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 hatch of Vegeta’s pod hissed open, venting steam into the lush, humid air of Namek. She stepped out, her boots sinking into the soft turf. The serene beauty of the planet was an insult. She took a deep, furious breath, the sweet air tasting of ash and failure in her mouth.

Frieza. She was here. Her scouter, now a necessary evil, chirped to life, its display confirming her worst fears. Two powerful, familiar energy signatures were clustered together not far from Frieza’s own monstrous, impossibly high reading.

“Zarbon. Dodoria,” Vegeta snarled, her fists clenching so hard the leather of her gloves creaked. Of course Frieza had brought her most brutal, loyal attack dogs. This wasn’t just a retrieval mission; it was a full-scale occupation. Her chances, already slim, now felt nonexistent.

“Damn it all to hell!” she roared at the green sky, her voice echoing across the peaceful landscape. She was trapped. Outmatched. Her one shot at freedom and ultimate power was being snatched away by the very tyrant she sought to overthrow.

The sound of another engine, closer this time, cut through her rage. She spun around, her scouter automatically locking on. The energy signature was weaker, familiar in its mediocrity. A single-pod vessel, identical to her own, slammed into the ground a few hundred yards away, kicking up a plume of dirt and grass.

The hatch opened, and the purple form of Cui stumbled out, brushing dust from her armor. A smug, triumphant grin was already plastered across her frog-like face.

“Well, well, Vegeta,” Cui called out, her voice dripping with condescending glee. “Fancy meeting you here. Looks like you’ve got some competition for those Dragon Balls. Lord Frieza doesn’t like loose ends.”

Vegeta didn’t respond. She simply stood there, her body trembling not with fear, but with a cold, focused rage. Cui was no longer just an annoyance. She was a message. A reminder of her place. And in that moment, Vegeta decided that before she faced Frieza, she would send a message of her own.

Cui stomped forward, her wide chest puffed out with arrogant confidence. “Look at you, Vegeta. Hiding out here on this backwater rock. I always knew you were all talk.” She came to a stop a dozen feet away, planting her feet firmly. “We’ve always been equals, you and I. But I heard what happened on Earth. You let a bunch of primitives beat you to a pulp. You’ve gone soft.”

Vegeta remained silent, her arms crossed, her expression a mask of bored contempt. But beneath the surface, her ki churned, a contained storm. She remembered the feeling of Krillin and Gohan masking their power, the way their true strength had been a shocking, devastating surprise. It was a lesson she had taken to heart in the healing pod.

“Lord Frieza won’t be pleased you came here,” Cui continued, mistaking Vegeta’s silence for weakness. Her grin widened. “But she’ll be very pleased with me when I bring her your head. Maybe she’ll even promote me. A spot on the Ginyu Force… now that’s a real elite squad.”

“That’s your dream?” Vegeta finally spoke, her voice a low, dangerous monotone. “To be a dancing fool for that monster?”

“Better than being a dead failure!” Cui roared. Her scouter chirped, displaying Vegeta’s power level. It was the same as it had always been. The same as Cui’s. “See? Still equals. But I’m the one who’s going to walk away from this.”

Cui lunged, her fist glowing with violet ki, aimed straight for Vegeta’s face. It was a blow meant to decapitate.

Vegeta didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch.

At the last possible second, she dropped her suppression.

Cui’s scouter exploded in a shower of plastic and glass, overloading instantly. Her eyes widened in sheer, uncomprehending terror. The power that erupted from Vegeta wasn’t equal. It was a tidal wave, a supernova contained in a single, Saiyan body.

“Wha—?!” was all Cui managed before Vegeta’s hand shot out, catching her fist effortlessly.

“Equals?” Vegeta whispered, her lips curling into a feral smile. “Don’t make me laugh.”

She squeezed. The sound of Cui’s hand bones shattering was sickeningly loud. Cui screamed, collapsing to her knees, clutching her ruined hand.

“P-Please, Vegeta!” Cui begged, all arrogance gone, replaced by raw, animal fear. “Mercy! I was wrong! I’ll… I’ll help you! We can work together against Frieza! I’ll be your partner!”

Vegeta looked down at her, her expression one of utter disgust. “The only thing your body is good for, Cui, is absorbing my frustration.” With her free hand, she produced a futa bean and swallowed it. The transformation was swift and brutal. A thick, veined cock sprang forth, already erect and glistening with intent.

