Chapter 75
The dreams started in my third year. Not memories—worse. Visions of a golden-haired boy with my brother's scowl, of a green-skinned witch whispering prophecies into my cradle. I woke screaming, my tiny fists crackling with uncontrolled energy, the walls of our pod scorched in jagged spirals. Gine held me through the tremors, her breath steady against my body, but when Bardock inspected the burns, his silence carried the weight of an executioner's axe.
Frieza's soldiers came at dawn. Their armor gleamed like insect shells under the twin suns, their voices dripping with false courtesy as they "requested" Bardock's presence. I clung to Gine's leg, watching my father's tail lash once—a death sentence—before he strode into their ship without a backward glance. Raditz spat in the dust, his fists clenched so tight his claws drew blood. "They're lying," he growled. I didn't need to ask what about.
That night, I carved my first scar into the universe. While Gine wept silently over Raditz's sleeping form, I slipped into the training grounds, my tiny palms blistering as I forced ki into a blade thinner than a spider's thread. The energy hummed, a sound like teeth grinding against bone, as I slashed it through a downed scout pod. The metal parted without a scream, edges glowing molten red. When Bardock returned three days later, his armor cracked and reeking of charred flesh, he paused at the bisected ship. His fingers traced the cut—clean enough to rival a laser—before he yanked me up by my hair. "Who taught you that?" he hissed. I bared my teeth. "You did."
That night, I carved my first scar into the universe. While Gine wept silently over Raditz's sleeping form, I slipped into the training grounds, my tiny palms blistering as I forced ki into a blade thinner than a spider's thread. The energy hummed, a sound like teeth grinding against bone, as I slashed it through a downed scout pod. The metal parted without a scream, edges glowing molten red. When Bardock returned three days later, his armor cracked and reeking of charred flesh, he paused at the bisected ship. His fingers traced the cut—clean enough to rival a laser—before he yanked me up by my hair. "Who taught you that?" he hissed. I bared my teeth. "You did."
The visions worsened. Now when I slept, the golden boy bled into a beast with crimson eyes, his howls shaking planets. I woke with my crib in ashes, Raditz pinning me down with a knee to my throat, his eyes wild. "You were speaking in tongues," he spat, but his grip faltered when he saw the burns spiraling up my arms. Gine arrived with a damp cloth and a hushed story about "the old sickness," her voice fraying at the edges. Bardock listened from the shadows, his tail coiled tight around his waist like a noose.
Frieza's summons came on my fourth birthday. A hologram of the tyrant himself flickered above our table, his lipless smile stretching too wide. "Bring the hatchling," he crooned, and the transmission cut with a sound like a neck snapping. Raditz shattered the projector against the wall, but Bardock just stood, his knuckles white around a scrap of armor padding. Gine's tail lashed once—a silent plea—before she stuffed a survival pack into my hands. The fabric still smelled of her. Bardock didn't look at her when he said, "He's not coming back."
The ship reeked of antiseptic and something sweetly rotten. Frieza's soldiers strapped me into a chair that dwarfed my body, their fingers cold as dead meat. One held a syringe filled with liquid that moved on its own. I didn't scream. Not when the needle pierced my spine, not when my blood boiled in my veins. But when the golden beast from my dreams roared inside my skull, I laughed. Because this time, he answered me.