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 seven orange orbs, each with a different number of glowing red stars, were arranged in a circle on the sun-bleached wooden deck of Kame House. The turquoise ocean lapped gently at the pylons below. The assembled group—Bulma, Master Roshi, Fortuneteller Baba, Oolong, Puar, and the ever-patient Turtle—watched with bated breath.

“It is time,” Baba croaked, floating serenely on her crystal ball. “Bulma, speak the words.”

Bulma took a deep breath, her voice clear and strong against the sound of the waves. “Eternal Dragon! By the name of Kami, I summon you forth! Grant us our wish!”

The sky, a perfect, cloudless blue, darkened to an bruised, star-dusted twilight. A colossal, serpentine form materialized above them, coiling through the air. The Eternal Dragon was a breathtaking sight, her scales shimmering with the light of distant galaxies, her form powerfully feminine, her eyes glowing with ancient, cosmic power.

“Speak your wish,” the Dragon’s voice was a resonant hum that vibrated in their very bones. “I can grant but one.”

“Bring Son Goku back to life!” Bulma shouted, her fists clenched.

The Dragon’s eyes flared with crimson light. “Your wish… is granted.”

A wave of energy pulsed from the orbs, washing over the island. They held their breath, expecting to see Goku’s familiar, spiky-haired form materialize on the deck with a cheerful grin.

Nothing happened.

The silence stretched, broken only by the waves.

“What’s going on?” Bulma demanded, looking from the Dragon to Baba. “Where is she?”

The Eternal Dragon’s massive head tilted. “The one known as Son Goku has been restored to the land of the living. However, her spirit is not within the queue of the dead awaiting processing. She is not at King Yemma’s desk. She exists in a realm beyond my direct recall.”

“A realm beyond?” Roshi muttered, scratching her head. “Where the hell is she?”

“The planet of the North Kai,” the Dragon intoned. “She lives. But to return to Earth, she must travel the Serpentine Highway in reverse. The journey will take her… two of your planetary days.”

The Dragon’s form began to dissolve into shimmering motes of light. “Farewell.”

As the sky returned to its brilliant blue and the Dragon Balls scattered to the winds, the group was left in stunned silence.

“She’s alive,” Bulma whispered, a wave of relief so profound it made her knees weak. “But… two days?”

Baba cackled, a dry, rasping sound. “Two days! The Saiyans could be here any moment! That girl’s timing was always atrocious!”

On the tiny, distant planet, Goku, mid-pushup under the crushing ten-fold gravity, suddenly felt a strange, vibrant warmth flood her body, a feeling of wholeness and vitality she hadn’t felt since her death. She paused, a confused frown on her face. Something had changed. She just didn’t know what. And she had a very long road to run.

Queen Kai’s antennae twitched violently. Her head snapped up from the scroll she was reading, her dark sunglasses reflecting the tiny planet’s strange light. She felt it—a sudden, profound shift in the cosmic balance, a thread of life violently re-knotted where it had been severed.

“Fuck! We’re such idiots!” she shrieked, startling Bubbles and making Gregorine freeze mid-kata. She shot to her feet, her round body quivering with frustration. “Goku! Your friends! They’ve gone and wished you back!”

Goku, who had been balancing on one finger, dropped to the ground. “Huh? But I feel fine.”

“That’s the problem! You’re alive! Your body is back among the living, but your spirit is still here! You’re not in the afterlife queue! You’re a cosmic paradox on my front lawn!” She pointed a furious, trembling finger toward the shimmering ribbon of the Serpentine Highway, now visible as a distant, golden thread. “You have to go. Now! The Saiyans could be arriving at Earth as we speak! And you have to travel all of the Serpentine Road to get there!”

The gravity of the situation, far heavier than the ten-fold pressure of the planet, crashed down on Goku. Her family, her friends… they were in danger, and she was millions of miles away.

“But the Spirit Bomb! I haven’t perfected—”

“No time!” Queen Kai barked. “The Kaio-ken will have to be enough! Now move!”

In a surprising burst of speed, the Ruler of the North Galaxy closed the distance. She grabbed Goku by the scruff of her gi, pulled her close, and planted a firm, startlingly passionate kiss on her lips. It was over in a second. Before Goku could even process it, Queen Kai’s hand came down in a sharp, stinging slap on her ass.

