The truck tires screamed against wet asphalt, leaving twin rivers of smoke in the predawn gloom. Inside the cab, the driver cursed softly, wrestling the shuddering wheel as rain drummed a frantic rhythm on the windshield. Miles outside West City, this delivery route felt like threading a needle through a storm god's fury.
A sharp jolt rocked the trailer. Something heavy shifted in the darkness behind the cab's partition. Not cargo. Not this time. The driver's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He didn't glance back. Didn't dare. He'd seen the bloodstains seeping through the cheap plywood floorboards yesterday. His employer paid triple for silence, not curiosity.
In that sealed darkness, Trafalgar D. Water Law gasped awake. Or rather, the consciousness that remembered being Law did. Cold metal pressed against his bare spine. The air tasted stale, thick with diesel fumes and old sweat. No heartbeat pulsed beneath his fingers pressed to his own chest. Just... stillness. A terrifyingly familiar stillness. Panic clawed his throat. *Not Flevance.Not again.* The phantom sting of amber lead sickness dissolved instantly. This wasn't pain. It was vacancy.
He pushed himself up, fingers brushing the smooth, coiled lines of a familiar tattoo. Relief warred with utter confusion. The Ope Ope no mi's power hummed beneath his skin, a familiar electric potential. Yet the oppressive spiritual pressure pressing down on this world felt alien – denser, sharper than anything Marineford offered. Outside, the truck hit another pothole, bouncing him hard against the trailer wall. Fragmented memories slammed into him: a blinding flash, a sickening lurch through impossible space, the cold certainty of death... and then this borrowed body waking in a crate beside leaking oil drums. *Dragon Ball.* The name floated up unbidden, attached to impossible images of golden-haired warriors and cities shattered by beams of light. He pressed his palms against freezing metal walls. Wherever this was, it wasn't home. Andjudging by the oppressive dread hanging thick in the stale air, peace was a luxury this world couldn't afford.
The driver slammed the brakes, pitching Law forward. Angry shouts erupted outside, cut horrifyingly short by wet, tearing sounds and twin blasts that lit up the trailer seams crimson. Law froze. *That energy signature... raw, uncontrolled power. But twisted.* A fragmented avalanche crashed through his borrowed mind: *Scuffed sneakers fleeing across linoleum. Mother screaming "RUN!" not at him, but at a blur of pink hair. Twin faces, inhumanly beautiful and utterly blank, reflected in a shattered window as pale hands tore through Father's chest like wet paper.* He tasted bile. *Eighteen.* Her bored sigh echoed inside his skull alongside the memory of his younger self's choked sob. *Seventeen.* His smirk as he casually leveled a palm *there*, vaporizing Mrs. Nakamura watering her roses. The sheer, arbitrary *waste* of it. Law shuddered, pressing a hand to his temple as phantom pain spiked – the echoes of this body's stolen childhood trauma merging with his own Flevance ghosts. Outside, the chaotic energy pulsed again, closer now. A deeper, fiercer signature answered – a blazing scream of defiance that resonated in his very bones. *Super Saiyan.* He knew it instantly. The truck groaned as something massive impacted nearby, rocking it violently. A shockwave slammed through the trailer walls, shaking loose dust that stung his eyes and coated his tongue with grit. Through a newly buckled panel seam, Law glimpsed flashes: blinding gold hair whipping through debris, a frantic, too-young face set in desperate lines – *Gohan.* He was staggering back under a relentless barrage of pink-white beams from Seventeen's lazy fingertips. Law saw the raw terror warring with furious determination in Gohan's wide eyes. He wasn't winning. Barely holding ground. Barely escaping vaporization.
