Note: This story was written with assistance by an AI. I provided prompts and edited the results to make sense, creating something resembling a full story.

I thought it would be fun to explore the canon of the Dragon Ball F Universe. The story will follow the basic flow of Dragon Ball Z, but obviously there will be many differences. Some changes are made by the AI, some by me, but I think it helps to give this world its own feel besides the basic premise of it being a female-only world. I hope some of you will enjoy these stories, I’ll release them when I can!

The golden coils of the Serpentine Highway streamed beneath Goku’s feet in a continuous, luminous river. Her body, forged in the crucible of ten-fold gravity, moved with an effortless, ground-devouring speed that would have been unimaginable a year ago. Every muscle was a tightly-wound spring, every breath a controlled intake of power. She was a missile locked on a target, her mind focused on a single, burning point: Earth. The faces of Chi-Chi and Gohan were a beacon in the endless void, a promise that pulled her forward. She had no concept of the slaughter she was racing toward, only the primal need to be there.

—–

Back on Earth, the three-hour wait was stretching Nappa’s limited patience to its breaking point. She paced in front of the terrified, huddled group of survivors—Piccolo, Krillin, Chi-Chi, and the catatonic Gohan. The naked Saiyan’s skin was still raw and blistered from Chiaotzu’s explosion, a constant, itching reminder of her humiliation, and the futa bean’s effects had not yet subsided, leaving her thick cock swinging with each agitated step.

“This is boring, Vegeta,” Nappa grumbled, kicking a rock that vaporized against a distant cliff face. “Just sitting here. I’m still wound up from that three-eyed bitch. I need to do something.” Her predatory gaze swept over the Earth women, lingering on Krillin’s defiant, tear-streaked face and then on Chi-Chi, who held her daughter close. “Let me have one of them. The bald one looks like she’s got some fight left in her. I’ll have some fun breaking it.”

Vegeta, still seated on her rock like a queen on a throne of bones, didn’t even look at her. “Control your appetites, Nappa. The main event is coming. I want them full of hope when Kakarot arrives. Broken toys are no fun to break again.”

“Tch.” Nappa scowled, her hand drifting to her own length, stroking it absently as she stared at her captives. The promise of violence and violation hung thick in the air, a storm waiting to break the moment Vegeta’s whimsical patience finally ran out. The seconds ticked by, each one an eternity of dread for the defenders and an agony of anticipation for their captor.

Chi-Chi knelt in the dust, ignoring the searing glare of the Saiyans, and pulled Gohan into her arms. The girl was trembling uncontrollably, her small body rigid with a terror so deep it seemed to have frozen her very blood.

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay,” Chi-Chi whispered, her voice a soft, steady rhythm against the pounding of Gohan’s heart. She stroked her daughter’s hair, her touch firm and grounding. “Just breathe. Look at me. Breathe with me.” She took an exaggerated, slow breath in, holding it, then let it out. “You’re safe right now. I’m right here.”

Gohan’s wide, terrified eyes focused on her mother’s face, and she mimicked the breathing, a shaky inhale and a shuddering exhale.

Piccolo watched from a few feet away, her arms crossed, her expression a mask of grim frustration. “You’re coddling her,” she stated, her voice a low rumble. “This is a battlefield, not a nursery. Fear is a luxury she cannot afford. She needs to harness it, not be soothed out of it.”

Chi-Chi’s head snapped up, her own fear transmuting into a fierce, protective fire. “She is five years old, Piccolo! Look at what she’s just seen! Her friends torn apart! This isn’t a training exercise; it’s a nightmare! She’s a child, and you’re disappointed she’s not acting like a hardened soldier?” Her voice cracked, but her gaze never wavered. “Comfort isn’t coddling. It’s what keeps the heart from shattering completely.”

Piccolo fell silent, unable to refute the raw truth in Chi-Chi’s words. She looked away, the set of her jaw still tight with disapproval, but the fight had gone out of her. She had trained the girl’s body, but she had no map for a child’s soul in the face of such horror.

Gohan watched the exchange, the tension between her two guardians—the mother who offered solace and the teacher who demanded strength. She saw the flicker of disappointment in Piccolo’s crimson eyes, and it struck her deeper than any blow. She had failed her. She had frozen when she was needed most.

