The two figures clashed violently near the nameless planet. The battle grew increasingly horrific, every strike a collision of absolute, raw power.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Shockwaves tore through the stars as if the very fabric of space were being shredded. As time ticked by, Cooler's body became a canvas of bruises and welts—living proof of the punishment Broly was inflicting.
"Dammit... dammit all!" Cooler's face twisted in a mask of agony. He suddenly threw himself backward, creating distance, and thrust his hands toward Broly. Purple sparks of Death Beam energy flickered between his fingertips. "Die!!"
A surge of power equivalent to a 100-billion combat level erupted through the void. Faced with this onslaught, Broly didn't even flinch. He raised his fist and punched the incoming beam head-on.
Clang! Clang!
The beams shattered against Broly's knuckles like glass. To a man with his constitution, this level of power was little more than a mild itch. However, Cooler wasn't finished.
"Go to hell!" Just as Broly crushed the final beam, Cooler materialized at his side, funneling every ounce of his strength into a single fist. Arcs of electricity spiraled around his arm like a drilling venomous dragon as he drove his fist into Broly's temple.
The impact triggered a cataclysmic shockwave that rippled through the sector. Cooler was certain he had just liquidated the giant's head.
"Are you trying to tickle me?"
The voice crawled into Cooler's ear, making his pupils shrink to pinpricks. The Saiyan's head hadn't exploded. In fact, he was slowly turning his face against the pressure of that 100-billion-power strike, looking Cooler dead in the eye. Broly's gaze was unsettlingly calm—the calm of a true monster.
"Is this the best eight years of training you've got? It's a bit underwhelming." Broly grinned.
"Impossible!" Cooler's worldview crumbled. His strongest strike in his final form couldn't even leave a scratch.
"My turn." Before Cooler could react, a heavy counter-punch buried itself deep into his gut.
Cooler screamed as he was launched from the vacuum of space, screaming down toward the surface of the nameless planet. He hit the ground with the force of a meteor, carving a massive crater into the crust. Agony surged through his nervous system as he coughed up a spray of dark blood.
The Frost Demon lineage was notoriously resilient; despite the internal damage, Cooler managed to stagger to his feet. "How... how can this be?!" He wiped the blood from his mouth, glaring at Broly as the Saiyan descended from the stars. "You're just a savage Saiyan monkey! How can you be stronger than a Frost Demon elite like me?! I won't accept it!!"
Cooler roared hysterically. In the depths of the crater he had made, golden light began to leak through the cracks of the planet's crust, but he was too far gone to notice. His aura began to shift, turning volatile.
Broly's eyes narrowed. He knew a transformation was coming. "You think I'm stupid enough to let you power up?"
Having spent years under Gran's tutelage, Broly had grown tactically sharp. This wasn't a tournament; it was a blood feud. If he let Cooler transform, he knew he'd have to tap into his own berserk state to win—an unstable outcome he wanted to avoid. Broly blurred into a bolt of lightning, charging for a finishing blow.
But he was a second too late.
A blinding explosion of heat and light erupted, reminiscent of a supernova. The sheer pressure caused the surrounding space to ripple and fracture. Broly was caught in the blast and sent hurtling back thousands of miles before he could stabilize himself. Cooler's training had paid off in one regard: his transformation was now nearly instantaneous.
Far out in the safety of space, Bulma watched the energy readings spike. Her heart sank. "Wait... Cooler's energy was fading, so why is it suddenly through the roof? Dammit, is Broly going to have to go berserk again to win this? Lord Gran, where are you?!" She clutched her chest, trying to steady her breathing.
Zip.
A handsome, composed figure appeared beside her. Bulma's eyes lit up as she grabbed his arm. "Lord Gran! You're finally back!"
"Mmhmm." Gran nodded, glancing at her. "You're not as thick-headed as I thought, knowing when to run from the blast zone."
Bulma, initially relieved, puffed out her cheeks. This guy is so annoying, she thought, but quickly spoke up. "Lord Gran, it's Cooler! He's back for a grudge match!"
"I see him. He's much stronger than before. The Frost Demons really are a gifted race."
"How strong is he now? Can Broly still handle him?"
"He's on the verge of breaking into the Divine State—the 'God Tier.' And that's not even his limit yet. If Broly stays in his base form, he's going to lose." Gran grabbed Bulma by the back of her collar. "Let's get a closer look."
Bulma felt like a kitten being carried by its scruff, but she didn't complain. The safety of Gran's presence was the only thing that made watching this apocalypse bearable. In a flash, they were hovering just outside the planet's atmosphere.
"Interesting," Gran noted. "He's already in his 'Final Form,' but his momentum is still climbing. He's actually going for the Gold."
Down on the planet, Cooler stood transformed—four horns protruding from his head and a biological face mask shielding his mouth. But he didn't stop there. He spotted Gran in the distance and felt a surge of adrenaline. He wanted to impress the God he admired.
"Aaaaaahhh!" Cooler screamed. "Monkey, you thought that was my limit? Behold my true power!"
The lightning around him intensified, and his purple-and-white skin began to shimmer, turning a brilliant, burnished gold.
Golden Cooler.
A golden radiance suddenly pierced the dark universe. A power surpassing mortality flooded the planet. He had reached the first stage of the Divine State. With a deafening roar, his golden aura swept across the world, shattering the remaining crust of the nameless planet and revealing the massive golden sphere beneath.
