The old shoebox smelled of dust and forgotten summers. Inside, seven jagged stones glimmered under the basement's single bulb.
"You actually kept these?" Kara leaned against the rusted water heater, arms crossed. Her laugh echoed off concrete walls. "Thought Mom tossed 'em when we moved."
He didn't answer. His thumb traced the largest emerald's cold edge. Something prickled beneath his skin—like static before a storm. The basement lights flickered once. Twice. Darkness swallowed everything.
Reality tore open with a roar. Not sound. A vacuum shredding the world. His bones vibrated. Colors bled sideways—impossible greens and blinding golds. Kara's scream vanished into a whirlpool of collapsing matter. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Only fall.
Impact jolted his spine. Scorched earth bit his palms. The air tasted like blood and ozone. Distant explosions lit the sky in flashes of orange and crimson. Something massive moved beyond the smoke—a shadow with a tail. Voices shouted in garbled Japanese nearby. One word sliced through the chaos: "*Saiyan*."
He clutched his stomach, retching violently. Where Kara should've landed, only fractured asphalt remained. The shoebox lay beside him, emeralds scattered like fallen stars. One pulsed faintly, casting sickly green light over his trembling hands.
Gohan's terrified yelp echoed from a shattered highway overpass. Through the haze, Nappa's armored silhouette loomed, casually kicking aside a demolished tank. Vegeta hovered behind him, arms crossed, smirking at the destruction. Their scouter lenses flashed crimson. *Power levels barely registering*, he realized. *They don't see me*.
The largest emerald grew hot against his thigh. Energy surged up his nerves—raw, untamed chaos spiking his pulse. His veins lit up chartreuse. In that instant, Nappa paused mid-stride, head snapping toward his hiding place. Vegeta's smirk vanished. "Hn. Interesting," the prince hissed, raising a gloved hand. Energy gathered in his palm, buzzing like a broken reactor. The emerald seared his skin. *Run or ignite?*
The world fractured into prismatic shards. Seven streaks of impossible light erupted from the shoebox—emeralds dissolving into pure power that dove into his chest. Bone-deep warmth bloomed where panic had been. No scream ripped from him. No golden explosion. Only a soft *thrum* vibrating the rubble under his knees as his hair bled gold. He blinked. Rubies gazed back at the smoke-choked sky. Vegeta's energy sphere flickered out, forgotten. The Saiyan prince recoiled as if scalded. "Impossible," he breathed.
SUMMARY^1: Cornered by Nappa and Vegeta, the man's emerald reacts violently, forcing a choice. As Vegeta prepares to attack, the emeralds dissolve into chaotic energy within him. He transforms unexpectedly into a Super Saiyan without the typical explosive aura, stunning both Saiyans and halting their assault.
His aura unfurled—not a hurricane, but a hearthstone glow. Warmth kissed the ash-filled air where Kara's scream had vanished. The scent of ozone yielded to petrichor and something sweet, like ripe summer plums. Nappa stumbled back, his boot crushing concrete as Vegeta's eyes widened—a flicker of primal recognition slicing through his arrogance. *This scent... like Father's throne room after Frieza's purge.*
A tremor shook the earth—not from explosions, but from the man's heartbeat syncing with the emeralds' buried song. Gold shimmered across his knuckles, etching fractal patterns on his skin like veins of starlight. His hair lifted weightlessly, strands crystallizing into sunlight. Ruby pupils contracted, locking onto Vegeta's throat. Silence roared louder than the battlefield.
Vegeta's gauntlet clenched. "Nappa," he snarled, a command sharp as shattered glass. "Scouter malfunction? His level's... fluctuating." The prince's tail lashed—a cobra coiling. Energy crackled around his fist, yet the golden figure remained still. Only his breath stirred the dust, each exhale tasting of iron and crushed ice. *They see power now,* the man realized. *But they don't see the storm.*
Behind them, Piccolo's torn cape whipped in the wind as he shielded Gohan—both frozen mid-retreat, confusion warring with dread on their faces. The man's fingertips sparked with fractal gold. The taste of sulfur faded. Instead, he inhaled ozone-laced rain… and the phantom sting of Green Hill's chili dogs. *Sonic*. The name erupted in his mind like a supernova. Memories flooded him—not his own, but fractured echoes. Emerald energy tearing across timeless voids.