A new emotion began to burn through the cold fear in her gut: shame, followed by a spark of desperate determination. She wiped her tears away with a grimy sleeve, her small jaw setting. She wouldn’t be a burden. She wouldn’t let Ms. Piccolo down again. When the fighting started again, she would be ready. She would fight.

A low, mechanical buzz began to intrude upon the tense silence of the badlands. At first, it was a single news helicopter, a gnat-like speck against the bruised sky, its camera lens a glinting eye. Then another appeared, and another. On the ground, brave or foolish reporters in armored vans crept as close as they dared, their long-range lenses pointed at the scene of alien devastation and the huddled forms of Earth’s last defenders.

Nappa’s head snapped up, her nostrils flaring as if she could smell their fear from a mile away. A wide, predatory grin split her face. “Vegeta! Look! The insects are gathering to watch the show!” She gestured excitedly at the growing media circus. “Let me clear the area. Just a little blast. A warning shot to scare ‘em off.” Her voice was a wheedling, eager plea, her body practically vibrating with the need for destruction.

Vegeta, who had been meditating with her eyes closed, didn’t even bother to open them. “Ignore them, Nappa. They are beneath our notice.”

“But they’re so close!” Nappa whined, her hand twitching at her side as if already feeling the release of a ki blast. “They’re filming us! Let me swat a few of these flies! It’ll pass the time!”

The plea hung in the air, a stark reminder that the three-hour reprieve was a fragile thing, held together only by Vegeta’s whimsical desire for a dramatic finale. The presence of the outside world was an unpredictable variable, a spark that could ignite Nappa’s explosive impatience and bring the waiting game to a sudden, bloody end.

“Fine!” Vegeta finally snapped, her patience evaporating. “Go! Rid us of that infernal buzzing. But make it quick. I don’t want you tiring yourself out before Kakarot gets here.”

Nappa didn’t need to be told twice. With a roar of glee, she shot into the air, a naked, burning comet of pure malice. The remaining fighters could only watch, their hearts sinking, as she became a speck against the sky, heading directly for the cluster of news helicopters.

The first explosion was a silent, distant flower of orange fire, followed a second later by the faint crump of the sound reaching them. Then another. And another. The helicopters, symbols of a world trying to understand the cataclysm befalling it, were swatted from the sky like gnats, their wreckage raining down in fiery pieces.

Screams, tinny and distorted with distance, were carried on the wind as Nappa descended upon the reporters on the ground. There were no more explosions, just short, sharp screams that were cut off abruptly. They couldn’t see the details, but their minds painted the picture with horrifying clarity—the brutal, close-quarters slaughter, the casual extinguishing of lives that had come too close to a fire they could never comprehend.

Krillin turned away, vomiting into the dust. Chi-Chi pulled Gohan’s face into her chest, shielding her eyes, but she couldn’t block out the sounds. Piccolo stood rigid, her fists clenched, the utter powerlessness a poison in her veins. They were Earth’s strongest, and they could do nothing but listen as a monster gleefully culled their people just over the horizon. The hope that Goku was coming felt like a frail, distant dream, drowning in the very real sounds of a massacre.

When Nappa returned she landed with a ground-shaking thud, sending a cloud of dust billowing out around her. She was drenched, her naked body slick with crimson from head to toe. Gore dripped from her chin, and a wide, unhinged grin was plastered across her face. The brief, brutal slaughter had been the perfect aperitif. Her cock, already formidable from the futa bean, was now a throbbing, blood-smeared pillar of flesh, harder than stone and twitching with eager anticipation.

“Heh heh heh… That was a good warm-up,” she rumbled, her voice thick with satisfaction. She licked a splatter of blood from her lips. “So? Time’s up, right? Can I smash the rest of them now?”

Vegeta glanced at her scouter, a bored expression on her face. “It has been two hours and forty-seven minutes. Not quite three.” She saw the desperate, almost painful need in Nappa’s eyes, the way her entire body was tensed like a coiled spring. She sighed, as if granting a tiresome child a minor request. “Oh, very well. I’m growing weary of their sniveling anyway. Proceed. But leave the child. I have a… particular interest in her.”

That was all the permission Nappa needed. Her grin widened into a rictus of pure joy as she turned her blood-soaked gaze upon Piccolo, Krillin, and Chi-Chi. The final, desperate battle was back on, and the Saiyan was more aroused and bloodthirsty than ever.

The air became a vortex of desperation and sadistic play as the battle resumed. Nappa moved through their coordinated assault not like a fighter, but like a reveler in a brutal carnival. She was a whirlwind of groping hands and slapping flesh.

