Terrifying Piccolo

The sky had been clear, but a few dark clouds had drifted in at some point.

They blocked the brilliant sunlight, casting a shadow over the tropical island.

The sea breeze turned chilly, making the colorful flags at the Martial Arts Tournament flutter and snap. The sound was like a warning of the storm to come.

The audience felt a chill and hurriedly bundled up. The once lively atmosphere grew oppressive.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Up next is the final match of the quarterfinals! And it's the one you've all been waiting for!"

The announcer's voice boomed across the grounds through the loudspeakers, trying to lift the increasingly somber mood.

But there was also a slight, barely perceptible tremor in his voice.

As a longtime host of the Martial Arts Tournament, he had an instinctive sense of danger.

"Let's welcome our competitors!"

"On one side, the mysterious bald powerhouse who defeated Yamcha with just one finger—Krillin!"

"On the other, the competitor with the very unusual-sounding name—Demon Jr.!"

With his hands in his pockets, Krillin strolled onto the Arena.

He was wearing an orange Turtle School Gi today, and his bald head still glimmered beneath the cloudy sky.

He wore a nonchalant expression, as if he were just out for a stroll.

Across from him, the tall figure, still wrapped in a white turban and a heavy cape, approached slowly.

With every step he took, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. A suffocating sense of oppression spread along with him.

It felt as if an ancient ferocious beast had fixed its gaze on them.

[ Ding! System task issued. ]

[ Task objective: Defeat Demon Jr. Piccolo. ]

[ Special restriction: You absolutely must not kill the opponent. If Piccolo dies, Kami will die as well, and the Dragon Balls will be permanently rendered useless. The story that follows will suffer irreversible damage. ]

[ Task reward: Namekian regenerative ability (beginner level), a large amount of reputation. ]

Krillin curled his lip and cursed inwardly.

"I can't kill him, but I still have to win—and I even have to make him accept defeat wholeheartedly..."

"This system really is getting better and better at causing me trouble. This is even harder than killing him."

The tall figure stopped five meters away from Krillin.

Through a gap in his turban, his sharp eyes fixed on Krillin.

There was no pure murderous intent in them, but rather a haughty, mocking amusement, as if he were watching an insect struggle in the palm of his hand.

"Heh heh heh..."

Piccolo let out a low, cold laugh. His voice was hoarse and grating, like two rusty metal plates scraping together.

"Krillin?"

"I know that name. A few years ago, you were just a brat who could only hide behind Goku."

"Don't you remember? Tambourine killed you like he was crushing an ant. The sound of your bones snapping must have been delightful, don't you think?"

At those words, Goku's fists clenched instantly. His knuckles turned white, and his teeth ground together.

It was a pain he would carry forever, a nightmare he never wanted to remember.

"Krillin..."

Goku murmured, a hint of worry flashing in his eyes.

But Krillin merely picked his ear and flicked at his fingernail, looking entirely unconcerned.

"Ah, yeah, that did happen."

"But thanks to you, I got to take a trip to the afterlife. The scenery was pretty nice, and King Yemma even treated me to tea."

"But you, as the reincarnation of the Demon King, why are you still talking so much? Is there no one around to talk to you? Have you been bottling it up too long?"

Piccolo's gaze instantly turned icy, and the rubble around them began to tremble slightly.

"Sharp-tongued brat. Let's hope your bones are as hard as your mouth."

As he spoke, he tore off his cape and turban.

"Whoosh... Boom!"

The heavy weighted gear slammed into the ground, punching straight through the concrete and leaving two deep holes as a cloud of dust rose into the air.

But that wasn't the main thing.

With his disguise gone, his signature green skin, the pink muscle patches on his arms, his pointed ears, and the two antennae on his forehead were exposed for all to see.

The venue fell silent for a moment.

Time seemed to freeze.

All the spectators, the referees, and even the other competitors backstage stared wide-eyed, their pupils shrinking violently.

They couldn't believe what they were seeing.

Then panic erupted like a plague.

"G-green skin... That's..."

"That appearance! That face! It's King Piccolo!"

"Oh my God! Wasn't he dead? Why is he here?!"

"Run! The Demon King has come back to life! We're all going to be killed!"

"Mom! I want to go home!"

The stands erupted in an instant, filled with screams and cries.

People shoved one another, desperate to escape the terrifying place. Chairs toppled, and popcorn spilled everywhere.

Some were so terrified they wet themselves right there.

Even the experienced announcer was so frightened that he crawled under the table.

The microphone in his hands shook as it knocked against the floor, making a piercing noise.

Fear had taken deep root in the hearts of every person on Earth.

The horrific reign that had engulfed the entire world a few years ago still haunted them.