A phantom loop-de-loop seared his vision: Super Sonic's spines gleaming against a monochrome void, fists colliding with a grinning cosmic horror—shattered clock gears raining like meteors. *Shadow!* The Black Arms' plague-scarred planet flashed crimson. Classic Sonic's sneaker slammed into Infinite's mask. Doctor Eggman's laughter boomed from collapsing starships. Each memory pulsed to the emeralds' rhythm behind his ribs, etching pathways in his neurons. He saw the Time Eater unraveling reality, felt the desperate synergy as two Sonics spun into a supernova kick—chaos made unity. *That's it*, he realized with visceral clarity. Not brute force. Harmony.
Vegeta's energy blast ignited—a searing sphere screaming toward him. Yet time dilated. The man inhaled deeply, tasting crushed Chao garden flowers. Emerald warmth flowed through him: no rage, no panic. The raw chaos sublimated into precision. He raised a palm. Gold light wove into a shield—not a barrier, but a latticework of interlocking hexagons humming with Green Hill's sunrise. The prince's attack struck… and dissolved like sugar in tea, scattering harmless embers that smelled of burnt toast. Vegeta bared his teeth, tail rigid with shock.
Nappa roared, charging. Rubble vaporized under his boots. The man didn't flinch. His knuckles crackled—not with Saiyan fury, but the crisp static of Chemical Plant's ziplines. He sidestepped, movements fluid as driftwood on a tide. His elbow brushed Nappa's armor. Contact unleashed a sonic boom of golden soundwaves—a move ripped straight from Sonic's spin-dash lexicon. The Saiyan titan hurtled backward, skidding through debris. Vegeta's scouter exploded in a shower of sparks. "Impossible?" the man murmured, ruby eyes narrowing. His fist clenched, sparking with the rhythm of Speed Highway at dawn. "Try *inevitable*."
The scent of scorched metal hung thick. Vegeta hissed, tail whipping like a metronome gone wild. His prince's pride warred with primal dread—that starlight scent wasn't Saiyan. It smelled of loop-de-loops and chili dogs. The man's grin widened, sharp and effortless. "What's wrong?" he taunted, echoes of Sonic's Green Hill quips threading his voice. "Never seen chaos dance?" Gold light pooled beneath his feet, humming like the Tornado's engine. He tapped his temple, a gesture borrowed from Shadow's cold arrogance. "Your scouter's dead. Your brute's down. And you?"
Ash swirled between them. Vegeta's tail froze mid-lash. One instant, the golden figure stood twenty yards away, fingers tracing fractal patterns in the air. The next—nothing. Only petrichor and the ghost of a smirk lingering like graffiti. Then, warmth bloomed against Vegeta's ear. "Looking for me?" The whisper carried the weight of Super Sonic's cosmic chuckle. Vegeta spun, energy flaring wild and untamed—a cornered beast. The man floated inches away, gold aura soft as lamplight. His ruby eyes held Infinite's mocking tilt, his stance radiating Knuckles' grounded defiance. Behind them, Piccolo's jaw tightened. Gohan gasped. Even the distant explosions seemed to hush.
Vegeta's gloved hand trembled. Not in fear—in outrage. "Insect!" he spat, yet his tail curled tight like a frightened serpent. The man's smirk didn't waver. He leaned closer, voice a low thrum of Perfect Chaos' tide. "Funny." Emerald energy coiled around his fingers, painting starbursts on Vegeta's scarred cheekplate. "Insects don't turn gods to dust." Piccolo's eyes widened—a flicker of understanding. Gohan's small hand clutched the Namekian's torn cape. The battlefield held its breath. Gold light pulsed, harmonizing with Vegeta's ragged snarl. One word hung unsaid: *checkmate*.
The uppercut wasn't seen—only felt. A ripple of fractal gold tore upward from the man's hip, his fist trailing the afterimage of Windy Valley's corkscrews. Bone met jaw with the wet-crack percussion of Eggman's mech shattering. Vegeta's eyes rolled back, pupils vanishing beneath bruised lids. His armor screeched as he rocketed skyward, a comet of Saiyan pride obliterated by chaos. Dust-devils spiraled where he'd stood, tasting of ozone and crushed pride.
The man's lazy ascent defied physics—not flight, but existence bending toward him. He materialized beside Vegeta mid-arc, one knee drawn up like Shadow lounging on GUN's satellite. Gravity meant nothing here. Sunlight refracted through his dangling sneaker, scattering prismatic flecks over Vegeta's limp form. Below, Nappa bellowed, scrambling from rubble. Piccolo hissed, "Impossible speed..." The man yawned, ruby eyes half-lidded. Emerald sparks danced in his palm—a bored conductor awaiting the next note.