Krillin lunged with a ki-empowered punch, aiming for the burn on Nappa’s chest. The Saiyan didn’t block it. She let it land, the impact making her grunt, and in the same motion, her hand shot out, grabbing Krillin’s breast and giving it a vicious, twisting squeeze that made the smaller woman cry out in pain and shock. As Krillin recoiled, Nappa’s cock, hard as iron, swung around and smacked her across the face with a wet, stinging crack, the force sending her spinning to the ground.

Chi-Chi came in low, her Ox-Queen style a blur of powerful kicks. Nappa caught one of her ankles, yanking her off balance. As Chi-Chi fell, Nappa leaned over, her free hand groping between Chi-Chi’s thighs through her gi, a crude, violating touch before she tossed the furious mother aside like a toy.

Piccolo was the only one who could trade blows with any semblance of parity, her Light of Death forcing Nappa to actually block. But even she was not spared the humiliation. As she charged another blast, Nappa blurred inside her guard, her thick cock slapping against Piccolo’s cheek before a powerful headbutt sent the Namekian stumbling back, purple blood trickling from her nose.

And then there was Gohan. Fueled by shame and a newfound, trembling resolve, she finally joined the fray, a Masenko forming in her small hands. She let it fly. Nappa, with a contemptuous flick of her wrist, deflected the beam into the sky. But she didn’t strike back. As Gohan stood panting, Nappa simply reached out and flicked her hard on the forehead, the casual dismissal more damaging than any punch. The force of the flick sent Gohan tumbling backward, a stark reminder of her powerlessness, protected only by Vegeta’s cruel whim.

The fight was a grotesque pantomime. Nappa wasn’t trying to kill them quickly; she was savoring it, using their bodies for her amusement, turning their last stand into a lewd, violent playground. Every blocked strike was an opportunity for a grope, every dodge was met with the stinging slap of her erect cock. They were being toyed with, their strength and their bodies utterly at the mercy of the Saiyan’s aroused, murderous whims.

The fight descended into a new level of grotesque violation. Nappa’s laughter echoed, a soundtrack to their systematic defilement. She moved with impossible speed, her hands not striking, but tearing.

She blurred past Chi-Chi, and with a sharp rip, the front of her gi was shredded, exposing her breasts to the dusty air. Before Chi-Chi could even react, Nappa’s fingers were inside her, a brutal, probing invasion that made her cry out, her body arching in shock and pain.

Krillin tried a Destructo Disc, the buzzing blade of energy forming in her hand. Nappa simply grabbed her wrist, the ki dissipating harmlessly, and forced the smaller woman to her knees. “Lick,” Nappa commanded, shoving Krillin’s face into her blood-smeared groin. Krillin gagged, struggling, but Nappa’s grip was iron, forcing her tongue against the Saiyan’s heavy, swinging balls in a demeaning, forced act of worship.

Piccolo, enraged, charged her once more. This time, Nappa didn’t strike. She dropped, her full weight landing on Piccolo’s chest, pinning her to the ground. Then, she shifted, settling her naked, blood-caked ass directly onto Piccolo’s face, grinding down, smothering her. “Breathe me in, Namekian,” Nappa grunted, her hips gyrating against Piccolo’s mouth and nose.

The sexual humiliation was a weapon, more effective than any ki blast. It shattered their fighting spirit, reducing them to objects for the Saiyan’s amusement. Their clothes were in tatters, their bodies explored and violated, their last shreds of dignity stripped away as Nappa’s arousal built towards an inevitable, terrifying climax.

Nappa’s blood-soaked hand closed around the tattered remains of Krillin’s gi, and with a final, contemptuous tear, exposed her completely. She then turned her attention to Piccolo, who was still struggling to push herself up from the dirt. Nappa’s grin was a slash of white in the gore. She had already tasted the others; now she wanted to consume the strongest.

She turned Krillin over, forcing her face-down into the dust. Her thick, veined cock, slick with a mixture of blood and her own pre-cum, already weeping from the tip. She drove into her from behind, a single, brutal thrust that buried her to the hilt in the smaller woman’s pussy, a deep, tearing penetration that made Krillin’s body jolt. She didn’t just fuck her; she violated her. Each deep, grinding stroke was a deliberate, soul-scouring invasion, the sound a wet, rhythmic squelch that underscored their complete defeat.