Seventeen laughed, a cold, metallic sound that scraped down Law's spine. He flicked another casual blast, forcing Gohan into a desperate dive that cratered the asphalt. "Tiring already?" Seventeen mocked, stepping over the smoldering remains of a crushed delivery van. Eighteen leaned idly against a half-melted lamppost, examining her nails. "Finish him, Seventeen. This is dull." The casual dismissal ignited a cold fury in Law deeper than any battlefield rage. *Boredom.* The reason for this body's emptiness. The reason for the screams still echoing inside him. His fingers curled, tendons taut. *ROOM.* The silent invocation thrummed with suppressed power. A sphere of blue energy, unseen but palpable to him, flickered into existence around the trailer. *Not yet. Not until the shot is clear.*
Sudden warmth flooded Law's skull, unbidden. Not the Flevance cold, nor Gohan's desperate ki. It was thicker, older. Visceral. The fetid stench of decayed flesh overlaying incense smoke. *Malevolent Shrine.* The name surfaced like poison rising from a swamp. He saw impossible domain walls shimmering crimson, piled corpses forming grotesque pillars, felt the crushing pressure of cursed energy saturated with sadistic glee. A phantom smirk stretched Law's borrowed lips. *ROOM: Malevolent Shrine.* The words formed unbidden, a dark promise curling at the edge of his mind. His Ope Ope power hummed, resonating with the memory's terrifying potential. *Adaptation.* This world's energy allowed it. The implications were dizzying—and horrifying. He could *feel* the blueprint superimposed over his own Room, a fusion waiting only for his command. A weapon forged from another universe's nightmare.
Outside, Seventeen surged forward again. Gohan grunted, blocking a vicious kick with crossed forearms, skidding backward. A stray energy blast seared past the trailer's buckled seam, close enough Law felt its heat lick his face. The boy's golden aura flickered. Seventeen raised a hand, pink-white death gathering. "Goodbye, Super Saiyan." Law moved. Not physically. Within the confines of his unseen Room, he shifted spatial coordinates. A chunk of mangled highway guardrail—two tons of twisted steel—instantly swapped places with Gohan. Seventeen's blast vaporized it instantly, showering sparks.
The abrupt disappearance, the reappearance yards away amidst falling debris, made Seventeen stumble. Eighteen straightened, her bored gaze sharpening. Gohan gasped, whipping his head around, bewildered, scanning the ruined street. His eyes locked onto the trailer's darkened seam. Law met that wide-eyed stare through the gap. He held up a single finger, tattooed knuckles gleaming faintly in the flickering firelight. A silent promise. A challenge thrown down. Seventeen recovered, snarling. "New trick? Doesn't matter." He leveled both palms this time, energy coalescing into a blinding sphere aimed squarely at the trailer, at the unknown interference. Eighteen watched, a flicker of interest finally showing. Law stepped back into the deepest shadows. His fingers twitched. The Room expanded violently outward, swallowing Seventeen, Eighteen, Gohan, the ruined highway. The blue sphere solidified, pulsing once. A low hum filled the air. "Shambles?" Law whispered, tasting grit and ozone. He raised Kikoku, the long nodachi pointing unerringly at Seventeen's heart. His smirk returned, colder now. "Not quite." The air crackled, heavy with impending dissection.
"ROOM." The word dropped like a stone into still water, cool, utterly calm. "**Malevolent Shrine.**" The world within the Room *shifted*. The swirling blue energy darkened, deepening into a bruised, arterial crimson. Jagged lines like cracked obsidian spiderwebbed across the spatial barrier. Instantly, the sterile scent of ozone vanished, replaced by a thick, cloying miasma – decaying roses choked by thick incense smoke layered over the sharp tang of fresh blood. Seventeen froze mid-strantum, his sneer faltering. Eighteen stiffened, her eyes darting wildly around the suddenly alien space. Gohan choked, staggering under a crushing spiritual weight he couldn't comprehend, his golden aura sputtering like a dying candle. Law felt it too: an ancient, predatory hunger filling the crimson Room, a presence that wasn't his own but resonated deeply with the power flowing through Kikoku. It felt like staring into the abyssal eyes of a monumentally bored god.
Law inhaled sharply. The taste of decay intensified, coating his tongue, filling his sinuses. He could *see* them now, superimposed over Seventeen and Eighteen: ghostly pillars formed from contorted corpses stacked impossibly high, their blank eyes staring accusingly. The phantom scent of burning flesh choked him. A familiar echo of Flevance, twisted through the lens of Sukuna's gleeful slaughterhouse. His borrowed Law instincts screamed against the sheer malevolent grandeur flooding his technique, yet the Ope Ope no Mi sang with the adaptation, resonating with this world's potent ki. The command was there, hovering: *Cleave.* One thought, and spatial coordinates would dissolve Seventeen into a thousand perfect chunks. He fought it down, sweat stinging his eyes. Too quick. Too clean. This demanded spectacle, demanded fear. He focused on Seventeen's position – *not* the android, but the space *around* him. The crimson Room pulsed hungrily. Law's hand tightened on Kikoku's hilt. "**Dismantle.**" The word was a whisper lost in the rising static scream emanating from the Malevolent Shrine.