“That’s for the road!” she yelled, though her voice was thick with something resembling affection. “Now run! Don’t you dare stop for anything! Not for ogres, not for snakes, not for pretty princesses! RUN!”

The slap was like a starter’s pistol. Goku didn’t need to be told twice. With a final, determined nod, she crouched and launched herself toward the edge of the tiny world. She flew off the planet’s surface, the ten-fold gravity releasing its hold, and landed on the Serpentine Highway with a lightness that felt like a dream.

She took off. Her legs, forged in a gravity ten times her own, were a blur. The golden path streaked beneath her feet, the stars smearing into lines of light. She was faster than she had ever been, faster than she had believed possible. The memory of her million-mile trek was a sluggish, painful dream compared to this.

But as the impossible speed carried her forward, a cold knot tightened in her stomach. She was fast. But the road was still impossibly long. Two days. It would take her two days to cross a million miles. And with every second that ticked by in the silent void, she knew with a sickening certainty that it wouldn’t be fast enough.

—–

Two spheres of alien metal, scorched and pitted from atmospheric entry, screamed out of the sky over East City. They weren’t aiming for a landing field; they were projectiles. The first pod carved a fiery trench through a bustling commercial district, vaporizing skyscrapers into clouds of glass and steel dust. The second impacted nearby, obliterating a central transit hub and sending a shockwave that shattered windows for ten blocks in every direction. The sound was not an explosion, but a deep, world-ending crump of utter annihilation.

Silence fell for a single, deafening heartbeat. Then, the screams began.

From the smoking craters, the hatches hissed open. Princess Vegeta emerged first, her form-fitting white and blue armor untouched by the carnage, her scouter already whirring as it analyzed the pathetic power levels of the panicking populace. Nappa clambered out behind her, a mountain of muscle and malice, a feral grin splitting her face as she inhaled the scent of ozone, smoke, and terror.

“Now this is more like it!” Nappa roared, her voice booming over the chaos. “A real planet! Look at ’em run!”

A crowd was forming at a distance, a sea of horrified faces, cell phones held aloft, news helicopters already buzzing in the smoke-choked sky like gnats.

Nappa’s blood was up. The boredom of the long journey, the unsatisfying destruction of Arlia—it all demanded a true release. She raised a single hand, two fingers up, towards the densest part of the gathering crowd and the city skyline beyond.

A sphere of incandescent white light bloomed, swelling to the size of a small house in an instant.

“NAPPA!” Vegeta’s voice was a whip-crack of pure fury.

It was too late.

The sphere exploded outward. There was no sound, only a light that erased everything. The crowd, the skyscrapers behind them, the news helicopters—everything within a two-mile radius simply ceased to exist, replaced by a perfectly smooth, glass-lined crater that glowed with residual heat. The brilliant flash was followed by a thunderclap that shook the entire continent.

Vegeta was at her side in an instant, grabbing her by the shoulder plate and spinning her around. “You brainless brute! What did you just do?!” she snarled, her voice trembling with rage. “One of the Dragon Balls could have been in that sector! You just vaporized an entire city! We are here for the Dragon Balls, not for you to indulge your childish bloodlust!”

Nappa’s grin faltered, replaced by a sullen scowl. “Tch. It was just a bunch of weaklings. How was I supposed to know?”

“By using the scouter, you imbecile! By thinking!” Vegeta released her with a shove, her own scouter scanning the devastated landscape. “We’ll have to hope the radar’s signal is strong enough to lead us to the remaining balls. But if you jeopardize this mission again, I will personally rip out your spine and beat you to death with it. Are we clear?”

Nappa grunted, chastised but unrepentant. The smoke from the annihilated city district billowed into the sky, a dark funeral pyre announcing the Saiyans’ arrival. The hunt for the Dragon Balls had begun, and Earth’s first taste of its new masters was one of absolute, indiscriminate annihilation.

Princess Vegeta’s scouter chirped, its lens focusing. She was searching for a specific energy signature—the one that had forced Raditz’s self-destruction. Two blips appeared on her display, sharp and clear.