Cui’s eyes bulged. “N-No! Not that! Anything but that!”

“On your hands and knees, you purple bitch,” Vegeta commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

Trembling, sobbing, Cui complied, presenting her broad, purple backside to the Saiyan princess.

Vegeta didn’t bother with preparation. She pulled down Cui’s shorts, spat on her hand, slicked her cock, and drove into Cui’s tight, unprepared ass with a single, brutal thrust.

Cui screamed, a raw, barking sound of pain and utter humiliation. Vegeta set a punishing, relentless rhythm, each thrust a physical manifestation of her rage—at Frieza, at the Earthlings, at her own helplessness. She gripped Cui’s hips, her fingers digging into the flesh, and fucked her with a savage, grunting intensity.

“This… is all you’re worth!” Vegeta snarled, pounding into her. “A hole for a real warrior to use! A worthless, pathetic cocksleeve!”

Cui could only sob, her body jolting with each deep, violating stroke, her betrayal and ambitions utterly crushed beneath Vegeta’s dominant, furious assault. It wasn’t just a physical defeat; it was the complete and total destruction of her spirit.

Vegeta’s rhythm was a brutal, unyielding constant, a piston of pure, distilled hatred driving deep into Cui’s violated body. The initial scream of pain had subsided into choked, ragged sobs, which was exactly what Vegeta wanted. Yajirobe’s sloppy, eager compliance had been a hollow victory. This—the sound of Cui’s spirit breaking, the feel of her body trembling in unwilling submission—this was satisfaction.

“You always talked so much, Cui,” Vegeta grunted, her hips slamming forward, punctuating each word. “All that boasting about being my equal.” She delivered a sharp, stinging spank to Cui’s broad, purple ass, the sound cracking through the air. “Look at you now. Nothing but a whimpering set of holes for your ‘equal’ to fuck.”

Cui flinched, a fresh sob escaping her. “P-Please… Vegeta…”

“Please what?” Vegeta sneered, leaning over her, her breath hot on Cui’s ear. “Please stop? Please go harder? You don’t get to make requests, you pathetic worm. Your only purpose is to take my cock until I’m done with you.”

She shifted her angle, driving upwards, seeking a spot that would elicit a more telling response. Cui gasped, her back arching against her will. A traitorous, sharp sensation of pleasure shot through the overwhelming pain and humiliation.

“Ah! There it is,” Vegeta purred, a cruel smile twisting her lips. She focused her thrusts on that spot, a relentless, grinding assault. “Your body betrays you, Cui. Even you can’t hide the fact that you’re enjoying this. That you were always meant to be beneath me.”

She grabbed both of Cui’s barbels, yanking her head back. “Say it. Say you’re my worthless slut.”

Tears streamed down Cui’s face. She shook her head, a final, feeble act of defiance.

Vegeta’s response was to fuck her harder, faster, the wet, slapping sounds of their joining becoming obscenely loud. “Say it!” she roared.

Defeated, broken, Cui finally broke. “I… I’m your worthless slut!” she wailed.

“Whose?” Vegeta demanded, not slowing her pace.

“Y-Yours! Princess Vegeta’s!”

Satisfaction, dark and complete, bloomed in Vegeta’s chest. This was power. Not just the power to destroy, but the power to utterly dominate, to reshape a rival into a sobbing, compliant toy. She continued to fuck Cui, drawing out the humiliation, making sure every last shred of the purple warrior’s pride was thoroughly and irrevocably fucked out of her.

Vegeta reveled in the absolute control. Cui’s body was no longer a rival’s, but a canvas for her wrath and a vessel for her pleasure. She maintained her brutal, deep-stroking rhythm, each thrust a punctuation mark in her monologue of degradation.

“All those years,” she grunted, her voice a low, venomous thrum against Cui’s ear. “All those times you thought you were my peer. You were just keeping this ass warm for me.” She delivered another sharp spank, the impact leaving a bright red handprint on the purple skin. “Admit it. You dreamed about this. Dreamed about a real Saiyan putting you in your place.”

Cui could only whimper, her head hanging low. The fight was gone, replaced by a numb, shameful acceptance. Her body, against her will, was beginning to respond to the relentless, specific friction. A low, guttural moan escaped her lips, mingling with her sobs.

Vegeta heard it. Her smile was predatory. “That’s it. Let it out. Let everyone hear how much you love being Princess Vegeta’s personal fuck-toy.” She drove into her one last time, a final, deep, claiming thrust that buried her to the hilt and held her there. “Now cum for me, you purple whore. Cum on the cock of your better.”

