Plundering Evolution

Far from the battlefield, in the silent, freezing synchronous orbit, Angel Whis hovered quietly.

The staff in his hand, topped with a magical orb, turned lightly. It gave off a soft halo that silently dissolved the violent aftershocks of energy rushing toward him.

As he looked down at the planet below, continuously stained by two terrifying lights as though it were groaning in pain, he sighed softly. His voice carried his usual detached helplessness. "My, my, these two... they really never stop, do they? At this rate, this planet won't hold out much longer."

Yet when his gaze swept over the two energy cores below, constantly colliding, annihilating, and reforming, his ever-narrowed eyes seemed to open by the slightest crack. An almost imperceptible glint of interest passed through his blue pupils.

He tilted his head slightly, and the corner of his mouth rose uncontrollably. It was a smile deeper than the starry sky, rich with meaning.

"Still... this is not entirely boring."

Vampa was already unrecognizable, like a fragment abandoned by the gods, burning silently in space.

Its once barren, scorched surface had been torn completely apart, like scars gouged open by a giant god's fingernails.

Bottomless fissures crisscrossed the land. From high above, the entire planet resembled a shattered spiderweb.

Crimson magma erupted madly from deep within the planet's core. It did not flow—it erupted. Lava pillars over a kilometer wide shot into the sky one after another, dyeing the dim heavens a sickly blood-red.

Rivers of magma surged across the cracked earth. Wherever they passed, rock vaporized and the ground melted. The entire planet was turning into a spinning, burning infernal furnace.

The atmosphere had long since ceased to exist.

Amid the shockwaves generated by the countless clashes between two beings beyond mortal limits, that fragile shell of gas had been utterly shredded and scattered.

Vampa now lay naked beneath the cold gaze of the universe, while stellar radiation scorched its surface without obstruction.

The rocks glowed a blinding white under the heat before melting into viscous liquid. Mountains that had once stood tall were collapsing and softening, twisting out of shape like melting candles.

The planet's surface temperature was rising by hundreds of degrees Celsius every minute. Some regions had already approached the temperature of a star's surface.

And at the center of this devastation, two lights were still clashing—they were the only things on this dying planet still "moving."

Emerald energy and purple divine might tangled like two ancient dragons locked in battle. Every collision was more than an intersection of light—it was a clash of laws.

The emerald aura around Broly surged violently, every wisp of energy like a living tentacle that left searing trails through the void. The purple radiance around Beerus was more restrained, yet more lethal. It did not flaunt itself, but it twisted and made the surrounding space tremble.

Their speed had already surpassed the limits of mortal comprehension.

They were not flying—they were flickering. One instant, they were above Vampa's North Pole, green and purple light exploding like two colliding comets and sending out ring-shaped shockwaves. The next, they had appeared above the equatorial sea of magma, the aftermath of their collision heaving the lava ocean for hundreds of miles around into waves a thousand meters high.

As they moved, dozens of afterimages trailed behind them. Before those afterimages could fade from the retina, their true bodies had already begun another exchange a thousand miles away.

The air—no, space itself—let out a strained wail as they passed, forming fine cracks like fractured glass.

Broly's condition was better than ever before.

His body had completely adapted to the Legendary Super Saiyan form.

The outputs of power that had initially left him strained, even in pain, now became as natural and fluid as breathing.

Under the constant infusion of violent energy, his muscles had become even more refined. They were not bloated with bulk; every muscle fiber had been tempered to the extreme, gleaming with a metallic sheen beneath the emerald aura.

Every inch of skin on his body contained terrifying power capable of tearing space apart. With every movement, the air around his knuckles ionized on its own, bursting with tiny arcs of electricity.

More importantly, he was learning—learning in a manner that was almost predatory.

Beerus threw a straight punch. Purple destruction energy condensed onto a single point at his fist, no larger than a needle's tip, yet containing enough power to erase stars.

Broly did not take it head-on. In one thousandth of a second, he shifted sideways and let the fist graze past his chest. At the same time, his right hand formed a claw and clamped toward Beerus's wrist.

A week ago, he would still have needed to think about that move. Now, it had become instinct.

Beerus spun and kicked. His leg blurred like a whip, cracking a ring of sonic-boom clouds through the air.

Broly ducked, and the wind from the kick grazed past his hair, shearing off more than a dozen flying strands of golden hair.

Even as he ducked, he swept out his right leg, targeting the ankle of Beerus's planted left foot.

Beerus leaped up. Broly's sweep missed, but it sliced cleanly through the base of a mountain below that had already half-melted, leaving a cut as smooth as a mirror.

The God of Destruction's combat methods—the ultimate technique of concentrating destructive energy into the smallest possible area, the bizarre footwork that used an opponent's momentum for exquisite counterattacks, the terrifying focus that maintained millimeter-level precision even at extreme speed—were being dismantled, analyzed, absorbed, and transformed by Broly bit by bit.

His fighting style was beginning to change. It had lost some of its initial savage brutality and gained some of the precision and efficiency that belonged to a god.

"This monster..."

That assessment surfaced in Beerus's mind once more. This time, it was mixed with a trace of something he himself was unwilling to admit... wariness.

He had lived for billions of years. He had witnessed the rise and fall of countless civilizations and seen innumerable beings called "geniuses," "prodigies," and "monsters."

Some were born with immense strength. Some possessed extraordinary insight. Some could unleash unimaginable potential in desperate situations.

But not one of them had ever displayed such terrifying, unreasonable growth in battle as the Saiyan before him.

This was not gradual learning. It was evolutionary leaps.

Broly was not learning.

He was plundering—openly, nakedly, without the slightest attempt to conceal it.

With every exchange of fists and kicks, Broly plundered combat experience and techniques from Beerus.

Beerus would use three attacks to set a trap, and by the fourth, Broly would set a similar trap in return, only rougher and more violent. Beerus would use precise energy control to defuse a heavy blow, and in his next attack, Broly would try to smash through that control with even more violent energy.