“There,” she hissed, a predator’s smile touching her lips. “Two of them. Not as high as I would’ve hoped, but substantial. Far beyond these insects.” The coordinates locked. They were in a remote, mountainous region, a wasteland. “That’s where we’ll find our answers. And our sport. Let’s go.”

—–

The tremor that rolled through the badlands was not a sound, but a fundamental shift in the planet’s ki. It was a wave of pure, malevolent power that made the very air taste of ash and ozone. Piccolo, who had been drilling Gohan on a new ki-control exercise, froze mid-instruction. Her head snapped toward the east, her crimson eyes wide with a dread she had not felt in a year.

Gohan felt it too, a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the wind. She clutched her stomach. “Ms. Piccolo… what was that? It felt… awful.”

“That,” Piccolo said, her voice a low, grim rasp, “was a city dying. Millions of lives, extinguished in an instant.” She turned her fierce gaze to the child. “They’re here. And they’re not hiding their power. They’re broadcasting it. I don’t know if it’s an invitation, or a threat.”

She focused, her demonic senses stretching across the continent. A moment later, her blood ran cold. Two unimaginably powerful auras had detached from the epicenter of the destruction. They were moving. Fast. And they were heading directly for them.

“They’ve sensed us,” Piccolo stated, the truth settling like a stone in her gut. “They’re coming right this way. The fight we have trained for… it begins now. No more practice, Gohan. Are you ready for the real thing?”

Gohan nodded, her little face set with determination.

The air in the badlands grew heavy, thick with the psychic residue of a distant genocide and the impending thunder of two approaching goddesses of war. Piccolo stood like a granite sentinel, her mind a fortress of grim resolve, while Gohan trembled beside her, the child’s small hand unconsciously clutching the fabric of her gi over her heart. The training, the pain, the intimate lessons—it had all led to this precipice. They were the planet’s first and last line of defense.

Then, a welcome disturbance in the oppressive atmosphere. Six familiar ki signatures pierced the horizon, moving with a speed and coordination that hadn’t existed a year ago. They landed in a semicircle before Piccolo and Gohan, their feet touching the dusty earth without a sound. Krillin, Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu, Yajirobe—their bodies were harder, their eyes sharper, their auras blazing with disciplined power.

And Chi-Chi.

Her gaze swept over Piccolo, a flicker of complex gratitude and lingering pain, before it found its true north. There, standing beside the demon, was her daughter. Not the tiny, pajama-clad child she had last seen, but a young girl, taller, her body lean and hardened, her eyes holding a wisdom and a sorrow no child should ever know.

“Gohan…” The name was a broken whisper, torn from a year of silent agony.

Gohan’s head snapped up. “Mama?”

For a single, frozen moment, the looming apocalypse vanished. Then, with a cry that was half-sob, half-triumphant scream, Gohan launched herself forward. Chi-Chi dropped to her knees, her arms opening wide, and caught her daughter in a crushing embrace that seemed to defy the very gravity of their situation.

Tears streamed down Chi-Chi’s face, soaking into Gohan’s wild hair. “My baby, my beautiful, strong girl,” she choked out, her hands frantically running over Gohan’s back and shoulders as if to assure herself she was real, she was whole.

Gohan buried her face in her mother’s neck, her own small body shaking with the force of her tears. “I missed you, Mama. I missed you so much.”

The other warriors stood in a respectful, somber circle, allowing the moment its sacred due. The reunion was a tiny, defiant flame in the gathering darkness, a reminder of exactly what they were there to protect. When the two finally pulled apart, both wiping their eyes, the air had changed. The fear was still there, the dread was palpable, but it was now underpinned by a solidified, unbreakable resolve. They were together.

Chi-Chi held Gohan at arm’s length, her tear-filled eyes scanning her daughter’s face for any sign of hardship. “My sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice thick. “Tell me the truth now. Did she… did she treat you well? Did Ms. Piccolo take good care of you?”

Gohan beamed, her smile radiant and utterly sincere. “She did, Mama! She was really strict and made me train super hard, but she protected me from dinosaurs and taught me everything! I love Ms. Piccolo!”

A faint, unmistakable blush spread across Piccolo’s cheeks. She pointedly looked away, studying a distant rock formation with intense, feigned interest.