Vegeta's eyelids fluttered. Blood foamed at his split lip. The man's whisper cut through the wind-rush: "Sleep tight, Prince." He flicked his wrist. Not a punch—a *push*. Golden soundwaves bloomed like Solaris' petals, hammering Vegeta earthward. The crater exploded upward in a geyser of pulverized asphalt and Saiyan agony. Silence followed. Real silence—no distant artillery, no scouters buzzing. Just seven emeralds singing behind his ribs, softer than Angel Island's waterfalls. Across the wasteland, Piccolo's tendril twitched toward Gohan. His voice rasped, alien and urgent: "Who... *are* you?"
The man descended. Not floated—*stepped* down, each footfall chiming like the bell atop Studiopolis Tower. Gold light bled from his hair, receding like a tide. Rubies faded to familiar brown. He landed beside the fractured shoebox, soles crunching glass. Kara's phantom scent—strawberry shampoo and library paste—lingered in the ozone. He crouched, ignoring Nappa's guttural groans nearby. One emerald pulsed weakly among the debris, casting Green Hill's glow on his palm. Piccolo advanced, shadows pooling at his feet. Gohan peeked from behind him, eyes wide as Chaos Emeralds. "Are... are you a good guy?" the boy whispered.
Ash settled on his tongue. Iron. Salt. And beneath it—chili dogs. He smiled. Not Saiyan arrogance, not Shadow's cold smirk. A grin ripped straight from Angel Island's shores. "Good's boring," he said, plucking the emerald. It warmed his skin, humming Speed Highway's bassline. Piccolo tensed, battle-scarred fists clenching. The Namekian's glare could freeze supernovas. "Names have power, stranger. Claim yours."
Emerald light danced in his eyes—not gold, but the fierce blue of Sonic's spines under a Mobian moon. He tossed the stone, caught it, and winked at Gohan. "Call me Sonic." The word hung—a chaos control command rewriting reality. Piccolo hissed. Gohan gasped. And deep in his marrow, seven harmonies clicked into place, thrumming with the rhythm of loop-de-loops and shattered timelines.
Then—a flicker. Just a glance sideways, lazy as Shadow examining a GUN report. There stood Nappa, steaming crater forgotten, knuckles white around a chunk of rebar like a club. The Saiyan's roar tore the silence, raw and broken. "You little *worm*!" Spittle flew. He charged, a mountain of fury scattering rubble. The man—*Sonic*—didn't turn. Didn't flinch. He just… smiled.
Petrichor and ozone vanished. The air *cracked*. Gold erupted—not a transformation, but an instantaneous bloom. He stood before Nappa, Super Form blazing, before the Saiyan's next footfall hit the ground. No whirlwind, no trembling earth. Just the soft *hiss* of displaced air cooling, and the sudden, blinding corona around him. His ruby eyes locked onto Nappa's bloodshot ones, inches away. "Took you long enough," he murmured, voice layered with Super Sonic's cosmic resonance. Nappa froze mid-swing, terror dawning where rage had been—the primal fear of prey realizing the hunter wore godhood.
Emerald energy pooled at Sonic's fingertips, humming Chemical Plant's discordant tune. He didn't punch. He tapped Nappa's forehead—a gesture gentle as flicking dust off a Chao statue. Gold light spiderwebbed across the Saiyan's armor like shattered glass. Nappa's eyes rolled back. He crumpled, hitting the asphalt with the dull thud of a felled redwood. Sonic's aura dimmed to hearthstone warmth, his Super Form vanishing as casually as it appeared. He nudged the fallen giant with his sneaker. "Nap time," he sighed, the scent of crushed summer grass replacing battle-stink. Piccolo's shadow fell across them, cold and coiled. "Names *do* have power," the Namekian growled, tendrils twitching toward Gohan. "But *that*… was something else."
Sonic stretched, joints popping like overclocked springs. He casually laced his fingers behind his head, elbows jutting skyward—Shadow's trademark insolence blended with Knuckles' relaxed defiance. His gaze drifted past Piccolo's battle-torn silhouette to the horizon, where smoke pillars clawed at the bruised sky. "So," he drawled, ruby eyes narrowing at the devastation. "Saiyans. Always thought they'd be taller." Gohan stifled a gasp. Piccolo's scowl deepened, but Sonic's attention didn't waver. He studied the Namekian, the ragged hem of his cape, the way tension radiated from him like heat from a reactor core. "Relax, big guy," Sonic murmured, tapping one foot to Speed Highway's silent beat. "I'm not here to steal your Emerald."