The command, combined with the overwhelming stimulation and her own shattered psyche, triggered a violent, shuddering climax in Cui. It was a humiliating, involuntary convulsion that wracked her entire body, a final surrender wrenched from her core.

Feeling Cui’s inner muscles clench around her, Vegeta let out a guttural roar of her own. Her release was a hot, pulsing flood, a searing brand of her dominance deep inside her former rival. She stayed embedded for a long moment, grinding against Cui’s ass as she filled her, ensuring the humiliation was as physical as it was psychological.

Finally, she pulled out with a wet, slick sound. Cui collapsed into a boneless, sobbing heap on the grass, soiled and utterly broken.

Vegeta stood over her, her temporary cock already receding. She looked down at the pathetic creature, not with pity, but with cold satisfaction.

“Remember this feeling, Cui,” she said, her voice now calm and deadly. “The next time you consider crossing me, remember what it feels like to be my slut.”

Satisfied and already dismissing the broken warrior from her mind, Vegeta turned her back on the sobbing, soiled heap that was Cui. It was a gesture of supreme contempt, a declaration that the purple alien was no longer even worth watching.

Through tear-blurred vision, Cui saw her chance. A final, desperate surge of hatred and humiliation fueled her. She pushed herself up on one trembling arm, her other hand glowing with a weak, sputtering ball of violet ki.

“You… bitch!” she screeched, and launched the blast at Vegeta’s unprotected back.

Vegeta didn’t even turn around. Her hand snapped up behind her head, her fingers splayed. With a casual, almost bored flick of her wrist, she deflected the ki blast. It veered off course and detonated harmlessly against a nearby rock formation.

She slowly turned to face Cui, her expression one of profound disappointment. “I was going to let you live. A living reminder of your place is sometimes more useful than a dead one. But you’ve proven too stupid even for that.”

She raised a single finger, a pinpoint of brilliant, white-hot energy gathering at its tip.

“No… wait…!” Cui begged, scrambling backward, her eyes wide with terror.

“Too late,” Vegeta said softly.

The energy shot forward, not as a blast, but as a needle-thin beam. It struck Cui square in the chest and burrowed inside. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Cui’s body began to glow from within, a terrible, expanding light.

“GAHHHHHH—!” Her scream was cut short as her body violently expanded and then burst apart in a shower of purple gore and viscera. The Dirty Fireworks technique lived up to its name.

As the last bits of offal pattered to the ground, Vegeta let out a sigh that was almost wistful.

“Pity,” she mused aloud, wiping a speck of blood from her cheek. “She would have made a decent cum dump.”

With that final, callous epitaph for her rival, Vegeta turned and strode off into the Namekian wilderness, her scouter already scanning for the next, far greater threat: Frieza.

—–

The familiar scent of salt air and old paper filled Master Roshi’s island home. She sat in her favorite chair, the bulky, old-fashioned long-distance radio handset pressed to her ear, her usual lecherous grin absent, replaced by a deep, worried frown.

“…and then another ship landed, and Krillin and Gohan swear they felt Vegeta’s energy,” Bulma’s voice crackled through the speaker, strained with static and stress. “It’s a mess over here, Roshi. It’s not just the Namekians.”

Roshi sighed, running a hand through her white hair. “Listen to me, Bulma. Listen carefully. You are there for one reason, and one reason only: to get the Dragon Balls and wish our friends back. This isn’t the World Martial Arts Tournament. You don’t get points for style or bravery against whatever galactic scum is showing up there.”

“I know, I know,” Bulma replied, her voice tight. “We’re trying to stay under the radar. We’ve got the Dragon Radar. We just need to find them before anyone else does.”

“Good,” Roshi said, her tone firm. “Use that big brain of yours. Be sneaky. Be smart. The whole point is to bring back the dead, not to create a whole new batch of them, you understand me? No heroics.”

There was a pause on the other end, filled with the hiss of interstellar static. “We’ll be careful, Roshi. I promise.” Bulma’s voice was softer now, touched with gratitude for the concern. “We’ll get them back.”

“You’d better,” Roshi grunted, a hint of her old self returning. “It’s too quiet around here without Yamcha’s whining. Now go on, get off this expensive line before you bankrupt me.”