“And she taught me all about fighting!” Gohan continued, her childish enthusiasm oblivious to the landmine she was cheerfully stomping on. “Like, all about it. We even did the special training with the futa bean and everything! It was kinda weird at first, but Ms. Piccolo said it was really important for—”

The air went cold.

Chi-Chi’s head slowly turned, her tearful maternal warmth evaporating into a glare that could have flash-fried a T-rex. Her eyes locked onto the back of Piccolo’s head.

“Special training?” Chi-Chi’s voice was dangerously quiet. “With a futa bean?”

Piccolo’s shoulders tensed. She coughed, a rough, uncomfortable sound. “It was… a necessary part of her… holistic combat education. A lesson in… power dynamics.”

Krillin’s eyes went wide. “Whoa.”

Yamcha choked, trying to turn a laugh into a cough. “Holistic. Right.”

Tien remained stoic, but her third eye twitched.

Yajirobe grunted. “Lucky kid.”

Chi-Chi’s glare intensified, promising a conversation filled with sharp objects and maternal fury at a later date. Piccolo, the mighty Demon Queen, conqueror of nations, found the patterns in the sandstone utterly fascinating, refusing to meet her gaze.

The moment of tension was shattered as a wave of malevolent ki washed over them, so powerful it felt like a physical blow. The Saiyans were almost here. The awkwardness vanished, replaced by the cold, sharp focus of warriors staring into the face of extinction. The family drama would have to wait.

The ground trembled, not from a natural quake, but from the arrival of two powerful beings. Dust plumed, obscuring them as they landed. The fighters covered their eyes as the dust settled. Vegeta appeared first, her scouter already chirping, a look of profound boredom on her face. Nappa followed, her massive frame cracking its neck with a sound like grinding boulders.

“Well, well,” Vegeta purred, her eyes scanning the line of Earth’s defenders. “This is the welcoming committee? A few more bugs than I expected, but bugs nonetheless.” Her gaze swept over them, dismissing Krillin, Yamcha, and the others with a flick of her wrist. Her scouter zeroed in on Piccolo, its readout spiking. “And one of you isn’t even from this mudball. A power level of… 1,220. Pathetic, but notable.”

Nappa’s scouter buzzed as she focused on Piccolo. “Hey, Vegeta. The green one. Her energy signature… it’s not human. It’s Namekian.”

The word meant nothing to Piccolo, but it struck a strange, dissonant chord deep within her. “Namekian? I am a demon.”

Vegeta let out a short, sharp laugh. “A demon? Is that what the primitives here call you? You’re a Namekian. A creature from a planet of weak-willed, green-skinned mystics.” Her eyes gleamed with sudden, predatory insight. “Of course. The Dragon Balls. They’re a Namekian creation. It makes sense now. A Namekian exile, stranded on this backwater planet, creates a set of her people’s trinkets. That’s how a worthless rock like this got its hands on such power.”

The revelation landed on Piccolo not as a comfort, but as another layer of confusion in a life defined by it. She was not the spawn of a demon queen, but an exile from a race of… mystics? The foundation of her identity shuddered.

But there was no time for an existential crisis. Nappa cracked her knuckles, a savage grin spreading across her face. “Doesn’t matter what she is. She’s still the strongest one here. I call dibs. The rest of you,” she said, her gaze sweeping over the others, “try to make this interesting before I wipe you out.”

Piccolo’s muscles coiled, a low growl rumbling in her chest as she prepared to meet Nappa’s challenge head-on. But before she could take a step, a hand landed on her shoulder.

“I’ve got this,” Yamcha said, her voice tight with a cocky confidence forged in the crucible of the Lookout. She stepped forward, her long hair swaying, a familiar, feral grin on her face that hadn’t been seen since the days before her heart was broken. “Let me handle the big one. I need to work out some frustrations.”

Nappa looked her up and down, her scouter emitting a dismissive beep. “Power level: 910. You’ve got to be kidding me. Fine. I could use a laugh before the main event.” She cracked her neck. “Make it quick, insect.”

“Yamcha, no!” Chi-Chi snapped, her voice sharp with alarm. “This isn’t a sparring match! We have to fight them together!”

