Piccolo Daimao

Eleven thousand meters beneath the Pacific Ocean lay a deathly silent world where not even light could penetrate.

The submersible hovered at the edge of the trench, the faint glow of its instrument panel reflecting off Bulma's slightly pale face. She gripped the controls tightly, her palms slick with cold sweat. At this depth, even the slightest undercurrent could pose a threat to them.

Son Goku sat cross-legged in the rear, staring ahead through the thick pressure-resistant glass.

The searchlights swept across a patch of ghostly white deep-sea coral. Wedged among algae-covered rocks was a battered old rice cooker encrusted with barnacles, its original color long unrecognizable.

"That thing?" Bulma stared at the screen and swallowed, her voice tight. "The Dragon Radar's danger-warning light has been flashing red nonstop. What exactly is inside that thing?"

"Move closer. Use the mechanical arms." Son Goku's voice was calm and even.

Bulma took a deep breath and pushed the control lever down. Two mechanical claws slowly extended from the front of the submersible and, as carefully as if handling a bomb, retrieved the rice cooker into the pressure chamber.

A yellow talisman covered in red characters was stuck to the rice cooker's lid. Though it had soaked in seawater for centuries, it remained perfectly intact. The vermilion character for demon inscribed upon it was the absolute seal Roshi had left behind at the cost of his life.

"Surviving centuries underwater wasn't easy for you, huh?"

Son Goku looked at the rusty iron pot inside the isolation chamber. He had no intention of lifting the lid down here in the depths. This was Piccolo Daimao, a ruthless figure who had once trampled the Earth beneath his feet. If he was going to make an entrance, it ought to be somewhere more spacious.

Half a day later, on an unnamed deserted island in an unknown stretch of sea in the Northern Hemisphere.

Even the heavens seemed to have sensed something. Violent winds churned across the sea, lead-gray clouds pressing heavily against the horizon. Thunder rumbled as bean-sized raindrops poured down, smashing fiercely against the reefs.

The submersible was parked in the shallow water near shore, with Bulma remaining inside on standby.

Son Goku stood alone atop a protruding sea rock. The gale howled and the rain came down in sheets, yet every drop that came within inches of his body seemed to strike an invisible barrier and silently slid aside, without even dampening the corner of his clothes.

At his feet, the rusted rice cooker stood alone amid the wind and rain.

Without another word, Son Goku bent down, pinched the weathered demon-sealing talisman, and gave it a light tug with his wrist.

Rip—

The faint sound of tearing paper was swallowed by the thunderstorm, but what followed was enough to send chills down one's spine.

The previously lifeless rice cooker began to shake violently. Dense purple-black miasma burst madly from its seams like an erupting well. Carrying a pungent stench and pure malice, the black fog rapidly expanded in midair before finally taking the form of a gaunt figure over two meters tall, draped in a tattered cloak.

Even standing still, the rain around him was forcibly pushed away by his violent aura.

Piccolo Daimao had seen daylight once more.

"Heh... hehehe..."

A grating laugh, like sandpaper scraping glass, echoed across the deserted island.

The aged Piccolo Daimao slowly opened his triangular eyes, dark yellow pupils gleaming with savage red light. He took a deep breath of the salty sea air, his shriveled chest heaving violently.

"Fresh air... the taste of freedom!"

Piccolo Daimao suddenly spread his arms wide. Veins bulged across his shriveled, wrinkled green skin as he raised both hands to the sky, wantonly venting the hatred and arrogance accumulated over centuries of imprisonment.

"Roshi! You damned insect, you've finally turned to ash! And I, the great Piccolo Daimao, once again reign over this world!"

Having vented his rage, Piccolo Daimao finally shifted his serpent-like gaze toward the black-haired youth standing before him.

"Boy, was it you who broke the seal?" Piccolo Daimao looked down at Son Goku, a cruel smile stretching across his wrinkled face. "As a reward for releasing me, I shall grant you a painless death. Your flesh and blood will make a fine appetizer!"

Before his words had faded, two scarlet laser beams suddenly shot from the Demon King's eyes. Carrying terrifying heat, the twin death rays easily tore through the curtain of rain and flew straight for Son Goku's brow.

He thought that in the next instant, this mortal who did not know his place would be blown into a cloud of blood.

But that did not happen—

Facing the lethal beams, Son Goku merely raised his right hand casually and gave a light wave through the air, as though brushing away dust.

Clang!

The instant the fierce death rays struck his fingers, they were like baseballs hit head-on by a bat, their trajectories violently knocked aside. With a sharp whoosh, the beams ricocheted away at an even more terrifying speed, grazing the edge of the island and shooting into the dark open sea.

After a brief, dead silence—

BOOM!!!

Several kilometers away, a massive, blinding fireball exploded over the sea, turning half the night sky bright as day. The terrible energy instantly vaporized tons of seawater, sending a towering column of water erupting into the sky and whipping up a violent tsunami that crashed savagely against the reefs.

The wind howled, but Son Goku stood quietly where he was, utterly unmoved.

"Is the Demon King of the old era really this feeble, even when saying hello?"

Son Goku lowered his right hand. His deep black eyes studied the once-renowned Demon King before him, a trace of mockery surfacing in them.

He looked straight into Piccolo Daimao's stiff face, his tone calm yet carrying an oppressive force that made the soul tremble. "You know, before opening that rice cooker, I was actually looking forward to this. But now it seems... a power level of just over two hundred is what gives you confidence?"