She heard Bulma’s faint chuckle before the line went dead with a final click. Roshi set the handset back in its cradle and stared out at the peaceful, rolling ocean. A deep, foreboding feeling settled in her gut. The universe, it seemed, was a much smaller, and much more dangerous, place than she had ever imagined.

—–

The heavy plastic handset clicked back into its cradle on the ship’s console. Bulma let out a long breath, the weight of Roshi’s warning settling on her shoulders. She turned to find Krillin and Gohan already by the hatch, their expressions a mix of determination and nervous energy.

“The radar’s picking up four Dragon Balls,” Krillin said, pointing in a direction away from the lingering, malevolent echo of Vegeta’s ki. “They’re clustered together. If we move fast, we might be able to grab them before anyone else notices.”

Gohan nodded, clutching her repaired Piccolo doll for courage. “We can do it, Bulma. We’ll be super careful.”

Bulma walked over to them, her face serious. “Roshi just gave me a lecture. The exact same one I was about to give you two.” She placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “The Namekians might be peaceful, but we have no idea who else is on this planet now. Vegeta’s here. That other ship is here. Assume everyone is hostile. Your mission is to grab the balls and get back. No fighting. No heroics. If you see so much as a shadow that looks unfriendly, you turn around and run. Understood?”

Krillin met her gaze and gave a firm nod. “Understood. Grab and go. No fighting.”

“We’ll be like ninjas!” Gohan whispered, her eyes wide.

“Good.” Bulma managed a small, reassuring smile. “Launch and I will stay here and monitor the radar and any energy signals. We’ll be your home base.”

From her seat, blonde Launch gave a sharp, approving nod, patting her machine gun. “Don’t worry. Anything ugly comes near this ship, it’s getting a face full of lead. Now go get our damn balls back.”

With a final, determined look, Krillin and Gohan slipped out of the hatch and into the lush, alien landscape, disappearing quickly amidst the towering, mushroom-like trees. Bulma watched them go, Roshi’s words echoing in her mind. She had a very bad feeling about this.

—–

Creeping through the dense, alien foliage, Krillin and Gohan followed the signal on the Dragon Radar until they reached the edge of a high cliff. The sight that met their eyes below made their blood run cold.

It was a village, or what was left of one. Smoldering huts were scattered around a central clearing. The inhabitants—tall, green-skinned Namekians—were being subjected to a scene of brutal, systematic violation. Soldiers in armor identical to Vegeta’s held them down, their alien cocks pistoning into the Namekians as they cried out in pain and shame.

In the center of the chaos stood three figures who radiated an aura of absolute command.

One was a massively fat woman with pink skin, her head and forearms studded with sharp, bony spikes. She held a glowing, orange Dragon Ball in one hand, tossing it casually as she watched the carnage with a bored expression. This was Dodoria.

Beside her stood a tall, stunningly beautiful woman with teal skin and a long, elegant braid of green hair that fell to her waist. Her face was a mask of cold, detached amusement as she held a Dragon Ball under each arm. This was Zarbon.

And between them, seated in a floating, spherical chair, was a small, obscured figure. Her form was hidden in shadow, but two large, obsidian horns were visible. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but an aura of pure, malevolent power emanated from her, a chilling pressure that made the very air feel heavy. It was clear she was the one in charge. The one who had ordered this.

At the far edge of the village, one elderly Namekian woman stood protectively in front of two younger ones, her body trembling but her stance defiant, a last bastion of resistance against the tide of depravity.

Krillin’s hand shot out, clamping over Gohan’s mouth to stifle the gasp that tried to escape. She pulled them both lower behind the ridge, her own heart hammering against her ribs.

“K-Krillin…” Gohan whimpered, her voice a terrified whisper against Krillin’s palm. “Those people…”

“I know,” Krillin breathed, her face pale. “But we can’t… we can’t do anything. Bulma said no heroics.” She looked down at the scene, at the helpless Namekians being raped, at the three monstrous figures in the center. “We’d just end up like them if we tried to intervene, anyway.”

They had found the Dragon Balls. And they had found a nightmare far worse than anything they could have imagined.

The scene below unfolded with a chilling, methodical cruelty. The beautiful, teal-skinned woman with the green braid—Zarbon—floated gracefully towards the defiant elder Namekian.

“Our scouters indicate you have a Dragon Ball here,” Zarbon said, her voice a silken, deadly purr. “Where is it?”

The elderly Namekian stood her ground, her voice trembling but firm. “The Dragon Balls are sacred! They are not for the likes of you! They can only be used by those pure of heart!”

