“Do you feel any better?” Okora was a sweetheart, but her constant circling went well beyond the point of annoying.

“I’ll tell you when I do.” I rasped, idly scratching at my throat in an attempt to get the non-existent sand out of it.

Sand everywhere, blood everywhere—

“Man, you and Cabba are scary, Cetulla!” The not-so-gentle giant that is Pumkim awkwardly chuckled, looking around the destroyed enemy camp, inadvertently snapping me out of my own thoughts.

“You’ll see, I’ll be the next Super Saiyan!” Wow, that’s a lot of reverence in Cabba’s tone. Not that I don’t agree that the Super Saiyan is impressive and all—It was all the rage back in my previous world when Goku finally realized the legend—But the sheer fervency in his voice makes me fear he’ll become a psychotic zealot.

Nobody expects the Saiyan inquisition.

“I’ll make sure to keep him in line if he does it,” I tightly promised, voice still raspy. “He still can’t beat me.”

“Can too!”

Oh lord, not this.

“No.” I fixed Cabba with a deadpan stare. “No you cannot.”

“I'll show you—”

“We have a mission!” Princess Okora snapped, stepping between me and my cousin with an angry glare. “Can we focus on that, first?!”

“Fine!” My cousin exclaimed whilst crossing his arms and turning away from me.

I just nodded at our leader.

A bout of silence passed.

“So, anyone hungry?”

“No, Pumkim,” I let out a tired sigh, idly retrieving a nutrient bar from one of the pouches in my belt. “Here.” It would’ve tasted like ash right now, anyway.

“Hey, thanks, Cets!”

Another sigh escaped me as I looked over the horizon, towards the light that could almost be mistaken for a sunrise.

Another base, a bigger one.

“Alright, everyone!” Our leader called, clapping her hands to gather our collective attention. “We’ll rest for another fifteen minutes before moving on to our next target, and then we’ll call the leading general for a status update!”

“Aye-aye.” I dully saluted, crossing my right arm over my chest while curling my hand in a fist before pointing my index and middle finger outward.

----------During Training----------

“What’s wrong with you?”

I gave up on looking at my cousin as he sat down next to me in the mess hall, focusing instead on my food, some nondescript meat and vegetables, accompanied by a drink I could only describe as the Saiyan equivalent to Gatorade, only less…

Gatorade.

“Some people would word it differently.” I numbly intone, idly poking at the radish-thing.

“Yeah, well fuck ‘em.” Cabba boredly drawls. “What’s got your tail in a twist?”

“Mom got hurt.” I grumble, picking up the slab of meat and harshly biting into it. “Dad said she’ll be fine, but…”

“Oh.” Cabba deflated, all his bravado melting away into a glum mood. “Mom got hurt, too.”

“How’s she doing?” I grimaced, wondering if my mother and aunt had found themselves in the same fight.

“Dunno.” My cousin spits—Actually spits—On the table. “Freaking coats won’t let me see her, said something about contamination.”

“She probably had to get disinfected,” I mused, tapping at the corner of my plate. “One of the heavy ones—Dad taught me some stuff,” I shrugged once I noticed Cabba’s curious look. "He talked about me taking over his job, one day.”

Saiyan society was in a peculiar little space between inherited jobs and meritocratic achievements, so while I was technically guaranteed to become a medic, were I to follow one of my father’s fields of expertise, any other Saiyan could also do it, given enough work.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Oh, that’s pretty cool.” My cousin nodded along. “Dad wanted me to be an academic like him, but…” He gestured to the expansive room we were inside of. “He doesn’t talk about it anymore.”

“Yeah…” I grumbled in consternation. “Who do you think is gonna teach us now that aunt Cassa is in the hospital?”

“I dunno,” Cabba shrugged in indifference. “Some super old guy from way back when, I heard he’s older than old! Like Yamoshi old or something.”

I felt slightly insulted, not gonna line.

“Well, let’s hope the whole saying about the wisdom of fights and old age actually means something.” A half-amused huff escaped me.

--------------Back in the Present-------------

“Do you think Master Kakarot could win this war?”

“Pumkim,” I felt the need to point out. “He couldn’t win a fight against a handful of cleansing powder, much less a Citadelian.”

