Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH52

[King Vegeta POV]

I don’t waste time in the nursery unless I have to. The air stinks here. The scientists here scurry like rodents—muttering to themselves, clutching their tablets, terrified of making eye contact. As they should be.

I’m here for one thing.

To check on my heir.

My son. My legacy.

For today was the celebration in his name.

The last pod in the top row hums faintly, red light pulsing on the monitor. I step forward. The others make themselves scarce. One technician nearly trips backing away, dropping his datapad. I ignore him.

“Status,” I snapped.

The nearest fool fumbles over his own mouth. “Y-yes, Sire. The Prince—he, uh—his vitals are stable. Neural feedback optimal. Power level just registered.”

I activate my scouter with a click. It beeps, focusing on the pod.

[2529]

I allow myself the smallest smirk. As expected of my child, his power had grown!

Strong. Far stronger than anyone before him. Certainly superior to that barking whelp Escarot. Let Beerus fawn over that maggot—this is true blood. The true power of my royal blood!

Vegeta. My son. My legacy. You will rule the universe!

“Yes,” I murmur. “As expected. A warrior above all others.”

I turn, still admiring the display. The soft blue light flickers over the pod, painting my son’s sleeping face with an ethereal glow. The beginning of something great.

Then my scouter chimes, getting another reading.

“...What?”

I look up. The signal isn’t coming from my son.

The reading is behind me.

I turn slowly.

There, nestled in the lower row of pods—one of the auxiliary units—is a second child.

Not a royal pod.

No markings.

Standard-issue.

But the number on my scouter is anything but standard.

[14989]

The reading fluctuates wildly. Up and down. Peaks. Valleys. The pod vibrates slightly.

My scouter sparks.

[16744]

I tear it off as it explodes with a sharp crackle. A piece of it scorches my cheek. I toss it to the floor.

The scientists freeze.

My eyes narrow on the child inside.

I don’t ask.

I command.

“Who is that?”

The one technician who hasn't wet himself steps forward, voice shaking.

“Subject ID: Broly. Male. Elite class designation. Sired by Paragus. Registered three days ago, sire.”

“Paragus?” I sneer.

Him again?! 

First Escarot and now… THIS?!

The technician swallows. “Y-yes, Sire. The same.”

“Explain the reading.”

They hesitate.

I step forward.

“I said, explain it.”

A second one chimes in, voice rapid. “The child is—unprecedented. His power level is highly volatile. We can’t get consistent scans, but the peaks are—well—beyond Elite, far beyond actually.”

“It can’t be,” I hiss. “My son has the strongest bloodline! He’s meant to stand above all!”

The technician wipes his brow. “Sir, with respect… he’s beyond your son’s level. By an unquantifiable margin. His potential—if it continues on the current curve—suggests he’s the legendary–”

I don’t hear the rest.

I’m not listening.

The buzzing in my ears is rage.

Paragus. A mid-class worm. His mate, a low class cannon fodder, a pair of nothings. And yet somehow—

Somehow they had sired a child greater than mine?

No.

NO!

This cannot be.

This will not be.

My eyes narrow at the child.

Still asleep.

This is unnatural. Impossible.

And if left unchecked… it’s a threat.

It’s not enough that Beerus humiliated me. Not enough that Escarot has the God of Destruction’s attention. Now this. Another freak. Another threat.

I lift my hand as energy crackles in my palm.

The pulse is tight, focused. I’m not trying to destroy the nursery. I just want the pod gone. The child with it. It’s not personal. It’s his fault for being born.

And so, with a grin I fire.

The chamber erupts in light.

The pod explodes, glass and metal bursting like a blister. The force slams against the far wall. Smoke fills the air.

For a moment, silence.

Then—a wail, crying.

My eyes snap forward.

He was still alive.

Broly is lying in the rubble. Blood trickles from a cut above his brow, but otherwise fine.

I grit my teeth. I didn’t hold back, and yet the child survived?!

I should finish it now. Burn the corpse. Purge the data.

No one would question it.

“Send him off-world,” I growled. “Exile him to Vampa or Drotha. I don’t care which, but do it now!”

“B-But Sire, he’s injured—”

“Good,” I say, already walking out. “Maybe the wilds will finish what I started.”

I don’t look back.

I don’t need to.

I made the right call.

He’ll die out there.

And with his death, my legacy is secured.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Escarot POV]

Prince Vegeta's celebration was finally here, and I was wearing my fancy battle armor, which apparently is the Saiyan equivalent of a tuxedo.

Then, all of a sudden. I felt Broly’s energy on the move. Fast. And away from the nursery.

Paragus and Tomat were close… meaning they weren’t the ones taking him out, leaving just one option…

“I guess that’s moving up the schedule,” I muttered.

They were doing it now.

So they’re exiling him. Earlier than I thought. Well no matter, I can just snatch him before that, easy.

I took my time pulling on the rest of my armor. The tuxedo-class plating fit tighter than I liked — polished black with silver trim. Very similar to that of the Royal guards who basically wore the same set in red and gold.

