Standoff on Vampa

Broly had spent a full forty-one years on Vampa, a planet that had become his prison.

Here, there was nothing but him, the monsters, and a stretch of scorched earth that would never turn gentle.

Yet today, of all days, he encountered Beerus and Whis.

When the pair landed, they didn't kick up a single grain of dust.

Broly composed his expression—a mix of vigilance laced with confusion, and defensiveness mingled with faint bewilderment.

He took half a step back, shifted his left foot, lowered his center of gravity, and settled into a standard defensive stance, though he made sure to execute it with a touch of calculated clumsiness.

Beerus had just touched down, his purple robes fluttering softly.

He stood with his arms crossed, his tail swaying slowly behind him, scrutinizing the tall Saiyan before him.

Broly's physique was unique; at nearly three meters tall, he was an outlier even among Saiyans.

Yet his muscles were well-defined, solid and fluid, without an ounce of excess fat.

Every muscle fiber looked like gunpowder ready to ignite at any moment.

Standing there, he appeared relaxed, but his feet were firmly anchored into the ground, ready to strike at a second's notice.

His tattered animal-hide clothing barely covered his body, and his skin was covered in old and new scars—the marks of life-or-death struggles against the beasts of Vampa.

But what interested Beerus most were Broly's eyes.

Those black irises looked as deep as the night sky, yet occasionally, a flash of emerald green would flicker through them—an aura that was hard to define, whether it was the Super Saiyan God or something older, more primal.

What was even stranger was Broly's calm.

He wasn't feigning composure; this stillness was honed by time, a byproduct of absolute confidence in his own power.

Beerus had only seen such an aura in a handful of top-tier warriors, such as Son Goku, or Jiren, who had shone so brilliantly at the Tournament of Power.

"So, you're the one who unleashed that energy earlier?" Beerus finally spoke, his voice low and magnetic, tinged with a sense of superiority.

He tilted his head, the whiskers on his face twitching slightly. "You don't look like anything special."

Broly didn't rush to answer.

He stared at Beerus, his pupils contracting slightly like a beast sizing up its prey, or perhaps weighing the threat before him.

His right fingers curled imperceptibly—an instinctive reaction he had developed over many years.

Whis stood to the side, maintaining an elegant smile. His staff tapped against the ground, the tip striking the rock with a crisp ding.

Suddenly, he spoke, his voice gentle and soft, yet it cut straight through the wind. "Mr. Broly, is it?"

Broly's pupils shrank to a pinpoint.

It wasn't a subtle reaction; it was clear surprise.

The muscles in his face tightened, and though he recovered quickly, that flicker of tension could not be hidden.

He turned his head slowly, shifting his gaze from Beerus to Whis, his voice low and raspy, as if he hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time. "How do you know my name?"

"Mr. Paragus's personal recorder mentioned it." Whis smiled and tilted his staff, a stream of pale blue data flashing within the crystal ball at its head.

"Although that recorder was almost completely destroyed when it crashed forty-one years ago, the remaining fragments of data still contained some key information, such as your name and your birthday."

Broly fell silent for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the distance—the wreckage of the ship lay buried beneath the scorched earth and rocks.

He remembered that military recorder his father had brought, filled with Saiyan files, mission logs, and even some combat data.

It seemed Whis had used some divine method to scan the entire planet before landing, not even missing the wreckage underground.

The wind blew from far away, whipping up a layer of red sand and drawing a thin veil between the three of them.

Broly raised a hand to shield his eyes, the movement perfectly natural.

After he lowered his hand, his expression was even more guarded. "Who are you?" His voice was still raspy, but this time it held a bit more tension, as if he were forcing the words out from his throat. "Why come to a place like this? Vampa... there is nothing here worth the attention of gods."

"I am Whis, the Angel of Universe 7." Whis bowed elegantly, his movement as fluid as a dance.

"My duty is to guide and assist the God of Destruction." He stood straight and pointed his staff at Beerus. "And this is the God of Destruction of Universe 7, Lord Beerus. We sensed a highly unusual energy outburst, so we came to take a look."

God of Destruction.

It was the first time Broly had heard the term; he had to act surprised and confused, but not overly so.

He raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, his body subconsciously retreating another half-step—just enough to appear wary without seeming contrived.

"God... of Destruction?" Broly repeated, his voice tinged with probing and doubt. "A god who destroys? You came to Vampa... are you here to wipe this place out?" His gaze darted between Beerus and Whis before settling on Beerus.

Within those black eyes, the emerald light flickered once more, so fast it was almost impossible to catch.

Beerus saw it clearly, and Whis's smile grew slightly more meaningful.