Sure, Kakarot was just about the best fighter anyone’s ever seen, but there’s just one problem.

He’s old.

Like old, old.

So old that when one of us managed to land a hit on him, his bones cracked.

Saiyans do not age very gracefully, and Kakarot is one-hundred and seven years old.

He looked even worse than I did back when I was human and pushing one-thirty, yet he was still able to walk around and throw some punches.

Saiyans are scary.

Wanna know what else is scary?

“Incoming!” Okora suddenly called, raising her hands up and blasting several balls of energy at an enemy ship flying in the sky.

“Scatter!” I ordered, rushing upwards with a burst of energy, entirely avoiding the laser shots, though the sheer heat emanating from them makes me flinch.

This. This is scary.

Wanna know what is even scarier than that?

“There’s more incoming!” I yelled out to notify my teammates of our soon-to-be very one-sided fight. “Minimum of twenty!” With that warning out of the way, I launched myself towards the first ship to make contact with us, crashing through the windshield and making glass shower over the two pilots.

The one in the right shouts something in his native language that I’m pretty sure is a slur.

I gave him a taste of my boots.

The other one was a little bit more complicated. Clearly the proper fighter of the two, the lizard alien’s quick movements left me on the defensive, ducking and weaving, narrowly dodging his attacks.

My respite came in the form of him actually grazing me, funnily enough.

A wave of pain shoots up from my right shoulder, in part from the knife that would definitely leave me with a scar, and in part from whatever circuit the Citadelian idiot hit exploding.

I watched with a grimace as the electrocuted body fell to the floor, the extremities twitching a few times, but remaining otherwise still, allowing me some time to clutch my aching shoulder.

There was a click, and I suddenly found myself reminded that a kick hardly incapacitates people for long. And it was so that with some dread, I looked up at the now toothless lizard aiming a gun at me, the mother of all angry glares on his face.

I took a deep breath.

When in doubt, pull a Vegeta.

----------------During Training----------------

“Cetulla.” My aunt greeted me as she walked into the room I was occupying. “That move you performed…”

“What of it?” I managed to grit out my question, looking up from my place in a hospital bed.

“What was going through your mind when you developed it?”

“That if I was surrounded, I could take several enemies out at once.” Sure, that was my excuse for it, but I doubt people here would accept ‘I saw it on TV in my past life’ as a good or valid reason.

“I see,” The scarred woman nodded, a considering look on her face. “Lord Vegeta the Fourth used that attack against an invasive threat in our world.” She paused, licking her lips. “He lost his life in the process.”

Yes, Final Explosion tends to do that.

“I don’t intend to die, aunt.” I weakly offered, flinching under her unimpressed glare. “I’m still working on it…”

“...I suppose doing so while in a controlled environment is better than the alternative.” Aunt Cassa eventually relented. “I must return to my instructing duties now. Please, take care of yourself.”

“Aye-aye.”

------------Back in the Present-----------

“Cets!”

Oh, Yamoshi’s balls, everything hurts.

“Cetulla!”

With a cough and a groan of strain, I begin the arduous process of pulling myself out of the wreckage I created.

I might have managed to fix the fatality issue Vegeta’s kamikaze attack had, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Also, I have nowhere near the power output the man had, so all I managed to do was rip one ship apart.

“I’m fine!” I manage to yell, unsteadily climbing to my feet and looking up to access the situation.

Not the best.

Pumkim was busy tearing one ship apart like The Hulk in that one movie, using the falling bulk of the vessel as a battering ram on others of its kind.

Cabba was close to me, standing watch over my poor decisions while making sure nothing would turn me into past tense.

And while I couldn’t see Okora, I’d wager the Citadelian ship shooting against the others wasn’t due to a turn of conscience from the pilots.

Oh, and we were surrounded, of course.

“You take the five-hundred on the right, and I take the five-hundred on the left?” I offer to my cousin, grossly overstating the number of enemy ships.

“Screw you, I’ll take five-hundred and one!”

“That’s the spirit.” I rasp out a laugh before gritting my teeth and straining to increase my power.

This was going to be a long mission.