With a final, guttural roar, Nappa emptied herself deep inside Krillin, the hot, pulsing flood a final, claiming violation. She pulled out, leaving the smaller woman collapsed and sobbing in the dirt, and turned her hungry gaze to Piccolo.

The Namekian was pushing herself up, her body a symphony of pain and rage. Nappa was on her in an instant. She grabbed Piccolo by the waist and slammed her face-first against the sheer face of a nearby rock spire, pinning her there.

“Let’s see how a ‘demon’ takes it,” Nappa grunted.

She didn’t aim for her pussy. She forced her way into Piccolo’s ass, a brutal, dry, and agonizing invasion that tore a ragged scream from the warrior’s throat. The tight, forbidden passage was forced to accommodate the Saiyan’s massive girth, a searing pain that eclipsed all others. Nappa fucked her with a relentless, piston-like rhythm, her hips slamming Piccolo’s body against the unyielding stone with every thrust. One hand grabbed Piccolo’s antennae, using them as a leash to yank her head back, while the other roamed over her powerful green back, leaving scratches and bruises.

Piccolo, the proud other half of Kami, the would-be conqueror of Earth, was reduced to a vessel for raw Saiyan dominance, her body used and abused against the cold stone. Nappa’s climax was another torrent, this one flooding the deepest, most violated part of her, a final, humiliating brand of her defeat. When Nappa pulled out, Piccolo slid down the rock face, leaving a smear of purple blood and Saiyan seed behind, her spirit as broken as her body.

Nappa turned from Piccolo’s broken form, her blood-flecked gaze landing on Chi-Chi. The mother stood protectively in front of her daughter, her own gi torn, her body bruised, but her eyes burning with a defiance that had survived everything.

“The fiery one,” Nappa purred, stalking forward. “The one with all the spirit. I’ve been saving you for last.”

Chi-Chi didn’t flinch. She raised her fists, the Fist of the Fire a dying ember in her soul, but still glowing. It was a futile gesture, and they all knew it.

Nappa was on her in a flash, her movements a blur of brutal efficiency. She grabbed Chi-Chi, spun her around, and bent her over a large, flat boulder, pressing her chest against the sun-warmed stone. One hand tangled in Chi-Chi’s dark hair, yanking her head back, while the other guided the head of her slick, monstrous cock to her entrance.

“No! Leave my mama alone!” Gohan screamed, the sound a raw, childish plea that was swallowed by the vastness of the badlands.

Nappa ignored her. She drove into Chi-Chi with a single, shearing thrust that stole the breath from both women. Chi-Chi’s cry was a strangled gasp of pain and violation, her nails scraping against the rock as Nappa set a punishing, deep rhythm.

For Gohan, the world dissolved. The sight before her—her strong, beautiful mother being violently fucked over a rock by a blood-soaked monster—was a perfect, horrifying echo of a year ago. The memory of Raditz, of both her mothers pinned and used, crashed over her with the force of a physical blow. The terror that had frozen her melted away, replaced by a white-hot fury that burned through her veins like lava.

She saw Nappa’s hand groping her mother’s breast, heard her grunts of pleasure, saw the tears streaming down Chi-Chi’s face as she endured the violation.

Something inside Gohan snapped.

A fiery aura, faint and flickering at first, then blazing with the intensity of a newborn sun, erupted around her small body. Her black hair lifted, not from wind, but from the raw power surging through her. Her eyes, once brown and terrified, flashed with a brilliant white light.

“GET AWAY FROM MY MAMA!”

The scream was not a child’s. It was a roar that cracked the air.

She moved. Not with the hesitant steps of a trainee, but with the speed of a thunderbolt. She crossed the distance in an instant, her small fist, wreathed in ki, connecting with the side of Nappa’s head.

The impact was not the thud of a weak blow. It was a CRACK that echoed like a mountain splitting in two.

Nappa’s head snapped to the side, her leer vanishing into a mask of stunned, genuine pain. She staggered, her rhythm broken, her grip on Chi-Chi loosening. She stumbled back a step, one hand going to her temple where a trickle of blood now flowed.

A stunned silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by Chi-Chi’s ragged sobs and the crackle of Gohan’s aura.

Vegeta, who had been watching with bored amusement, slowly rose to her feet, her scouter chirping frantically, its display overloading.