"What nonsense are you spouting?!" Piccolo Daimao's pupils abruptly contracted. Though he had not used his full strength in that attack, it was still not something an ordinary martial artist could block.

"It's fine if you don't understand." Son Goku shrugged.

"As the closing act of your life, I'll borrow a line to send you off."

He looked at the Demon King and spoke each word distinctly.

"Listen well. My power level is—five hundred and thirty thousand."

The moment he said it, the little bit of mischievous amusement in Son Goku's transmigrator heart was immensely satisfied. Stealing Frieza's line in advance and using it here made for a perfect display of intimidation.

Piccolo Daimao naturally did not understand the concept of five hundred and thirty thousand, but his instincts as a demon made him keenly feel that ultimate contempt.

"Stop putting on this mysterious act! I am the invincible Piccolo Daimao!!"

Old Piccolo Daimao was completely enraged. From within his shriveled body, an incomparably violent aura of purple-black energy erupted. The sea rocks beneath his feet cracked with fine fractures under the pressure of that presence. Accompanied by a shriek like tearing silk, his figure instantly left behind an afterimage.

"Explosive Demon Wave!"

All the demonic power that had just awakened within him surged into his right fist. The extreme compression of energy made the fist whistle with a piercing shriek. Carrying the confidence that it could sink an entire deserted island, the punch shot straight at Son Goku.

Facing the heavy fist hurtling toward him, Son Goku kept both hands in his pockets. He neither dodged nor evaded, allowing the blow to slam solidly into his chest.

Boom!

A dull, thunderous impact rang out. The violent force became a visible ring of white air, forcibly tearing a vacuum through the curtain of rain around them.

Yet when the airwaves subsided, the cruel grin on Old Piccolo Daimao's face froze into ghostly horror.

Before his eyes, the black-haired youth still stood where he had been, both hands in his pockets. He had not been sent flying, and his feet had not shifted even half an inch. That all-out killing move had not only failed to leave the slightest mark on the other's thin clothes—it had not even disturbed his steady breathing.

Old Piccolo Daimao felt as though his punch had not struck flesh and blood at all, but an immovable steel plate.

Crack.

Before he could recover from his terror, an ear-splitting crunch sounded.

The horrifying recoil surged back with devastating force. Old Piccolo Daimao's right arm could not withstand it. The bones in his forearm shattered inch by inch, snapping outward at a twisted angle as pale bone fragments pierced through the skin.

"Uwaaaah—!!!"

His miserable scream drowned out the thunder. Clutching his blood-soaked broken arm, Old Piccolo Daimao staggered back several steps.

For the first time, fear surfaced in those eyes filled with savagery. He finally understood that within the youth before him lurked a monstrous power capable of crushing him, body and soul alike.

It surpassed the limits of everything he understood!

"Y-you... who exactly are you?!" Old Piccolo Daimao panted heavily as purple-black blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

"The times have changed, Demon King."

Son Goku could not be bothered to admire his prey's despair. He patted the spot on his chest where he had been struck, then took a step forward, appearing before Old Piccolo Daimao like a phantom.

"I'm Son Goku. Remember my name."

Before his words had even faded, Son Goku casually raised his right leg. Like a heavy battle axe, it whipped upward and smashed into Old Piccolo Daimao's abdomen.

Blargh!

He had deliberately held back ninety-nine percent of his strength, but it was still absolute suppression against the decrepit Old Piccolo Daimao. He spat out a mouthful of blood mixed with chunks of internal organs, his body flying backward like a ragged sack.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

He smashed through more than a dozen enormous sea rocks in succession before finally becoming embedded in the cliff face, leaving behind a deep crater webbed with cracks.

His life force drained away madly, and his shriveled body stood at the edge of collapse.

Despair.

He had only just awakened from his seal, yet he was about to be crushed like a bug by some unknown youth.

"No... I refuse... The Demon Clan... cannot die out!"

At the final moment, a final flash of madness burst from Old Piccolo Daimao's eyes. He forced every remaining scrap of life force, inheritance, and endless resentment within him toward his throat.

His neck swelled to an exaggerated degree, making a nauseating squelching sound.

Pfft!

A giant demonic egg the size of an ostrich egg, covered in green slime, was violently spat out. The instant it left its parent body, it was wrapped in an air current and shot toward the distant horizon like a cannonball.

"My son... carry my hatred and live on... turn this world into hell!!!"

With that venomous curse, screamed until his voice broke, the red light in Old Piccolo Daimao's eyes completely scattered. His shriveled body burst apart like burnt paper ash in the torrential rain, vanishing between heaven and earth.

Son Goku stood where he was, quietly watching the demonic egg fly away without any intention of stopping it.

Everything had gone as expected.

Piccolo, who should have been born three years later, had been forcibly induced into being born early by him. But even if that little Demon King were given ten years or more to train, he still would not be able to touch Son Goku's heels.

He left the egg behind because, in the memories of his previous life, Son Goku had thought highly of this future second-generation demon. In this universe where everyone only cared about fighting, Piccolo was one of the few reliable people around.

He was also the life mentor who treated Son Gohan as his own son—the Son family's perfect gold-medal nanny.

Facing the sea breeze, Son Goku's deep black eyes flickered with calculation.

Once that little demon grew up and started shouting provocations at the martial arts tournament, should he follow the original story's routine—beat him until he doubted his entire life, then give him a Senzu Bean as repayment with kindness?

"After all, if I want this little Demon King to willingly become a full-time nanny, I'll have to beat him into submission first."

Son Goku chuckled, turned around, and walked toward the submersible.