Shenron

Piccolo's eyes were tightly shut within the cocoon of light.

The material world beyond it was undergoing an earth-shaking reconstruction.

Golden-red Shenron wish power, purple Demon Realm energy, mixed with the primordial aura of the Ancient Sacred Tree, the three converged into a viscous liquid energy that poured endlessly into his battered yet newly reborn body.

Green—the vast, boundless force of life.

These vibrant motes of light followed the paths of the demonic markings, climbing over every inch of Piccolo's skin and repairing every one of his cells.

Yet he knew nothing of any of it.

Touch, hearing, even his perception of ki had all been completely stripped away during that prolonged baptism of energy.

When his consciousness began to function again, Piccolo found himself suspended amid a boundless expanse.

There was no sense of up, down, left, or right; no dome of the Lookout; nor was there the oppressive crimson sky of the Demon Realm.

Before his eyes stretched the universe, filling his entire field of vision.

Hundreds of billions of planets slowly rotated through the deep darkness, trailing long tails of stardust behind them.

Countless galaxies formed enormous spiral nebulae. Where the nebulae intersected, dazzling supernovas were being born, erupting, and then returning to silence.

It was a grand tableau vast enough to drive any mortal creature insane.

Deep within this sea of stars, where even time had lost all meaning, stood a figure turned sideways toward him.

Standing alone at the center of the galaxy, it was somehow a hundred times more conspicuous than the burning stars.

The figure was shrouded in a loose, pure-white hooded robe.

The robe was neither silk nor linen, and faint streams of silver-white light flowed through the gaps between its fibers.

The person held an ancient wooden staff in his hand.