“Impossible…” Vegeta whispered, her eyes wide behind her scouter. “The brat’s power level… it’s… it’s over 2,000!”

Nappa stumbled back, her hand pressed to her bleeding temple, her eyes wide with a mixture of pain and utter disbelief. The child—the sniveling, terrified child—had actually hurt her. The fiery aura surrounding Gohan wasn’t just for show; it pulsed with a raw, untamed power that made the air hum.

“YOU LITTLE BRAT!” Nappa roared, her voice a ragged thing of pure fury. She lunged, a wild, telegraphed swing meant to crush the girl into paste.

Gohan didn’t flinch. She moved with an instinct she didn’t know she possessed, ducking under the blow and driving a ki-empowered fist into Nappa’s ribs. The crack of breaking bone was sickeningly loud. Nappa grunted, doubling over, only to be met with a knee to her face that snapped her head back with a spray of blood from her nose.

Chi-Chi could only watch, her own violation momentarily forgotten, her hand pressed to her mouth. This wasn’t her little girl. This was a force of nature, a avenging angel clad in blinding light. Gohan moved with a speed and ferocity that eclipsed anything she had ever seen, her small fists and feet becoming blurs of devastating impact. She was a whirlwind of rage, driving the massive Saiyan back, blow by staggering blow.

Nappa, for the first time, was on the defensive, her blocks clumsy, her face a mask of stunned rage. This wasn’t a fight; it was a punishment.

Gohan leaped back, creating space. Her small hands cupped in front of her, a sphere of brilliant, blue-white energy blossoming between them, growing larger and larger, fed by her bottomless well of grief and fury.

“MASENKO… HA!”

The beam erupted from her palms, a colossal wave of pure energy that slammed into Nappa with the force of a meteor strike. It wasn’t the thin, focused beam she had used before; this was a tsunami of power. It engulfed the Saiyan, lifting her off her feet and carrying her backward, the sheer concussive force scorching the earth in a wide trench.

The blast seared the blood and grime from Nappa’s body, leaving her skin raw and smoking. When the light faded, Nappa lay on her back in the crater, her body scorched, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. She was alive, but the invincible monster was gone, replaced by a ragged, wounded warrior, her aura of invincibility shattered by a child’s righteous fury.

The light around Gohan flickered and died, the immense drain of the attack finally overwhelming her. She collapsed to her knees, panting, the fire in her eyes replaced by a dazed exhaustion. She had done it. She had fought back. But as she looked at the still-smoking form of Nappa beginning to push herself up from the ground, a cold dread settled in her stomach. She had given it everything she had.

And it hadn’t been enough.

—–

The golden path of the Serpentine Highway finally, finally spat her out at its origin point. Goku stumbled for a moment, her body instinctively adjusting to Earth’s gentle gravity after so long in the ten-fold hell of King Kai’s world. The air felt thin, insubstantial. Before her loomed the massive, ornate desk, and behind it, the even more massive ogre, Queen Yemma.

“No time for check-in!” Goku yelled, skidding to a halt before the desk. “My friends are in trouble! I have to go, right now!”

Queen Yemma peered down from her ledger, a frown on her face. She had heard the commotion, felt the disturbances. She looked at the determined set of Goku’s jaw, the raw power radiating from her, so much greater than when she had first arrived. With a grunt that shook the room, she gave a single, sharp nod.

“Go. And good luck. You’ll need it.” She gestured with a massive hand, and a swirling portal of light opened beside her desk.

Goku didn’t hesitate. “Thanks!” she called over her shoulder, and leaped through.

The sensation was a dizzying lurch, a tugging at her very soul, and then her feet slammed down onto solid, familiar ground. Grass. The smell of pine trees. She was in a forest, somewhere in the wilds, far from any city. But she could feel them. Faint, flickering, like candles in a storm—the ki signatures of her friends. And with them, two monstrous, blazing suns of malevolent power, so strong it made the air taste of ash.

Her heart hammered in her chest. They were still alive, but they were fading, overwhelmed. There were fewer energy signatures than she’d expected.

“Flying Nimbus!” she cried out, her voice cutting through the tranquil forest air.

A streak of golden cloud shot down from the heavens, answering her call instantly. Goku leaped onto its soft surface, her stance firm.

“Go!” she commanded, her senses locked onto the distant, desperate battle. “As fast as you can!”

The Nimbus tore through the sky, a golden comet racing against time, carrying a single hope toward a field of unimaginable despair.