Piccolo's fist clenched, knuckles bleaching white. "You reek of alien magic," he hissed, stepping between Sonic and Gohan. "Chaos energy… twisted into something *worse*." Sonic's grin softened—not mocking, but weary. He remembered Angel Island's waterfalls, the soft chime of Master Emerald shards reuniting. "Magic's just science nobody bothered explaining," he countered, sniffing the air. Burnt copper. Fear-sweat. And beneath it… Kara's strawberry shampoo, ghost-thin. His gaze dropped to the shoebox shards littering the crater where Vegeta lay buried. The largest Chaos Emerald glowed softly inside his jacket pocket, pulsing to the rhythm of Windmill Isle's tides. "Seen worse," he added quietly. "Way worse."
A tremor shook the earth—not from rubble settling, but from Vegeta's crater. Dust geysered upward as the prince erupted, armor shattered, face a mask of blood and feral rage. His tail whipped like a cracked power cable, energy screaming around him in unstable violet arcs. Sonic sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Seriously?" He plucked the pulsing emerald from his pocket. Its light painted Piccolo's stunned face chartreuse. "Round two, Prince Grumpy?" Gold began bleeding into Sonic's hairline as Vegeta's howl tore the sky apart—a promise of annihilation. The Chaos Emerald sang its seven-note chord, harmonizing with the Saiyan's raw fury. Gohan whimpered. Piccolo braced. Sonic merely cracked his neck. "Let's dance."
Casually, effortlessly, Sonic floated upward. Not flight—reality bent *around* him, warping like Green Hill's loop-de-loops. Gold light bled from his spines in lazy ribbons, evaporating ash motes into prismatic steam. He ascended past twisted rebar and smoldering tanks, sneakers dangling as if lounging on an invisible chaise. Below, Piccolo's jaw tightened—the Namekian hadn't even seen him *move*. Vegeta hovered eye-level now, panting, muscles trembling with overclocked power. Sonic tilted his head, ruby eyes scanning the prince's cracked armor. "Armor's toast," he observed, voice layered with Super Sonic's cosmic echo. "Bet that chafes." He drifted closer, close enough to smell Vegeta's scorched hair and coppery blood. The Chaos Emerald throbbed warmly against his sternum. Vegeta's fists clenched, energy sputtering wildly. "I'll rip you apart!" he snarled, tail lashing air. Sonic smirked. "Already did once. Wanna go for three?"
The Saiyan prince lunged—all teeth and desperation. But Sonic didn't evade. He floated *through* the wild haymaker, dissipating like holographic static before reforming instantly behind Vegeta. Gold light left traceries in the prince's blind spot. "Slow," Sonic murmured, tapping Vegeta's fractured shoulder plate. Vegeta whirled, eyes wide with animal panic. Sonic didn't retreat. He floated backward, leisurely, fingers tracing fractal patterns in the smoke. A phantom chili dog scent lingered where he'd touched the armor. Below, Nappa groaned into consciousness, blinking at the impossible tableau: his prince, cornered by a golden ghost. Piccolo hissed, "Impossible…" Gohan's gasp was softer: "He's… playing?" Sonic grinned. Emerald energy sparked between his fingers—not threatening, but teasing. Vegeta's tail curled tight against his thigh. The battlefield held its breath.
Casually, Sonic drifted onto his back mid-air—weightless as driftwood on Angel Island's tides. He laced fingers behind his head, knees bent, sneaker tapping rhythmically to Chemical Plant's bassline. Ash swirled beneath him like lazy snowflakes. Vegeta hovered above him, trembling with unleashed violence. Yet Sonic's ruby gaze slid past the prince entirely. He watched distant smoke pillars coil into bruised sky—a spectacle more compelling than Saiyan rage. "Y'know," Sonic mused, voice layered with Super Sonic's cosmic resonance yet casual as Shadow assessing collateral damage, "your planet's wrecked, Prince." He gestured vaguely at the carnage with a sparking thumb. "Real fixer-upper." Piccolo twitched. Gohan stifled a startled laugh. Vegeta's snarl died—replaced by utter, flabbergasted silence. For the first time, arrogance yielded to visceral confusion. Who *was* this creature, dismissing apocalypse like bad decor?