A tense silence fell. Then, a single, pale finger emerged from the shadows of the floating chair. It pointed, not at the elder, but at one of the cowering children behind her.

A thin, crimson laser shot out.

It was over in an instant. The young Namekian didn’t even have time to scream. A neat, smoking hole appeared in her forehead, and she crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the remaining Namekians. The elder cried out in anguish, her defiance shattered into a million pieces of grief.

On the cliff, Krillin’s grip on Gohan tightened, her own breath catching in her throat. Gohan began to tremble violently, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the small, still body.

Before the horror could even fully register, another soldier emerged from a half-destroyed hut. In her hands, she carried the fourth, glowing orange Dragon Ball. She knelt, presenting it to the figure in the chair.

“Lord Frieza,” the soldier said, her voice filled with reverence and fear. “We found it. The fools weren’t even hiding it.”

The name hit Krillin and Gohan like a physical blow.

Frieza.

It was the same name the orphaned children from the mirror-ship had whispered with such terror. The monster who wiped out planets. And she was here. She was the one in the chair. The one who had just murdered a child without a second thought.

Any lingering thought of trying to retrieve the Dragon Balls vanished, replaced by a cold, primal fear. They weren’t just up against soldiers. They were in the presence of cosmic, genocidal evil. And they were hopelessly, terrifyingly outmatched.

The air crackled with a new energy. From the surrounding hills, a group of young, powerfully built Namekian women emerged. Their faces were set in masks of righteous fury, their green skin gleaming as they powered up, their ki flaring to life.

“Release our people, monsters!” their leader shouted, her voice ringing with power. As they landed they swiftly took out several of the soldiers, leaving just the three in the center.

On the cliff, a flicker of desperate hope ignited in Krillin and Gohan’s hearts. Reinforcements!

Below, the reaction from Frieza’s crew was not one of alarm, but of mild amusement. Dodoria and Zarbon glanced at their scouters, the devices chirping with the new readings.

“Pathetic,” Dodoria grunted, not even bothering to move.

Zarbon, however, offered a serene, cruel smile. “Allow me, Lord Frieza. A little exercise before we depart.”

As she spoke, she casually tossed one of the two Dragon Balls she was holding high into the air. The orange sphere spun, glinting in the sunlight.

What happened next was a blur of horrifying speed. In the split-second the Dragon Ball was airborne, Zarbon moved. She became a teal and green streak of motion. She didn’t engage the warrior women. Instead, she flashed through the village.

Her hand, extended like a blade, moved with impossible precision. She didn’t punch or blast. She simply touched the remaining Namekian villagers—including the ones who’d just been freed from the soldiers—on their temples or throats. A soft, sickening crunch echoed each time. One by one, they dropped, their lives extinguished in an instant.

In less than two seconds, the only Namekians left alive in the village were the horrified elder, the terrified child clinging to her, and the newly arrived warrior women, who stood frozen, their battle cries dying in their throats.

Zarbon reappeared in her original spot, her hand snapping up to effortlessly catch the Dragon Ball as it descended. She hadn’t even broken a sweat.

The hope on the cliff face died, replaced by a soul-deep chill. Krillin and Gohan watched, utterly paralyzed, as Zarbon finally turned her placid, murderous gaze towards the stunned Namekian warriors. This wasn’t a fight. It was an execution, and they were about to witness it.

The Namekian warrior women, recovering from their shock, let out a collective roar of fury and launched themselves at Zarbon. They moved with impressive speed and coordination, their fists and feet glowing with ki, aiming to overwhelm the teal-skinned beauty with sheer numbers.

Zarbon didn’t even shift her stance. A condescending smile played on her lips as the first warrior lunged, a ki-enhanced punch aimed at her face.

With a movement so fluid it was almost lazy, Zarbon pivoted on one foot. Her other leg, long and sculpted, swept up in a graceful, devastating arc. Her heel connected with the warrior’s jaw with a sickening crack, snapping her head back and sending her flying unconscious into a smoldering hut.

Another warrior came from behind, only for Zarbon to kick backward like a horse, her heel driving into the woman’s stomach with enough force to make her vomit before she collapsed.

She moved through them like a dancer, her legs a whirlwind of elegant, brutal force. A roundhouse kick shattered a blocking arm. A piston-like thrust of her foot sent a warrior crashing through a stone wall. She used her long, powerful legs not just as bludgeons, but with a precise, surgical lethality, striking pressure points and joints, disabling them with humiliating ease.

