three sparks of energy. They were still far off but definitely moving closer.
"Two beds, each in a separate room, do what you like with plants and rugs. And keep it professional, particularly around Caulifla. Cabba and Kale have tact; she's going to mock you and your uniform, so get ready for that now."
"How could anyone make fun of this? That's an outrageous affront to justice." Dyspo gestured to his perfectly practical and fashionable clothes.
The assassin shook his head. He could already see how this was going to unfold. It would be raucous, awkward, and would probably come to blows between Dyspo and Caulifla before the day was done.
Hit couldn't wait.
THE END
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who interacted with this wild little piece. Thanks for the hits, kudos, bookmarks, and comments. As always, thanks for reading.
See you real soon. (Probably with an epilogue)