‘Are you AFRAID?!’ he wished to boast, his lip curling with the sneer that would accompany it on its own. Oh but he knew that the other was not. Far from it. This wasn’t fear. This was…This was PITY. Pity from a mortal. He couldn’t-. He refused to even entertain it. No. No, no, no. Something within him snapped.
“What mindless sentiment. Have you no care for your families at all? No, I suppose not if this is what you have to say to their reaper.” Mockery bubbled from his stolen lips like a hymn to the gods themselves.
“You know, it’s almost sad how easily they fell. As though they were eager to perish by my very hand, desperate to rejoin you in the afterlife. How grateful they were that I answered their prayers!” A symphony of false regret sang in his voice. ”Chichi, was it? That was your wench, Goku. I remember that. Goten. Gohan, your spawn.” He listed off the names as though he could barely remember them, but their value as no more equivocal to anything but a grocery list. “Oh, and that old hag, Bulma. That one was yours, Vegeta. Wasen’t she? She barely writhed in my hand at all. I suppose that was the brood mare responsible for that whelp, Trunks, hm?” He laughed then. Loudly. Cruely. “I’m most excited to take care of him again.”
“It doesn’t matter what timeline you two heathens are in, what universe, what age, what you’ve become, whether you are even alive. I will kill you and each and every person you have ever loved. And this time,” he smiled so awfully in that stolen body of his. “I’ll make sure to take my time with them.“
“What about it, Vegetto? Still so eager to let me go?”
Against all sense and reason the false saiyan continues to run only his mouth instead of away from their fight. The gentle hearted aspect of Vegetto had only wanted for the destruction to stop, and for perhaps there to be good to be found within the other, as it had been found within the other part of himself. Yet. He goes on, and on. And on. Touching nerves that in this setting he had best have avoided.
Vegetto had made a fool out of Black by barely lifting a finger, by letting loose nothing more than a minor fraction of the strength he had to offer in his being. But he says their names. Chi-Chi. It begins to bubble, the fiery rage steeping within him, he killed Chi-Chi. But no, he doesn’t stop there, just as he didn’t stop when he killed Goten. It’s an unmistakable mood shift. The final straw is when he mentions Bulma.
Of course, Black isn’t the one to have made a mistake, it was Vegetto’s for thinking a petulant little shit like Black had anything more to him than this sniveling thing.
But it’s the furthest thing from Vegetto’s mind. There’s no words, no cocky taunts.
Energy that in its held back state had been an insurmountable eruption bursts forth even further. If Black was a Tornado than Vegetto was a cosmic storm, coming to rend Earth asunder and leave nothing left in its wake. They were not close, they could not have been the furthest thing from peers, and now as the enraged fusion explodes with power, hair turning that vibrant gold, it is clear that the gap between them only widens as they ascend. This was not the fusions ultimate form, but it was enough.
Before he moved so fast only the shade of his afterimage could be perceived, but now, the fused saiyan is so swift that he may as well have been teleporting. In the space between thoughts perception he’s already in Black’s face, and the punch he delivers is one that could have easily shattered the moon to bits, and even for all his rage, Vegetto is still holding back because of their fight being locked to this planet for now.
Black should consider himself lucky. Lucky if you considered a single punch turning into a torrent of them in the blink of an eye, his unrelenting blind fury greater than that of any foe Black could have hoped to face.
