It hung on the horizon, blazing like a flower of fire.
For a moment, it was as if a second sun had appeared over the desolate planet.
Light poured down like water.
The jagged rocks beneath Broly's feet, the distant dunes, even every speck of dust swirling through the air were rimmed with a cold, sacred silver glow.
His pupils contracted until they were as thin as needles.
But it wasn't just the light.
Along with it came an aura—vast, profound, and chilling, like a god standing above all things and gazing down upon all creation.
It didn't bother taking its time. Instead, it tore through the thin atmosphere at an incomprehensible speed and slammed down over the entire planet, pressing against Broly's skin and nerves as well.
"This is..."
The heart he had grown used to beating slowly in his solitude suddenly pounded as if it would burst from his chest.
Blood rushed through his veins with a roar only he could hear.
This wasn't fear.
He had long since forgotten what fear felt like.
This was another emotion, more ancient and profound, one that forty-one years had nearly worn away.
Now, that aura had rudely set it ablaze.
It was—anticipation.
The silver-white light drew closer and closer.
Its core slowly contracted, gathering itself until at last it stopped several hundred meters above the ground.
The light softened, but its presence remained overwhelming.
Broly narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze wild and keen.
Through the halo, he made out two figures within the light.
The one on the left was tall and slender, dressed in strange, dark clothes and holding a staff with a jewel set into its tip.
He was handsome, with an otherworldly elegance and aloofness.
His purple skin looked inscrutable in the faint light. A faint smile played at the corner of his mouth, as if he saw through everything—and yet cared about nothing at all.
The one on the right was shorter, but the pressure radiating from him was almost suffocating.
He stood hovering silently with his arms crossed, completely motionless.
He simply stood there, as if the weight and laws of the entire universe rested upon him.
His eyes lowered, as though passing judgment on fate itself.
Time seemed to stretch, then freeze.
Broly stood rooted in place as memories from another world, long sealed away in his mind, suddenly burst open like floodgates and came roaring back.
Countless images and fragments of information came crashing toward him all at once.
Names, titles, legends, symbols... The two figures before him fit perfectly with everything in his memories.
The God of Destruction of Universe 7—Beerus.
The Angel of Universe 7, and his mentor and attendant—Whis.
Now, these two beings at the summit of the universe gazed down at him in silence, their eyes appraising him, with what almost seemed like a hint of... interest.
The wind howled across the wasteland, kicking up fine sand that struck his rock-hard body.
The hard lines on Broly's face, carved by wind and sand, battle, and numbness, shifted ever so slightly.
Then the corners of his mouth slowly lifted.
It wasn't an unconscious twitch of his muscles. It was a clear, gradual smile.
A genuine smile, returning to his face for the first time in forty-one long years.
It was cold and wild, with a burning heat that had been suppressed for far too long and had finally found an outlet—and with it, an indescribable sense of destiny.
On this silent, desolate land, three figures stood facing one another, like statues frozen in time.
Broly stood barefoot on the scorching rocks, his soles long accustomed to the searing pain.
He slowly raised his head and gazed at the perpetually gray sky.
Two figures were descending slowly from high above. Ripples of energy shimmered visibly around them, pushing aside the dust and leaving clear trails in their wake.
His heart pounded violently in his chest, each beat like a war drum against his eardrums.
He could feel his blood racing through his veins and his muscles trembling faintly beneath his skin.
It was both his body's fighting instinct and an excitement he could no longer suppress deep within.
Broly took a deep breath, the scorching air burning his windpipe.
He forced himself to press down his chaotic thoughts, like holding back a surging tide behind a dam.
His muscles relaxed, his shoulders lowered, and his breathing gradually steadied—he had to maintain perfect control over every detail.
He couldn't let them see that he knew too much.
Before you continue