Panic surged, cold and sharp. Everything he had left. Ki Pool: 18/1200. Pathetic. Gravity Sphere was useless at this level; it needed too much. He frantically scrolled through his System interface, past the locked god-trees and the tantalizing Charisma options. Basic Ki Manipulation... useless. Tail Sensitivity... irrelevant. Then, a flicker: Ki Sense (Lvl 1). Unlocked passively? He hadn't even noticed. It pulsed faintly, showing Cade's energy signature like a contained sun, coiled and ready. Not an attack. A tool. Understanding slammed into him. Not force. Exploitation. He saw the flaw, the tiny instability in her otherwise perfect stance – a slight favoring of her left leg, a remnant of an old sparring injury he vaguely remembered one of their spars together. Her blind spot.
He didn't raise his hands. Didn't flare ki. Instead, he inhaled, drawing the System's Ki Sense deeper, feeling the currents of her immense power swirling around her. He focused entirely on that small instability near her left knee. Not compressing space. Not attacking. Just... nudging. He visualized the sensation – the sharp drain, the metallic taste – and poured every remaining point (18 Ki Points) not into force, but into a pinpoint manipulation of the ambient ki field right there. A microscopic, localized push against her own energy flow.
The effect was instantaneous and brutal. Cade gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound. Her flawless stance buckled. Not from an external blow, but from an internal disruption. Her own powerful ki, momentarily destabilized at its weakest anchor point, betrayed her. Her left knee buckled inward violently. She stumbled forward a half-step, off-balance, her furious charge abruptly halted. Her eyes widened in genuine shock, the predatory glare replaced by pure, stunned disbelief. She hadn't been hit; she'd been undermined.
Kaiyo didn't wait. He lunged, not with ki, but with Saiyan speed fueled by adrenaline. He closed the gap in a blink, his hand shooting out. Not to strike. To cover. His palm slapped firmly over her mouth, silencing the gasp, the shock, the inevitable roar of outrage before it could fully form.
His other hand clamped onto her shoulder, bracing her trembling form. He leaned in, his own breath ragged, his face inches from hers. Her eyes, wide and furious above his smothering hand, burned into his. He saw the humiliation warring with disbelief. He'd silenced her. He'd humbled her. For one, glorious, terrifying moment, the bitch was utterly, profoundly, quiet.
He grinned, sharp and cocky, the adrenaline singing louder than the exhaustion. "Shhh," he breathed, the sound rough against the sudden silence. He pulled his hand away slowly, deliberately, leaving her mouth slightly agape. He didn't step back. He held her shoulder, forcing her to meet his gaze.
His eyes flicked down, not to the exposed skin or the black strap, but to her trembling leg, the source of her downfall. Then, slowly, insolently, they trailed upwards, tracing the lean muscle of her thigh, her hip, the curve of her waist, finally settling back on her furious, flushed face. "See?" he said, his voice dropping to a low, appreciative rumble. "Told you gravity sculpts perfection. That ass?" He whistled softly, shaking his head in mock awe. "Seriously, Cade. It's… art. Sculpted by combat, toned by survival. Fuckable? Monumentally." He grinned, sharp and utterly unrepentant, letting the crude admiration hang in the charged air. "Gravity might be heavy, but damn, it knows how to highlight the good stuff."
Cade didn't explode. She didn't vaporize him. Her blush deepened impossibly, flooding her neck and ears with crimson heat, stark against the tan skin. But her furious stance softened. Her fists unclenched slightly. Her tail, which had been poised to strike like a scorpion, lowered slowly, curling almost protectively around her thigh again, partially obscuring the torn fabric. She looked away sharply, jaw clenched tight. "Shut up," she muttered, the words thick, lacking their usual cutting edge. It wasn't anger. It was embarrassment, raw and potent, mixed with something else—a reluctant flicker of acknowledgment beneath the outrage. Her gaze darted back to him, quick and fierce.
"You burned the last dregs of your ki on... that?" she hissed, gesturing vaguely at her exposed thigh, her voice trembling slightly. "Stupid. Reckless." But the venom was diluted. She shifted her weight off the compromised leg, the slight tremor betraying the lingering instability Kaiyo had exploited. Her eyes scanned his face—the exhaustion, the reckless grin, the genuine admiration still blazing in his eyes. A strange tension crackled between them, thicker than ki pressure. Her lips parted as if to deliver another scathing rebuke, then closed again. She swallowed hard. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken possibilities.
Kaiyo's stomach chose that moment to roar like a wounded beast. Loud. Insistent. The primal sound shattered the charged atmosphere. He blinked, the intensity of the moment momentarily forgotten beneath the sudden, gnawing emptiness in his gut. He hadn't eaten since dawn training. The adrenaline crash hit him like a falling asteroid. His legs wobbled. "Shit," he mumbled, clutching his stomach. The sun was dipping low, painting the jagged peaks in molten gold and deep purple shadows. The training ground was deserted. "Dinner," he gasped, the word thick with sudden, overwhelming hunger.