The effect was instantaneous. Not Seventeen himself, but the entire section of ruined highway beneath the android's feet *vanished*. Not destroyed. Not vaporized. Dismantled. Instantly and utterly rendered into microscopic cubes of asphalt, dirt, and rebar. Seventeen plummeted straight down into a perfectly square pit ten meters deep, surrounded by walls of unnaturally smooth, cleanly severed earth. His follow-up blast fizzled harmlessly skyward as he fell with a startled yell. Eighteen jerked upright, her bored apathy finally shattered. "Seventeen!" She lunged forward, only for Law's nodachi to flick sideways. The air where her right leg aimed to step *shimmered*. Her foot landed – and sank directly *into* the solid metal frame of a nearby wrecked truck cab, fused seamlessly from ankle to mid-calf. She gasped, genuinely shocked, yanking at her trapped limb. "What *is* this?!"
Gohan stared, mouth agape, his Super Saiyan aura flickering wildly with confusion and burgeoning hope. Law ignored him, eyes locked on the pit. Seventeen was already rising, levitating out on jets of energy, his perfect face contorted with furious disbelief. Dust coated his pristine jacket. "You insignificant-" he spat. Law didn't let him finish. Kikoku stabbed downward. Above Seventeen, the very air shimmered crimson. Then, the mangled wreckage of a flattened tanker truck – twenty tons of scorched steel – materialized directly overhead, plunging down onto the rising android before he could react. The impact registered as a deep, sickening *crunch-thud* that vibrated through the ground and Law's bones. The air filled with choking dust and the shriek of tortured metal. Silence fell, thick and pregnant with disbelief. Only the low, hungry hum of the Malevolent Shrine persisted, the phantom corpses seeming to leer. Eighteen froze, staring at the crumpled wreckage burying her brother. Her trapped leg strained against fused steel. Law lowered Kikoku slightly, breathing ragged. The fusion of domains was a crushing weight, Flevance's ghosts whispering alongside Sukuna's gleeful carnage. He raised his left hand, fingers curling deliberately.
A pinpoint of searing, viridescent light coalesced above Law's closed fist. It wasn't ki. It hummed with the sterile ozone tang of pure, amplified gamma radiation, swirling violently like captured energy compressed into a sphere barely larger than a marble. The unnatural green glare reflected in Eighteen's wide, furious eyes and Gohan's stunned face. It cast sharp, eerie shadows across Law's own tattooed knuckles and the predatory lines of Kikoku's blade. Within the Malevolent Shrine's oppressive crimson aura, the Gamma Knife burned impossibly bright, a focal point of lethal precision against the backdrop of chaotic destruction. Law felt the bone-deep chill radiating from it, a counterpoint to the Shrine's feverish heat. His voice cut through the stunned silence, utterly devoid of inflection. "Gamma Knife."
He snapped his fist forward. The green light didn't fly. It simply *appeared*, instantaneously. Not where Seventeen lay buried. Not at Eighteen. Directly *within* Eighteen's flawless torso. One moment, the pinpoint glare hung above Law's fist. The next, Eighteen gasped, a choked, gurgling sound escaping her lips. Her eyes snapped down to her own chest. Between her breasts, barely visible against her dark shirt, a tiny, impossibly intense green light pulsed – embedded *inside* her, radiating outwards. There was no beam, no travel time. Just the impossible spatial violation. Her trapped leg buckled. She stared at Law, not with pain – her programming shielded her from that – but with profound, terrifying disbelief. "H-how…?" The word was a wet whisper. The green light pulsed again, deeper. She could feel its alien energy slicing through circuits and synthetic muscle deep inside her core housing.
Law didn't wait. His left hand snapped up, index and middle fingers pressed tightly together. He stabbed them skyward. "**ROOM: Tact.**" The command sliced through the Malevolent Shrine's hungry hum. The crimson domain didn't vanish, but its bloody haze subtly shifted, gaining a sharp, crystalline clarity. Jagged obsidian cracks became precise grid lines. The oppressive scent of decay sharpened into sterile ozone layered over antiseptic. It was operating theater lighting superimposed onto a slaughterhouse scaffold. Every molecule of dust drifting through the Room, every splinter of asphalt, every flicker of Gohan's faltering aura, became instantly calculable – a thousand data points flooding Law's consciousness. He saw Eighteen's internal damage blossoming from the Gamma Knife's impact point like a glowing fractal map. He saw Seventeen's buried form struggle, his energy signature flaring erratically beneath tons of crumpled metal. He saw Gohan's exhausted confusion, the boy's ki flickering dangerously low.