Sonic rolled lazily sideways—still supine—as Vegeta's wild energy blast tore through the space where his head had been. The violet fury screamed past him, evaporating a crippled skyscraper block into shimmering dust motes that rained like metallic snow. He didn't accelerate or dodge; gravity simply forgot him. Ash settled on his gold-lit cheeks, tasting of burnt wiring and something faintly floral—Green Hill's dandelion clocks, maybe. "Rude," he sighed, the word vibrating with Super Sonic's cosmic bassline. Below, Piccolo's eyes narrowed—the Namekian saw it: Sonic's drifting wasn't evasion. It was *boredom*.
Vegeta's scream shredded the air, raw and ragged. He lunged again, fists trailing crackling violet arcs. Sonic yawned, stretching like a cat napping on a sun-warped branch. One fingertip flicked upward—a casual gesture. Emerald light lanced out, not as a beam, but as a shimmering *ribbon*. It coiled around Vegeta's wrist, gentle as Angel Island's morning mist, and yanked. The prince cartwheeled past Sonic, momentum unstoppable, tail whipping like a snapped cable. Sonic watched him tumble, ruby eyes half-lidded. "Control, buddy," he murmured, the phantom scent of chili dogs clinging to the emerald energy. "Ever heard of it?"
From his upside-down drift, Sonic spotted Gohan's wide-eyed stare. The boy's knuckles were white where he clutched Piccolo's torn gi. Sonic winked—an echo of Tails' trusting grin—and closed his eyes.
Darkness bloomed, rich and textured. Not emptiness. A *canvas*. Behind his eyelids, chaos energy danced—not as golden sunbursts, but as twining threads of possibility. Super Form's power was a roaring river. Hyper? A crushing tidal wave. But deeper… stranger shapes stirred. Jagged obsidian shards—*World Rings*—glinted like fractured ice in his mind's void. They promised spines like shattered glass and eyes burning violent violet: **Darkspine**. Too *wild*. Not here. Not yet. He brushed past them.
His thoughts plunged deeper. A resonance—cold, ancient steel. **Excalibur**. The blade's song vibrated in his marrow, summoning phantom armor: silver plates gleaming like moonlit snow, a crown of starlight woven into his spines. *Knighthood*. Order imposed on chaos. Wrong for this ash-choked battlefield. Too… *heavy*. He let its chill fade.
Then—a primal *snarl*. Fur bristling beneath gold quills. Fangs sharp as shattered chaos drives. **Werehog**. The scent of scorched earth yielded to damp forests and wet stone. Muscles thickened with lunar rage. A shudder ran through him. *Nightmares*. Earth's shattered moon hung too close… too *remembered*. He recoiled from the beast's growl.
He blinked. Ruby irises refocused on Vegeta's enraged snarl. Gold light hummed steady, familiar. His Super Form settled back into place—comfortable, chaotic sneakers. He grinned. "Tch. Later, freaky forms."
---
The prince lunged again, a violet comet fueled by shattered pride. Sonic didn't dodge. He *welcomed* it—placing his palm flat against Vegeta's charging fist. Impact reverberated—a thunderclap that flattened distant fires into silence. Ash hung suspended. Vegeta's eyes bulged. Sonic's grin was pure Green Hill mischief. "Tag. You're it." He shoved. Not hard. Just… *forward*. Space puckered. Vegeta screamed, vanishing into the shuddering air like a bad transmission—reappearing instantly fifty feet overhead. Disoriented, the prince tumbled, tail flailing wildly. Below, Piccolo hissed, "Instanttransmission?!" Sonic chuckled. "Nah. Just… skipping steps."
Nappa roared, scrambling upright—a mountain of bruised Saiyan fury shaking off unconsciousness. His scouter sparked uselessly, cracked lens showing gibberish. He locked onto Sonic's golden form, charging blindly. Sonic sighed. "Persistent." He snapped his fingers—a casual *click* echoing Windy Valley's gusts—and vanished. Nappa crashed through empty air, momentum sending him face-first into Vegeta's crater. Ash plumed upward. Sonic reappeared perched atop a sagging billboard, one knee drawn up. Below, Vegeta plummeted toward earth, wind screaming past his shattered armor. Sonic tilted his head, ruby eyes tracking the prince's uncontrolled descent. "Still falling?" he murmured, emerald light painting the billboard's fractured ads for Capsule Corp tech into ironic tombstones.