“I’m not the same fighter I was a year ago, Chi-Chi,” Yamcha shot back, not taking her eyes off Nappa. “I’ve been training for this. It’s time I proved it.” She sank into the stance of the Wolf Fang Fist, her ki flaring around her.

—–

Hundreds of miles away, on the sun-drenched deck of Kame House, the mood was tense. They were all crowded around Fortuneteller Baba’s crystal ball, watching the scene unfold in the badlands.

“Oh, you idiot,” Bulma whispered, her knuckles white where she gripped the railing. She stared at the image of her ex-girlfriend, so arrogantly squaring off against the mountain of Saiyan muscle. A year of distance and resentment evaporated in a wave of pure, cold fear. “You never could just take the safe option, could you?”

A cocktail of old affection and fresh terror churned in her gut. She saw the familiar set of Yamcha’s jaw, the stupid, beautiful bravado that had both attracted and infuriated her. Now, it might get her killed.

—–

In the badlands, Nappa didn’t even bother with a stance. She stood there, arms crossed, a condescending smirk plastered on her face. “Any time you’re ready, little girl. Show me this ‘training’ of yours.”

Yamcha lunged. She was fast—faster than she had ever been, a blur of orange and blue. The Wolf Fang Fist was no longer a wild flurry; it was a sharp, precise assault. She struck Nappa’s armored torso with a series of rapid-fire blows, the impacts sounding like hail on a metal roof.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack-thwack-thwack!

Nappa didn’t flinch. She didn’t even uncross her arms. She just looked down at Yamcha, her smirk widening. “Is that it? That little love tap? I’ve had tougher massages.”

Yamcha’s confidence faltered for a split second. She put everything she had into a final, powerful kick aimed at Nappa’s head.

Nappa’s hand moved in a blur too fast to see. She caught Yamcha’s ankle mid-air, her grip like a steel vise.

“Disappointing,” Nappa grunted. With a casual flick of her wrist, she whipped Yamcha’s entire body around and slammed her into the hard-packed earth with a sickening crunch. The force of the impact created a small crater, dust and rock shards flying.

Yamcha lay in the pit, groaning, her body broken, her spirit shattered in an instant. The gap between their power was an ocean, and she had barely gotten her feet wet.

Nappa loomed over the crater, her eyes gleaming not with murderous intent, but with something darker, more possessive. “Pathetic. But you’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. Wasted spirit.” She looked over at Vegeta, who gave a slight, bored nod of permission.

Nappa’s grin turned predatory. “Don’t worry, little insect. The fun’s not over for you yet. I’m just getting started.” The real violation was yet to come.

Nappa produced the pale bean from a pouch on her armor, swallowing it with a gulp. The transformation was swift and grotesque, a thick, veined cock springing forth, already erect and glistening with intent. She reached into the crater, her massive hands tearing Yamcha’s gi to shreds with contemptuous ease, exposing her bruised and broken body to the dusty air.

“Get off her!” Chi-Chi screamed, launching herself forward. Tien and Krillin moved with her, a coordinated rush of desperation.

Princess Vegeta didn’t even turn her head. She simply raised a single finger. A thin, incinerating beam of yellow energy lanced out, carving a deep, smoking trench in the earth just inches from their feet, the heat blistering their skin.

“The next one separates your legs from your torsos,” Vegeta stated, her voice flat and utterly devoid of emotion. “Interfere, and you die. Watch. Learn your place.”

They were trapped, forced to bear witness. Krillin turned away, tears of fury and helplessness in her eyes. Tien’s three eyes burned with cold rage, her fists clenched so tight her palms bled. Chi-Chi could only watch, her hand over her mouth, as Nappa positioned herself over the dazed, groaning Yamcha.

There was no ceremony, no preparation. Nappa drove into her in one brutal, shearing thrust. Yamcha’s body arched off the ground, a silent scream locked in her throat, her eyes wide with a shock and pain that went beyond the physical. Nappa set a punishing, jackhammer rhythm from the start, her hips slamming into Yamcha’s with enough force to jolt her broken body with every impact. The wet, slapping sounds of the violation were the only thing that broke the horrified silence of the badlands.