His raised fingers twitched imperceptibly. *Fragmentation Vector.* Within the crystalline precision of Tact, a spatial coordinate shifted infinitesimally. Above the wreckage burying Seventeen, a jagged shard of twisted, razor-sharp I-beam – weighing easily half a ton – shimmered blue. Then it *vanished*. It reappeared instantly, suspended eighteen inches directly *above* Eighteen's head, perfectly balanced on its point like a monstrous, inverted needle. Gravity reclaimed it instantly. It plunged downward, silent and lethally precise within Tact's sterile calculation. It wasn't aimed to kill. It was aimed to *immobilize*. The point slammed directly through Eighteen's trapped right thigh, pinning her leg deeper into the fused truck cab chassis with a sickening crunch of metal and synthetic composites. She cried out, a sound ripped from her throat that held no pain, only shock and furious violation. Her hands instinctively flew towards the impaling shard.
Law didn't pause. His tactical Room mapped Gohan's position instantly. The boy was frozen, staring wide-eyed at the pinned Eighteen. Seventeen's energy was surging violently beneath the wreckage. Law's fingers dipped downwards, pointing directly at the mound of crumpled tanker truck metal burying Seventeen. "**Shambles.**" This time, the effect was surgical. Not an exchange. A *displacement*. A precisely calculated section of the tanker wreckage, directly above Seventeen's struggling form, vanished. It reappeared instantly – stacked neatly, impossibly neatly, atop the wreckage pile already pinning Eighteen's upper torso, adding crushing tons precisely where her leverage was weakest. Her frantic struggles ceased abruptly under the new weight, trapped like an insect beneath sterile glass.
Seventeen, suddenly exposed beneath the hole in his metallic tomb, roared upwards, pink-white energy exploding from his palms in a blind rage-fueled blast aimed straight at Law's silhouette in the trailer's shadows. Within Tact, the blast's trajectory painted itself across Law's heightened perception – wasteful, inefficient, designed to obliterate rather than pierce. Law didn't flinch. Kikoku remained steady, its tip unwavering as Seventeen screamed obscenities. A flick of Law's tattooed thumb adjusted the blade's angle by half a degree. "**Extend,**" Law stated, his voice flat and unyielding as granite.
The air directly before Seventeen's rising form *rippled*. Kikoku's blade didn't physically lengthen; instead, the spatial coordinate defining its lethal tip instantaneously projected forward along its pointing axis. The sharpened edge manifested not inches from Seventeen's chest, but buried *within* it. There was no sound of impact, only Seventeen's choked gasp as Kikoku's intangible point pierced his artificial sternum, bypassing armor, synth-skin, and structural composites as if they were mist. Pain sensors, untouched by physical trauma but overwhelmed by the impossible spatial violation, triggered a cascade of system alarms Seventeen couldn't comprehend. His furious charge halted mid-air like a puppet with severed strings.
"**Pierce,**" Law declared, the word colder than Flevance's winter winds. Within the crystalline precision of Tact, the command wasn't a physical thrust. It was a surgical adjustment. The projected spatial coordinate *inside* Seventeen's chest cavity—the point defining Kikoku's presence—violently reconfigured. It fractured into a thousand sub-coordinates, each radiating outwards like shrapnel exploding in slow motion. Seventeen screamed. Not from pain sensors this time, but from the horrifying sensation of his internal wiring, hydraulic lines, and processing nodes being *taken apart* from within without physical intrusion. Sparks erupted from seams in his jacket. Smoke curled from his nostrils. He clawed frantically at his own chest, fingers passing harmlessly through the ghostly manifestation of Law's blade point.
Outside Tact's sterile grid, Eighteen writhed against her pinions—metal shard through thigh, tons of wreckage crushing her torso. Her eyes, wide with disbelief, locked onto Law's silhouette. Seventeen's choked screams filled the crimson air as phantom blades dismantled him from within, smoke curling from his seams like dying breath. Law stepped from the trailer's shadow, Kikoku humming faintly. The Malevolent Shrine pulsed with ancient hunger, phantom corpses swaying as if applauding.