Within moments, the brave, powerful Namekian warriors were strewn across the ground, broken and moaning in pain. Zarbon settled back onto her feet, not a hair out of place in her long green braid. She brushed a speck of dust from her thigh.

“Disappointing,” she sighed, her voice a bored purr as she looked down at the defeated women. “But I suppose one can’t expect much from a backwater planet.”

From their hiding spot, Krillin and Gohan could only watch in mute horror. The display of power was so absolute, so effortless, that it crushed any last vestige of hope. They weren’t just outmatched. They were insects watching a god.

The elderly Namekian’s eyes, filled with a grief-stricken but unyielding wisdom, had been watching the invaders carefully. She saw how their eyes flicked to the devices on their faces, how they relied on them to find her people’s greatest treasures. As Zarbon effortlessly dismantled the last of the warrior women, the elder saw her moment.

With a sudden burst of speed that belied her age, she shot into the air. Her hands glowed with a soft, green light. Not a destructive blast, but a precise, targeted energy.

Pew! Pew! Pew!

Thin beams of ki shot from her fingertips, each one striking a scouter on the head of a Frieza Force soldier. The devices shattered in a chorus of plastic and glass, their chirping readings dying instantly.

“You wretched hag!” Dodoria roared, her pink face contorted in fury. She launched herself into the air like a pink cannonball, her spiked head leading the way. Before the elder could fire another shot, Dodoria’s forehead slammed into hers with a sickening, wet crunch.

The elder Namekian’s body went limp and plummeted to the ground, landing in a broken heap next to the child she had tried to protect.

Dodoria landed with a ground-shaking thud, puffing out her chest. “That’ll teach you to interfere!”

But Zarbon, who had been calmly observing, raised a hand to wear her scouter had been. She looked around at the dead soldiers, each of whom’s devices had been similarly destroyed.

“Dodoria,” Zarbon said, her voice dangerously calm. “You blundering fool.”

Dodoria blinked. “What? I got her!”

“You did,” Zarbon replied, her eyes narrowing. “And in her final act, she has blinded us. Our scouters are useless. We can no longer track power levels or locate the remaining Dragon Balls with any efficiency. You were supposed to be watching them.”

She looked out over the now-silent village, her beautiful face a mask of cold irritation. The elder’s sacrifice, while costing her life, had just thrown a massive wrench into Frieza’s plans. The hunt for the Dragon Balls had just become infinitely more difficult.

A soft, high-pitched, almost melodic voice emanated from the floating chair, cutting through the tension. It was the first time Frieza had spoken, and the sound was somehow more terrifying than any roar.

“A minor inconvenience,” Frieza said, her tone dripping with bored disdain. “We’ll have a new shipment of scouters dispatched. For now, we have what we came for. This village is concluded. Dispose of the last one and let’s be on our way.”

Dodoria, eager to redeem herself, grinned savagely and stomped towards the terrified Namekian child, who was weeping over the body of the elder. She raised a spiked fist.

On the cliff, Gohan’s body moved before her mind could catch up. The sight of the helpless child, about to be slaughtered like all the others, shattered Bulma’s warning and Krillin’s caution. With a cry of pure rage, she shot forward like a blue-and-purple rocket, her small fist connecting squarely with Dodoria’s jaw.

THWACK!

The blow, fueled by a hybrid Saiyan’s latent power and sheer moral outrage, sent the massive pink alien stumbling back, a look of comical surprise on her face.

“Gohan, NO!” Krillin screamed, but it was too late. The heroics had begun. Cursing their luck and their own soft hearts, Krillin burst from hiding, a golden streak of motion. She swooped down, scooped up the stunned Namekian child, and grabbed Gohan’s arm.

“We have to go! NOW!” she yelled.

The sheer audacity of the attack from two hidden, seemingly weak sources left Zarbon and the recovering Dodoria momentarily stunned. It was just enough of a delay. Krillin, Gohan, and the child shot into the sky, fleeing towards the dense cover of the mushroom forests.

A bellow of pure, unadulterated rage shook the village. Dodoria recovered, her face a mottled purple with fury. “YOU LITTLE BRATS! I’LL CRUSH YOU!”

She launched herself into the air after them, a pink comet of vengeance, her immense power creating a shockwave that flattened the remaining huts. The chase was on.