"Die!!" Cooler launched himself like a beam of light.
Bulma gripped Gran's arm. "Lord Gran, shouldn't you stop him? If Broly doesn't go berserk, Cooler might actually kill him!"
"Don't worry," Gran said calmly, waving a hand to manifest a purple barrier around them. "The Frost Demons are built to take a beating, but never underestimate the potential of a Legendary Saiyan. Just watch."
Because Broly was still trying to keep his composure, his power remained capped at around 150 billion. Against the God-tier strength of Golden Cooler, he was utterly outmatched. A rain of blows descended upon him, reopening old wounds and sending sprays of blood into the air.
Yet, Broly wouldn't fall.
Cooler began to panic. This was the power he had spent eight years of hellish training to achieve. He thought he might even be able to challenge a Destroyer Candidate, yet he couldn't put this Saiyan down. Worse, he could feel Broly's energy beginning to swell, just like it had eight years ago.
"Die! Just die already!!" Cooler kicked Broly into the upper atmosphere and cupped his hands at his chest, compressing his power into a sphere that crackled with the intensity of a second-stage Divine attack.
"Lord Gran, save him!" Bulma cried.
"No need. He's snapping."
As Cooler launched the final, devastating blast, Broly's pupils vanished. His eyes turned a stark, hollow white. Reason was gone.
BOOM!
The blast directly hit Broly. "Hahaha! I don't care who you are; no one survives that!" Cooler gloated. But a feral, beastly roar pierced the smoke. Emerald light began to bleed through the clouds.
The smoke vanished as Broly re-emerged. His hair was no longer black; it was a vibrant, translucent lime-green.
The Legendary Super Saiyan.
After years of discipline, Broly had finally tapped into the form that his ancestor, Otis, had used to challenge the Grand Zeno. His power rocketed into the Divine State, and it wasn't stopping.
Bulma cheered. She had been terrified for Broly, but seeing this form, she knew the tide had turned. Gran simply smiled. Broly was a freak of nature; his power grew naturally with age, but with Gran's training, he had become a force of absolute destruction. It reminded Gran of a certain movie where Frieza was used as a punching bag for over an hour. He wondered if the older brother could handle the same.
Cooler's voice trembled. "This... is this the legend? The Super Saiyan? Impossible! It's just a fairy tale!" He began spamming energy blasts in a desperate frenzy. The attacks hit Broly, but the Saiyan was now a living tank. The explosions did nothing.
Broly locked onto Cooler and dove. He moved so fast he shredded the fabric of space, leaving a trail of reality-warping fractures in his wake.
"Not again! He's lost his mind just like before!" Terror seized Cooler's heart. He turned to fly toward Gran, begging for salvation. But a massive hand clamped around his ankle.
The carnage began.
"AAAAAAGH!!"
Cooler's screams echoed across the revealed Super Dragon Ball. He tried to fight back, but Broly's power had already peaked past the first stage of the Divine State.
Thirty minutes passed. Cooler was unrecognizable.
An hour passed. Most of his bones were powder.
An hour and a half passed. His right arm was torn off, his legs were gone, and his skull was crushed inward by five centimeters.
Yet, he was still breathing.
"What kind of monster is he?" Bulma whispered, covering her mouth.
"The Frost Demons... they really are sturdy," Gran mused.
"Lord Gran, are you going to save him again?"
"Save him?" Gran looked puzzled. "Why would I do that?"
"Well, you did last time..."
"That was years ago. He was useful then. Now? He came here to commit suicide. I'm not his babysitter." Gran's tone was cold, the voice of a deity who looked upon the universe with total indifference.
Bulma shivered. "If I were in danger, would you be that cold to me?"
"No. I would save you."
"Really?" Bulma felt a rush of warmth. "Is it because I'm too pretty to die?"
Gran rolled his eyes. "It's because you're the one who feeds Lord Beerus and the others. You have 'special privilege' as their chef."
Bulma blinked. She was safe because she was a "pet feeder"? Well, it had gotten her eternal youth and the ability to breathe in space, so she decided not to complain.
"It's over. Let's head down," Gran said.
They landed on the surface of the now-exposed Super Dragon Ball. Broly was perched on top of the mangled Golden Cooler, methodically hammering his fists into what was left of Cooler's head.
As Gran approached, he casually caught Broly's fist mid-swing. Even in his berserk state, Broly's punch was stopped as if it had hit a mountain. Cooler looked up with blurry vision. He saw Gran and felt a flicker of hope. Lord Gran... are you saving me again?
But when their eyes met, Cooler didn't see mercy. He saw disappointment. To be looked down upon by the God he idolized—that realization hurt more than Broly's fists. His spirit broke. His pupils dilated and went still.
Cooler was dead.
The galactic emperor had spent eight years preparing for a grand return, only to be beaten to death before he could even start his campaign.
"He's actually dead," Bulma whispered, peeking from behind Gran.
"Yes. He is." Gran tapped Broly on the neck, knocking the berserker unconscious.
Bulma felt a surge of relief. "I'm giving Broly an extra-large steak when we get home!"
Gran stood over the ruined body of the Frost Demon. "I warned you once," he murmured. "You should have stayed in the East Galaxy. Go enjoy the music in Heaven, Cooler."
In the end, even a Golden Emperor was nothing more than a footnote in the history of the Gods.
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