He pushed off the boulder, ignoring Cade's lingering glare and the furious blush still staining her cheeks. He needed fuel. Now. He crouched low, gathering the dregs of his ki – barely enough for flight. He kicked off the cracked plateau, the familiar rush of wind whipping past his ears drowning out the phantom echo of Cade's furious silence. Below, the sprawling Saiyan city spread out like a circuit board etched in stone and steel, bathed in the bruised light of dusk. His sector – Low-Class Residential – was a cluster of sturdy, functional domes hugging the eastern cliffs. Home.
As he flew, the rhythmic thrum of his own flight energy vibrating through his boots, a stray thought flickered: Mom. His Saiyan mother, Kira – sharp-eyed, perpetually tired, smelling faintly of engine grease and ozone. She'd mumbled something this morning, half-asleep, while he bolted out the door. "...might make that Grumbar roast tonight... if I get back in time..." Her voice, gruff but warm, echoed in his mind. If. The word hung heavy. His parents were low-class warriors, always on rotation. Planetary suppression missions for Frieza's quotas. Scouting. Patrols. They were rarely home before late, often not at all. The thought of that thick, spiced Grumbar roast – a rare luxury, slow-cooked over lava-coals until it fell apart – made his mouth water painfully. Hope warred with habit. He'd walked into an empty dome more times than he could count. The silence is louder than any battle cry.
He landed outside Dome 7-Epsilon with a soft thud, kicking up dust. The heavy stone door slid open with a familiar grinding groan. Inside, the air was cool, dimly lit by bioluminescent fungus clinging to the ceiling. Quiet. Too quiet. The scent hit him first – not roasting meat, but stale air, faint ozone, and the lingering metallic tang of cleaned armor. His heart sank a fraction. Then, movement. A shadow shifted near the small kitchen alcove. His mother stood by the cold hearth, back turned, pulling off her battered gauntlets. Her dark hair was tied back tightly, her tanktop and legging dusty and stained with something dark that wasn't Grumbar juice. She turned, her sharp Saiyan features etched with exhaustion lines deeper than usual. Her eyes, usually fierce amber, looked dull. She managed a tired half-smile. "Kaiyo. Back late." Her gaze flickered over him, noting the split knuckles, the dust coating his leggings, the hollow look in his eyes. "Hungry?" she asked, her voice raspy. She gestured vaguely towards the cold cooking pit. "It's... reconstituted protein tonight. The mission ran long. Planetoid Zeta was... messy." She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to. The dark stain on her arm wasn't Grumbar juice.
Kaiyo's stomach growled again, a sharp pang of disappointment cutting through the hunger. He pushed it down, forcing a grin. "Protein's fine." He moved past her, towards the small storage locker. "Messy how?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. He pulled out a ration pouch – bland, greyish paste. He ripped it open with his teeth.
Kira sighed, leaning against the stone countertop. She rubbed her temples. "Frieza's new overseer," she muttered, the name tasting like ash. "Told us to... pacify a settlement on Zeta. Low-level natives. Barely armed." Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the counter edge. "We landed. Standard suppression. But..." Her voice hitched. "They fought back. Harder than expected. Used the terrain. Ambushes." She stared at the dark stain on her forearm sleeve. "Commander Goran... he panicked. Ordered full purge. Level the settlement." Her eyes flickered with remembered horror. "We did it. Burned it down. But... casualties. Too many natives dead too fast. Frieza's quota was for slaves, not corpses." She swallowed hard. "Zarbon was waiting when we reported back."
She shuddered, a full-body tremor that made Kaiyo freeze mid-chew. "He didn't even raise his voice," Kira whispered. Her gaze darted towards the door as if expecting it to blast inward. "Just... smiled. That cold smile. Said incompetence was a luxury Frieza couldn't afford." Her voice dropped to a raw scrape. "Then he... flicked his wrist. Goran's head... just popped off. Like a cork." Kaiyo's stomach churned. The reconstituted protein paste turned to glue in his mouth. Kira clenched her fists, her own power flaring briefly – a flickering 5,200 – before collapsing under the weight of her terror. "He killed them all, Kaiyo. The whole squad. One after the other. Like swatting insects." Her eyes locked onto his, wide and desperate. "I... I used the smoke from Goran's body. Activated my emergency teleport beacon. Barely. Got a glancing hit from his tail beam." She touched her side, wincing. "That's the stain. Not Zetan blood. Mine." She slumped, the fight draining out of her. "They'll come. Zarbon doesn't leave witnesses. They'll trace the beacon signature. Or just... ask the System." Her terrified glance flickered towards his Gamer interface. "They know where I live."