Piccolo moved—blurring between rubble with Gohan clutched tight. His shadow stretched long and protective as he halted near Sonic's perch. The Namekian's voice was gravel scraped raw. "That energy… it warps reality itself." Sonic shrugged, tapping his sneaker to an unheard rhythm. "Chaos Control's handy for shortcuts." Below, Vegeta slammed into debris with bone-jarring force, his groan swallowed by settling dust. Nappa crawled toward him, dragging one leg. Sonic's gaze drifted past them—past Piccolo's coiled tension—to the horizon's bleeding sunset. Kara's phantom scent lingered there, strawberry shampoo clinging to scorched metal. His fingers tightened imperceptibly around the pulsing emerald at his chest. "Where's your big, green friend?" he asked Piccolo, voice softer. "Kami's lookout should be…" His words trailed off as a distant flicker caught his eye—a pinprick of light tearing through bruised clouds. Not artillery. Something faster. Familiar.
The pinprick resolved—a figure plummeting earthward in orange gi, haloed by golden fire. Hair like spilled sunlight. Eyes blazing cobalt fury. Sonic's breath hitched. *Kakarot*. The air crackled with ozone and Kaioken's raw heat as Goku slammed down between the broken Saiyans, cratering the asphalt anew. Dust-devils spiraled, tasting of scorched earth and desperation. Vegeta shoved Nappa aside, spitting blood. "You!" he snarled, tail lashing crimson streaks. Goku ignored him, gaze locked onto Sonic—onto the gold light bleeding from his spines. Confusion warred with battle-focus in those wide eyes. "Who…?" Goku began, fists clenching. Then he sensed it—the emerald's thrumming resonance beneath Saiyan ki. It vibrated his bones, humming Speed Highway's bassline. Behind him, Piccolo tensed. "Careful, Goku," the Namekian warned. "He's… different."
Sonic drifted down, soles chiming softly against cracked concrete. Gold aura dimmed to hearthstone glow as he met Goku's stare. Ruby eyes held Super Sonic's cosmic weight… and Sonic's Green Hill grin. "Heard you throw a mean punch," he said, tossing the Chaos Emerald casually—light catching its facets like Speed Highway's neon. It landed back in his palm with a crisp *thwap*. "Wanna spar?" Below, Vegeta roared, surging upward—only for Goku's sudden sidestep to plant a knee in his gut. The prince crumpled with a guttural choke.
Ash motes danced between them. Sonic rolled his shoulders, knuckles sparking fractal gold. He smelled Kaioken's ozone burn… and beneath it, faint but unmistakable—the yeasty tang of Master Roshi's stolen senbei crackers. Goku's battle-stance eased, cobalt eyes narrowing with intrigued delight. "Spar?" He matched Sonic's grin, Kamehameha-energy crackling in his palms like bottled lightning. "Heh. Thought you'd never ask." Piccolo hissed, dragging Gohan back as violet Saiyan ki erupted from Vegeta's crater—raw and untamed. Sonic just winked. "Loser buys chili dogs?"
The air *shivered*. Gold and blue light collided—not impact, but harmony. Sonic's spin-dash met Goku's flying kick in a helix of corkscrewing energy. Sound tore through the wasteland: less explosion, more Angel Island's gong struck at light-speed. Rubble lifted, hovering in fractal stasis as their afterimages wove through debris—Sonic trailing Chemical Plant's synth-hum, Goku scattering Kinto-un's feathery warmth. Piccolo shielded Gohan's face from the glare, . "Impossible speeds…" he breathed. Across the field, Vegeta staggered upright, bloodied tail lashing. His scouter lay shattered… but his eyes tracked the duel with savage precision. *Weakness*, he thought, tasting copper. *Find it.*
Nappa's shadow loomed—a mountain of bruised rage blocking the sunset. He charged Piccolo, rebar club raised. "Outta my way, slug!" Sonic's laughter cut through the chaos—a Green Hill riff—as he parried Goku's elbow strike mid-vortex. One gold-lit finger flicked sideways. Emerald energy ribboned out, hooking Nappa's ankle mid-stride. The Saiyan crashed face-first into asphalt, skidding past Piccolo's boots. Sonic landed lightly beside Goku, tossing his emerald like a baseball. "Your turn," he grinned. Goku's eyes blazed Kaioken crimson. "No holding back?" Sonic's hair bled sun-gold once more. "Wouldn't dream of it." Behind them, Vegeta's gauntlet glowed violet—aimed at their joined silhouettes.