He crossed the ruined highway, boots crunching scattered asphalt cubes. Rain began to fall, hissing as it evaporated against the Shrine's feverish aura. Seventeen hung suspended mid-air, twitching like a broken marionette, internal sparking illuminating his terror-stricken face. Law stopped before him. Close enough to smell scorched wiring and synthetic skin. Close enough to see the fractured reflection of Flevance's white city in Seventeen's widening pupils.
"Enjoying the show?" Law's voice was a scalpel, cold and precise. He raised Kikoku, its tip hovering an inch from Seventeen's forehead. The android's mouth worked soundlessly, beyond words, beyond comprehension. Law leaned in. Raindrops slid down his tattooed cheek like ink tears. His gaze drilled into Seventeen's—past the machine, past the borrowed face, into the void where boredom birthed annihilation. The Shrine's crimson light bathed them both, casting long, grotesque shadows across the pit.
**"Shatter."**
The word fell like a guillotine. Not a shout. A whisper that cut through Seventeen's sputtering cries. Instantly, the projected coordinate inside Seventeen's chest *fragmented*. Not dissection—this was demolition. Spatial shards exploded outward along fault lines Tact mapped nanoseconds before: servo joints, energy conduits, neural emulators. Seventeen didn't scream. He came *apart*. Limbs sheared clean at the shoulders and hips, torso splintering into geometric chunks of metal and polymer, head separating in a cloud of optic fibers and splintered plating. Components hung frozen for a heartbeat in the rain-lashed air—a grotesque still life of disassembly—before clattering onto the dismantled highway below.
Oil and coolant pooled around the remains. Eighteen's breath hitched—a raw, human sound ripped from her artificial throat. Gohan retched, golden aura guttering out completely as the sheer impossibility crashed over him. Law lowered Kikoku, blade thrumming faintly with spent power. Rain hissed against the crimson Room's barrier, steaming where it touched Seventeen's scattered components.
Law turned slowly, boots grinding a fragment of Seventeen's shattered shoulder plate into dust. Eighteen struggled against her pinions—the impaling steel shard in her thigh, the mountain of wreckage crushing her torso. Her eyes, wide with disbelief, tracked him. Dust coated her perfect face, streaked by the downpour. Fear, genuine and alien, flickered beneath the fury. Law stopped before her. The Malevolent Shrine pulsed, casting long, jagged shadows that made the phantom corpses seem to lean closer.
"Enjoying the spectacle?" Law's voice was flat, devoid of inflection. Rain slid down his tattooed cheekbones like ink tears, dripping onto the fused metal trapping Eighteen's leg. She snarled, straining against her bonds. "I'll tear you apart circuit by circuit!" Her voice cracked, synthetic tendons standing out in her neck. Law tilted his head, studying her trapped limb—the precise puncture point Tact had calculated. His gaze lifted, meeting hers. Eighteen saw Flevance's hollow emptiness reflected in those gold eyes. Saw the phantom children burning behind them. She froze.
Law raised his left hand, fingers curling loosely. The crimson Room darkened, the jagged obsidian cracks deepening into fissures bleeding shadow. The scent of decay sharpened—burnt roses layered over ozone. He spoke a single word, cool as surgical steel slicing air.
**"Dismantle."**
Instantly, the fused metal encasing Eighteen's ankle *unfolded*. Not shattered. Not melted. It dissolved into geometric cubes of steel, wiring, and plastic—microscopically precise—spilling onto the wet asphalt like metallic sand. Her leg was free. Relief flashed across her face, instantly replaced by dawning horror. The command wasn't finished. The mound of wreckage pinning her torso *imploded* vertically. Tons of steel compacted into razor-thin sheets stacked impossibly thin, then vanished, leaving only a faint ozone tang. Eighteen gasped, scrambling backwards, dragging her injured leg. She stared at the space where the wreckage had been, then at her own trembling hands—undamaged, impossibly free. Law hadn't moved. Kikoku's tip remained leveled at her heart. The Shrine hummed, hungry. Eighteen's eyes met Law's again. Understanding dawned. This wasn't victory. It was precision. A scalpel poised for the next cut. She braced, energy flaring weakly around her fists.
Law lowered Kikoku slowly. The blade's hum faded to a whisper. He turned his back on her, boots crunching Seventeen's scattered components. Rain hissed against the crimson Room, steaming where it touched coolant pooling like blood. Eighteen stared at his retreating silhouette, disbelief warring with fury. He stopped ten paces away, facing the ruined highway leading towards West City's distant skyline. His shoulders were rigid, tension coiled like a spring beneath the duster. Gohan watched silently, soaked and shaking, Saiyan power extinguished. The Malevolent Shrine's phantom corpses swayed in the downpour, their hollow gazes fixed on Eighteen.
