Shattered God

Centered on the point of impact, the ground instantly collapsed into a massive crater hundreds of meters across.

The force of the impact was so fierce that even the rocks along the crater walls had melted into a glass-like state. The next second, sharp cracking sounds erupted as countless fissures spread wildly from the crater like a spiderweb, tearing through the earth and sweeping away soil and boulders.

Several chunks of the continent's edge broke off entirely, fragments as large as hilltops plunging into the bottomless void below.

Dust and shattered stone churned together, rising into a mushroom cloud that nearly blotted out half the sky.

At the very bottom of the crater, Champa lay flat on his back. The rock beneath him had been smashed into a distinct humanoid indentation.

His whole body hurt as though it were about to split apart, especially the two arms he had crossed to block the heavy blow. They had long since stopped obeying him, hanging limp and twisted at his sides. Their bones and tendons had probably been pulverized.

His purple skin was covered in dust and blood, and the God of Destruction's ornate clothes had been reduced to rags. He looked utterly miserable.

He laboriously turned his neck, his cervical vertebrae creaking.

Then, with all his strength, he forced his eyelids open and looked upward through the lingering dust.

A figure was slowly descending at the edge of the crater.

The golden aura around Qi Heng had already receded, leaving only a faint glow surrounding him.

He landed lightly atop a tilted, charred rock on the crater rim, his back straight and his black hair fluttering slightly in the lingering energy winds.

He looked down at the battered Champa.

Those golden eyes had already returned to calm. There was no victor's pride in them, nor any lofty mockery—only unfathomable indifference.

Like a windless lake, reflecting no emotion at all.

That punch had clearly been capable of crushing a God of Destruction in one blow, yet in Qi Heng's eyes, it seemed no more significant than casually brushing dust from his shoulder, not worth leaving a trace in his mind.

The dust slowly settled. The entire edge of the continent was deathly silent, save for the faint hiss of energy flowing through the distant void and Champa's heavy, broken breathing.

Qi Heng's voice suddenly rang out, steady and clear. It was not loud, yet it seemed to drill directly into Champa's ears. "Do you still want to continue, Lord Champa?"

Champa lay sprawled at the bottom of the crater, shattered golden ore beneath him digging into his back like fangs.

His eyes shifted toward the sky overhead, churned into disarray by the energy shockwave—it was no longer the familiar black of space, but a murky amber, like thick honey, or the eyes of some giant beast on the verge of death.

Dust and sparse fragments of energy slowly descended through that sky, refracting scattered light.

Within his broken arms, excruciating pain burrowed through his bones and nerves like red-hot iron needles.

He tried to move his fingers, but all that answered was wave after wave of numb spasms.

Every muscle in his body was howling, like bowstrings stretched to their limit and about to snap.

It had been a very long time since he had felt this—this sensation of nearly being shattered completely.

Champa was the God of Destruction of Universe 6. Though he was not among the strongest of the twelve gods, he was still one of the beings at the pinnacle of the universe.

His body had long been tempered into something incomparably powerful by divine power, while his will had always remained arrogant and cold amid the flames of destruction.

No one had ever forced him into such a state—like a giant beast stripped of its claws and dignity, miserably trapped in the deep crater it had made itself, able only to gaze up at the turbulent sky.

Yet the person who had beaten him into this state was the brat he had personally picked up from the ruins and painstakingly raised into a candidate God of Destruction—a Saiyan.

And twenty years ago, that brat had merely been an orphan on some planet in Universe 7, curled up amid the ruins and trembling in terror.

"Qi Heng..." Champa moved his bloodstained lips. His voice was hoarse as sandpaper scraping together, nearly inaudible.

As he spoke the name, more bloody foam spilled from his mouth.

Gritting his teeth, he cursed, "You little... bastard..."

At last, his eyelids could no longer hold on. They slammed shut, blocking out that irritating amber light.

But although he could no longer see anything outside, images flooded his mind like a burst dam.

Champa clearly remembered that afternoon twenty years ago—on a planet in Universe 7 that had just endured a brutal war.

The sky had been leaden gray, thick with the smell of smoke and ashes.

The wreckage of massive buildings lay piled up like beast bones, while broken metal and crystals reflected a bleak light.

It was beneath the shadow of a slanted alloy slab that he found the child.

The child was pitifully thin, dressed in a tattered combat suit and curled up behind a pile of rubble.

His exposed skin was covered in wounds, and his pale golden hair was tangled and caked with dirt.

When Champa's enormous figure approached and cast a vast shadow over him, the child did not flee or cry like a startled little animal.

He merely raised his head.

On that filthy little face, his eyes shone with a piercing brightness. They held fear, but also vigilance, like a trapped beast.

But deeper still was an unbreakable stubbornness.

He stared fixedly at Champa. Though his body trembled from pain and exhaustion, he still clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

That gaze seemed to shout: Even if you crush me the next second, I will not look away first.

It was at that moment that something long dormant in Champa's heart was ignited.

It was not pity. It was more like the interest of discovering rare ore—or perhaps recognition for that flame that refused to yield.

He decided to take this extraordinary little thing with him.

So he came up with the most "tempting" reason he could think of to coax—no, recruit him. "Come with me, kid. Become a God of Destruction, and you'll gain endless life and power. Most importantly, you'll get to eat every delicacy in the universe, whether you can imagine it or not!"

He spoke with animated enthusiasm, as if he were promising the greatest ideal in the universe.

But the child—Qi Heng—barely changed expression after hearing him out.

He seemed completely uninterested in food or immortality.

He merely stared fixedly at Champa and asked in a hoarse yet clear voice, "Will that make me the strongest?"

From then on, growing stronger became Qi Heng's sole goal, an obsession as vital as life itself.

Under Vados's almost cruel guidance, Qi Heng's progress often left even the well-traveled Champa astonished.

The first time a Super Saiyan's golden aura shot into the sky, Champa had been gnawing on a chicken leg and nearly choked; when Super Saiyan 2's lightning tore through the training planet's skies, all he could mutter was, "I'm the one paying to fix the planet again"; when Super Saiyan 3's silver hair whipped wildly in the air, he finally narrowed his eyes and seriously examined the little brat he had picked up.

Every breakthrough had been bought with blood, sweat, and even the strength in his marrow. It had not been a natural progression, but one painful rebirth after another.