With a shared battle cry, the two closed the distance.
Yamcha struck first, lunging for Goku's chest with ferocity.
But where his claws should have torn into flesh, they met nothing but empty space.
Goku launched himself upward, vaulting high over Yamcha's charge.
For a split second, Yamcha looked up, eyes going wide.
As the boy twisted through the desert sunlight, something strange caught his attention, a brown, furry tail swaying freely behind him.
A… tail? What kind of kid has a tail?
Goku finished the spin and came crashing down like a meteor, winding up a brutal midair side kick.
"HAA!"
The air pressure shifted. Yamcha felt it instantly and hurled himself aside, rolling across the scorching sand.
Goku's kick missed the Desert Wolf by inches, his foot smashed into the main support beam of a nearby metal watchtower.
KRAKOOOOM!
Metal screamed as it tore like paper. The thick steel beam bent to a perfect ninety-degree angle under the impact of a child's foot.
"WHAT THE—?!" shouted the scrapper perched atop the tower, clutching the railing as the world lurched beneath him.
The structure groaned, then gave way.
"MOM, HELP MEEE!" The bandit wailed as the ten-meter-tall tower collapsed toward the floor, slamming into the sand and erupting in a colossal cloud of dust and debris.
Goku touched down lightly, glancing at the destruction he'd caused before turning back to Yamcha.
GRRRRRRUUUUUUUUMBLE.
The sound was louder than the collapsing tower. It echoed across the silent battlefield like a dying engine.
Goku's knees wobbled slightly, and he clutched his stomach with both hands.
His fighting stance broke instantly.
"Man..." Goku whined, his face scrunching up in misery.
"I'm starving. I can't concentrate when I'm this hungry. My grandpa always said, never fight on an empty stomach."
Yamcha stared at him, blinking slowly.
He looked at the twisted metal of the watchtower, then back at Goku who was now complaining about lunch.
This kid...
Yamcha straightened up, keeping his muscles loose but ready.
"You're impressive, kid. I'll give you that. You've got a strength that doesn't belong in a body that small. How did you get like that?"
Goku looked up, rubbing his belly.
"Huh? Oh. I just trained a lot."
Yamcha let out a cynical laugh. He shook his head, looking down at his own scarred knuckles.
"Trained... is that what you call it? See, that's the difference between you and me. I didn't just train for this power. I was forged."
Goku tilted his head, genuinely confused.
"Forged? Like a sword?"
"You can call it that. The desert doesn't forgive weakness. It tore away everything soft in me until only the wolf was left. I wasn't taught to fight, i was forced to become the fight."
"I don't get it." Goku said bluntly.
"You don't have to. Because your lesson ends here."
Yamcha dropped into a low crouch, his silhouette resembling a beast ready to pounce.
"Roga Fufuken!"
Yamcha launched himself forward.
He didn't come as a man, he came as a storm of claws and fangs.
SWISH.
SLASH.
BAM.
Goku barely had time to raise his arms.
Yamcha's strikes were relentless.
A flurry of high speed chops and palm strikes that mimicked the biting jaws of a wolf pack.
He struck from the left, the right, and above, his movements leaving afterimages in the air.
Too fast!
Goku gasped, forced onto the defensive as he was pushed back, his feet skidding through the sand under the overwhelming pressure of the attack.
The final strike of the Roga Fufuken was a double palm thrust that hit with the force of a battering ram.
"HAAAAA!" Yamcha roared, connecting squarely with Goku's crossed arms.
The impact was catastrophic.
Goku was lifted off his feet and launched backward like a cannonball.
CRASH.
He smashed through the metal wall of a supply shed, shredding the steel like paper.
He didn't stop there.
His momentum carried him through the other side, across a narrow alleyway, and straight into a stack of wooden crates.
SMASH.
CRUNCH.
Splinters and sawdust exploded into the air as Goku plowed through the obstacles, his body finally slamming into the side of a rusted shipping container, leaving a deep, Goku sized dent in the heavy metal before he slid to the ground.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the compound, Oolong was tiptoeing along the shadow of a barracks building.
"Okay, okay, just keep calm." Oolong whispered to himself.
"Find a car. Find a bike. Find a really fast tricycle. Anything to get away from these maniacs."
He turned the corner, checking to see if the coast was clear.
"Just act natural. Nobody suspects a thing."
Hmm… let's see. How about I turn into a housefly until i find a—
KA-BOOOM!
The wall right next to his ear exploded outward.
A blur shot past his nose at mach speed, carrying with it a cloud of dust, broken timber, and twisted metal.
The wind pressure from the object knocked Oolong's hat off.
Oolong froze, staring at the tunnel of destruction that had just appeared inches from where he was standing.
He looked at the debris settling on his shoulders.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Oolong realized that the projectile was actually Goku.
H-He's dead!
Oolong spun on his heel, his disguise flapping wildly as he prepared to sprint in the opposite direction of the carnage.
He took exactly one step before slamming face first into what felt like a brick wall.
The impact was solid.
The object didn't even sway.
Oolong bounced off and landed hard on his backside.
Trembling, Oolong slowly looked up.
Past the boots up to the face of the Desert Wolf, who was looking down at him with eyes as cold as ice.
"Going somewhere, Steve?" Yamcha asked smoothly with mock politeness.
"I... I ah..."
"Save it."
Before Oolong could say anything, Yamcha's fist lashed out. It wasn't a killing blow, but a precise, calculated strike to the jaw.
CRACK.
Oolong's eyes rolled back into his head.
He didn't even have time to scream before he slumped onto the floor, unconscious.
Yamcha reached down and effortlessly hoisted the pig onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
He turned his gaze toward the smoking crater in the distance, where Goku lay buried under a pile of twisted metal and shattered wood, unmoving.
Yamcha lingered for a moment, staring at the debris.
I'll admit, you hire good muscle.
He adjusted his grip on the pig and turned back toward the main fortress.
But in the end, raw talent is no match for perfection, he fought well. But I am Yamcha. And as far as this world is concerned... I am the strongest.
Yamcha walked away, carrying his prize toward the cheering sounds of the Arena.