—–

At Kame House, Bulma stared into the crystal ball, her face ashen. “No…” The word was a breath, a prayer. She saw the arrogant confidence drain from Yamcha’s face, replaced by shattered shock. She saw the brutal efficiency of the Saiyan’s attack, the casual way she was now being used. A cold knot of nausea tightened in her stomach, a sickening mix of old heartbreak and a terrifying, protective fear she thought she’d buried. She was watching the woman she had once loved be broken, body and soul, and she was powerless to do anything but watch.

—–

Nappa’s assault was a masterclass in sadistic ownership. With Yamcha pinned beneath her, utterly broken and unable to offer more than weak, guttural cries, the massive Saiyan explored her conquest with brutal leisure. One of her large, calloused hands groped and mauled Yamcha’s breasts, squeezing and twisting the soft flesh until Yamcha whimpered, her back arching in a futile attempt to escape the pain-pleasure of the violation.

“Not so tough now, are you, little wolf?” Nappa grunted, her hips maintaining their relentless, deep-pounding rhythm. She leaned down, her mouth capturing Yamcha’s in a crushing, possessive kiss, her tongue forcing its way past her lips to dominate her mouth as thoroughly as her cock dominated her body. Yamcha’s muffled cries were swallowed by the kiss, her tears mixing with the Saiyan’s saliva.

Nappa broke the kiss, a string of spit connecting them. Her free hand came down in a sharp, stinging spank on Yamcha’s ass, the sound a loud crack in the tense air. She did it again, and again, the pale skin quickly blooming with angry red handprints, a visible brand of her humiliation. She then tangled her fingers in Yamcha’s long hair, yanking her head back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat, forcing her to watch the horrified faces of her friends as she was being ruthlessly fucked.

Every deep, grinding thrust was a piston of pure dominance, a physical erasure of Yamcha’s pride and power. Nappa used her body not for mutual pleasure, but as a tool to assert her absolute superiority, to demonstrate the chasm between a Saiyan warrior and an Earthling who had dared to challenge her. The wet, rhythmic sounds of their joining, the sharp cracks of the spanks, and Yamcha’s broken, choked sobs created a symphony of defilement that echoed across the barren landscape, a brutal prelude to the main event yet to come.

Vegeta let out an exaggerated sigh, tapping her scouter. “Enough, Nappa. This display is tiresome. Finish your plaything. We have real business to attend to.”

Nappa grunted, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face, but she obeyed. She increased her pace for a final, furious volley of thrusts, each one jarring Yamcha’s broken body. With a guttural roar, she slammed home one last time, holding herself deep as she emptied a hot, copious load inside the defeated warrior. She pulled out with a wet, slick sound, leaving Yamcha gasping and soiled in the dirt.

Nappa stood, looking down at her handiwork with a smirk before delivering a final, contemptuous kick that sent Yamcha rolling to land in a crumpled, weeping heap at the feet of her friends.

Krillin and Chi-Chi rushed forward, but Yamcha weakly held up a trembling hand, her voice a shattered whisper. “I’m… I’m sorry… I wasn’t… strong enough…”

Before any of them could form a reply, Nappa raised a single finger. A pinpoint of blinding white light appeared.

“No!” Tien shouted, lunging forward.

It was too late.

The ki beam, no thicker than a finger, lanced out and struck Yamcha square in the chest. There was no explosion, only a silent, horrifying pop. Yamcha’s body vaporized into nothingness, leaving behind only a faint, greasy smudge on the ground where she had lain.

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the dry wind whistling through the canyon.

—–

At Kame House, Bulma stared into the crystal ball, her mind refusing to process the image. The brutal fucking, the final, humiliating violation, and then… nothing. A pop. A smudge. The woman she had laughed with, fought with, loved and hated, was just… gone. A strangled sob escaped her lips, and her legs gave way. She collapsed against Master Roshi, burying her face in the old woman’s robe, her body wracked with silent, shuddering sobs.

—–

In the badlands, the remaining fighters stood frozen. The theoretical threat, the training, the preparation—it all collapsed into the stark, brutal reality of that empty patch of earth. This wasn’t a fight. It was an extermination. And they were next.

“Goku,” Chi-Chi whispered to herself. “Where are you?”