Sharp and ready, I launched into the air and followed the power signature. 

The signature came to a halt about twenty kilometers north — the edge of one of the military deployment zones.

I landed without sound.

There they were.

Two guards. Royal crest on their shoulders. One of them was holding Broly by the arm, yanking him across the dirt like a sack of meat. The other was keying in coordinates on an ancient launch panel, the spacepod door already open.

Though something caught my attention.

Broly was bleeding from his head. Crying. Scared.

His tail dragged behind him in the dust, twitching with every jerk of his body.

I walked forward, and spoke, cold and simple. “What are you doing?”

The first guard didn’t turn around.

“This doesn’t concern—”

He didn’t get to finish.

I was already there.

My fist crushed through the soft center of his chest, past armor, past bone, past lungs. Something burst under my knuckles. The sound was wet.

He didn’t scream.

Just dropped dead.

I pulled my hand back before his body could slump, letting it fall uselessly to the ground like meat dropped from a butcher’s hook.

Blood dripped down my gauntlet.

“I’ll ask once more,” I said, calmly, looking at the remaining guard. “What are you doing?”

The second guard stared at me like he’d just seen something impossible happen. His hand hovered near his ear, where his scouter had just begun to blink red.

He looked older. Stronger. A veteran perhaps. Probably fought off-world. Thought he knew how to deal with disrespectful little upstarts.

He made the wrong call.

“You little bastard—!”

He launched forward, however, before he could blink, I was behind him.

My hand wrapped around his skull, before I drove his head into the ground with enough force to split the dirt open, sending up a shockwave that pulsed out, kicking up gravel and dust, making the crater spread wide.

He was still alive. I made sure of that

Barely.

Spitting blood and struggling to stay conscious.

I crouched next to him, pressing my knee into the back of his neck.

“Answer the question,” I whispered, right against his ear. “Before I start to get creative.”

He didn’t respond right away. Saiyan pride, maybe. Loyalty. Or maybe just stupidity, perhaps a mix of all.

“I’ll never betray—”

I drove my heel into his ribs.

A crack.

Then another.

Then five more in one go.

He gasped.

Pain always opens the throat.

“Who hurt my little brother?” I asked again, slower this time. I raised my hand and let the ki flow to the surface — a low, steady burn that coated my palm in flickering gold. I hovered it over his back until the heat started searing the cloth and cooking the flesh beneath.

He screamed.

It wasn’t noble. It wasn’t dignified. It was a raw, high-pitched wail that echoed off the crater walls.

“It… it was the King,” he choked out, crying. “He tried to kill him but… but decided exile was better…”

I stayed silent.

The guard trembled under me.

I pulled the ki back and stood.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t.

I looked down at him — pathetic, bleeding, breath whistling through punctured lungs, and without a second thought, killed him, crushing his skull with my right foot.

I turned to Broly.

He was crying, scared, angry, but mostly scared.

I picked Broly up gently, “There there, the monsters are gone.”

I cradled Broly against my shoulder. His breathing was shaky. He was trying not to cry anymore, but the little tremors in his fists and tail gave him away. His ki was still flickering—erratic, wounded, confused. 

He didn’t understand what just happened.

Good.

He shouldn’t have to. Not yet.

Not for a few more years. Not if I had anything to say about it.

The crater still steamed behind me, blood soaking into the red dirt like spilled oil. The air stank of charred armor, copper, and melting flesh. One of the guards was already a corpse. The other one... was more like a smear now.

Broly’s heartbeat fluttered against my armor. I could feel it.

Small.

Fast.

But steady.

He was calming himself… maybe I was helping.

I stood there, Broly in my arms, swaying slightly as his tail curled on my arm for a sense of safety. He wasn’t shaking anymore.

On the surface, he looked calm.

The crying had stopped. His breathing evened out. Eyes shut. Little fists loosened, no longer clenched like he was gripping onto life itself.

But I didn’t feel peace.

I felt rage. Stronger than before, I thought their deaths would appease the feeling, but it had not.

Raw and untamed, hiding under that stillness like a pulse beneath the floorboards.

I held him a little tighter.

Footsteps crunched behind me.

I didn’t turn.

I knew who it was, Okara, who had landed hard enough to crack the dirt.

She didn’t speak right away.

She didn’t have to.

Her ki shifted the moment she saw Broly’s head. The dried blood in his hair. The way his tail was wrapped tight around my arm like an anchor.

I felt her anger bloom—hot, bright, reckless.

“…What,” she said slowly, “the fuck happened.”

“He tried to kill him, and when that failed,” I replied. “Exile.”

Her jaw tightened. She took two steps forward, crouched, and looked at Broly properly. Really looked. Her expression changed from anger to something colder. Sharper.

“Who did that to him,” she asked.

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Her eyes flicked to the crater. To the remains. To the smear that used to be a guard. She straightened.

Then she smiled.

It wasn’t a nice smile.

“So,” she said, cracking her knuckles, “When are we killing that fucking coward of a King?”

“Today,” I all but hissed.

Screw waiting for the right time to act.

Screw my damn plan, no more fucking delays