Law's voice sliced through the storm's roar, cool and detached as surgical steel. "Your brother is data." He didn't turn. "Scattered. Not destroyed. Reassembled elsewhere." Eighteen froze. Hope—cold and terrible—flared in her eyes. Law continued, staring into the storm. "The only reason you breathe free air now..." He paused, fingers tightening on Kikoku's hilt. "...is because I choose not to be like you." Rain plastered dark strands of hair against his tattooed neck. He turned his head just enough for Eighteen to see the profile of his jawline, sharp as Kikoku's edge. Gold eyes glinted beneath lowered brows. "But hear this." His tone dropped, colder than the rain soaking them. "If I catch wind—even a whisper—that you've slipped back into old habits..." He finally turned fully, meeting her widened stare. The Shrine's crimson light carved harsh shadows across his face, making the Flevance ghosts in his eyes burn bright. "...I won't just kill you." A slow, predatory smirk touched his lips. "I'll dismantle you. Not spatially." He tapped his temple with a tattooed finger. "Atomically. Memory by memory. Desire by desire. Until nothing remains but scattered code." He turned away again, Kikoku resting on his shoulder. "Go."
Silence stretched, broken only by the storm's drumbeat. Eighteen trembled—not from weakness, but from the sheer, icy certainty in his words. She glanced at Gohan's stunned face, then back at Law's unmoving back. Hesitation. Then, with a burst of unnatural speed, she vanished into the lashing rain, a blur of Blonde hair swallowed by the storm. The Malevolent Shrine flickered once, twice, then dissolved. The phantom corpses vanished. The oppressive weight lifted, replaced by the raw sting of wind-driven rain. Gohan collapsed to his knees, gasping. Law exhaled slowly, the tension leaching from his shoulders. He sheathed Kikoku with a soft click. The air smelled of wet asphalt, ozone, and fading decay. Distant sirens wailed. Gohan pushed himself up shakily, staring at the scorch marks where Seventeen's remains had lain. He opened his mouth, voice hoarse. "Who...?" Law didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed on a point high above West City's skyline—where a familiar, impossibly dense ki signature pulsed like a distant star. Cold recognition tightened his jaw. *Vegeta.*
A memory surfaced—unbidden, sharp—of Bulma's frantic voice cracking over a static-filled comms channel in Trunks' timeline: "*Only Gohan and Trunks are left...! Vegeta... Krillin... all gone!*" Law's brow furrowed. How? How was that arrogant prince alive *here*, radiating power leagues beyond Gohan's flickering gold? The timelines diverged wildly, yes. But Vegeta's survival gnawed. He remembered the prince's pride, his brutal certainty. The Prince shouldn't be breathing. Not according to the echoes of Trunks' grief-choked history. The rain plastered Law's hair to his forehead, icy against skin still humming with cursed fusion. The anomaly itched under his skin, a discordant note in a symphony he was still deciphering. Gohan stumbled closer, dripping wet, eyes wide with awe and lingering terror. "You... you saved me. Thank you." Law remained silent, scanning the horizon. That blazing signature felt like a challenge thrown down from miles away—arrogant, untouchable. Alive. Against all odds.
Gohan followed his gaze, squinting against the downpour. Recognition dawned. "Prince Vegeta..." he whispered, a flicker of Saiyan pride warring with exhaustion. "He's... stronger now. Much stronger." Law's gold eyes narrowed fractionally. Stronger. Surviving. Defying the script of a dead future. The pieces didn't fit. What butterfly wing had flapped to spare the Saiyan Prince? His fingers brushed Kikoku's hilt. Answers wouldn't come from the rain-soaked wreckage or the trembling boy beside him. They lay wherever Vegeta was perched, radiating contempt at the storm. And Law intended to find out why fate had rewritten its grim story. He moved suddenly, boots crunching on debris as he strode towards the city's silhouette—towards that arrogant, impossible flame. "Stay close," Law ordered, voice cutting through the wind. Gohan scrambled after him, questions dying unspoken as Law's silhouette blurred into the grey downpour. Towards the anomaly. Towards the prince who shouldn't be.