Echoes

He dropped to one knee, bracing one hand against the cold rock while clutching his chest with the other, panting so hard it felt as if he were about to cough up his lungs.

Every breath burned like fire. The moment he exhaled, it formed a cloud of white mist over the stone, then vanished in an instant.

The suffocating green aura around him, like a flame on the verge of being blown out, abruptly withdrew and dimmed.

His swollen muscles slowly returned to normal, and his terrifyingly massive frame shrank back to its original lean build.

His golden hair, which had been standing wildly on end, seemed to have been doused with cold water. It slowly flattened, turned black again, and clung to his sweat-soaked shoulders.

But when he finally raised his head, his eyes had changed.

For the past forty-one years, his scarlet eyes had always been filled with fear, madness, and oppression. Now, all that remained was the ashen gray of the aftermath of a storm—bottomless, as if they had swallowed everything.

All his anger had been spent. Only emptiness remained, along with an exhaustion that seeped into his bones.

Yet beneath that utter exhaustion lay a stillness like dead water—cold as a frozen lake, reflecting nothing, yet frighteningly solid.

"Forty-one years..." he murmured, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper scraping stone. "Everything that built up over forty-one years... it all burst out at once..."

He slowly straightened and gazed up at the sky over Vampa, stained blood-red by the dark crimson star.

Its light was bright, but cold, offering no warmth at all.

At the very instant his power had peaked and every shackle within him had been shattered, he had faintly sensed something, somewhere unimaginably far away, glance in his direction.

The sensation had felt unreal, almost like an illusion, yet it had been unmistakable—impossible to ignore.

"Have Frieza's men... finally come looking for me?" he muttered. His cracked lips curled into a bitter, mocking smile, touched with relief. "Or... is it something else?"

He looked around.

All he saw was endless new lava and ruins.

This was the "home" where he had lived for forty-one years—and the cage that had imprisoned him for just as long.

And now, he had destroyed most of it himself.

An unprecedented sense of emptiness swept over him, bringing a freedom so vast it was unsettling, along with an even deeper confusion.

"Whoever you are—" Broly raised his voice, and it echoed across the dead land, answered only by the flowing magma. "Since you've seen me, since you've felt me—"

He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened, but there was no madness burning in his eyes now, only cold resolve.

"Then come."

"I've had enough of this damned place."

The dark crimson star still hung coldly in the sky, stingily casting down the same unchanging light. On the scorching rocks, it stretched Broly's shadow long and lonely.

In the Supreme Kai World, the air seemed frozen.

Faint golden ripples still lingered around the crystal atop Whis's staff, left over from his energy scan.

At that moment, when the word "Saiyan" had slipped softly from his lips, even the space inside the temple seemed to tremble.

Son Goku, who had been sitting cross-legged on the polished floor, sprang up like a coiled spring.

A web of cracks spread across the floor beneath his feet. In a flash, he shot toward Whis, leaving only a blur behind.

His eyes, usually full of laughter, now shone with alarming intensity. Fire burned in their depths, like two little suns ignited in the darkness.

"A Saiyan? There really is a Saiyan?" His voice trembled with excitement. His hands clenched into fists on their own, his knuckles turning white. "Besides me and Vegeta, are there other Saiyans still alive? Where are they? Are they strong?"

Whis gracefully floated a step back and held his staff across his body, gently pressing it against Son Goku, who had nearly crowded right up to him.

The crystal atop the staff glowed softly, quietly dispelling the energy radiating from Goku.

The Angel still wore his usual gentle smile, though a hint of deep concern flickered in his eyes.

"Mr. Goku, please control your energy," Whis said, his clear voice carrying a strangely soothing quality. "I only detected a trace of a very pure Saiyan bloodline in that distant energy fluctuation. Whether it belongs to a living Saiyan or is merely a residual energy imprint... we'll have to find out for ourselves."

"Then what are we waiting for!" Son Goku spun around, his white martial arts uniform rustling loudly through the air.

The space around him began to warp slightly. Golden energy leaked from beneath his skin despite his efforts, forming a thin halo around him.

It was an instinctive response deep within his Saiyan blood to a powerful opponent—every cell in his body was screaming, every nerve trembling.

"What's the hurry?" Beerus's voice came down like icy water.

The God of Destruction had somehow sat upright. His purple cat ears twitched atop his head.

He propped his chin on one hand and impatiently tapped the armrest with the other. Each tap seemed to strike at everyone's heart.

"Vampa?" Beerus scoffed, his purple eyes full of contempt. "A dump the universe has all but forgotten, a miserable place even space pirates can't be bothered to visit. What kind of decent warrior could come from there? Probably some piece of trash exiled when Planet Vegeta was destroyed—someone who can't even become a Super Saiyan."

As he spoke, the light in the temple dimmed a little.

The God of Destruction was holding back his power, but its oppressive presence still made it hard to breathe.

"But Lord Beerus," Whis said, gently turning his staff. Its tip traced an arc through the air, and the space it passed through rippled like water. "From what I sensed, the energy was actually quite a bit stronger than Mr. Goku's and Mr. Vegeta's current base forms."