Out in the vast, endless reaches of space… drifting through the cosmic abyss. A lone Saiyan pod soared past distant stars, carrying a child toward an unknown destiny…
Unbeknownst to him, the universe was far more dangerous than he could ever comprehend. Lightyears away, the Viltrumite Empire stood as one of the most feared forces in the galaxy. Their mighty ruler, Thragg stood poised, his crimson Viltrumite uniform pristine despite the bloodstained battlefield beneath him.
Conquest—a towering Viltrumite with a savage grin—tore through Saiyan warriors with ease.
"This is your warrior race?" Thragg's voice was cold, measured. "Pathetic."
The skies above Planet Vegeta burned.
The once-mighty home of the Saiyan race was crumbling, its surface littered with the bodies of warriors who had fought, screamed, and died in vain. Amid the destruction, a lone figure stood, battered and bloodied, yet unbowed.
Bardock.
Bardock staggered, his cracked armor barely clinging to his battered form. One eye was swollen shut, but the other burned with defiance. He wiped the blood from his mouth and spit onto the scorched battlefield.
Floating above him, Thragg watched impassively, arms crossed.
"You think this is over?" Bardock growled, blood dripping from his forehead. "We were fools ever to bow down to you!"
Conquest chuckled. The towering Viltrumite, his face twisted with amusement, wiped blood off his knuckles.
Bardock spat blood on the ground.
He gritted his teeth. The last of his strength surged into his palm, forming a blazing sphere of energy.
"Here—HAVE IT!"
The blast went toward Thragg. Everything—his rage, pain, and will—into one last desperate strike.
For a split second, hope flickered.
And then, Conquest moved.
Faster than Bardock's eyes could track, Conquest appeared before him, his fist slamming deep into Bardock's gut.
CRACK.
The sound of breaking bone echoed. Bardock's vision blurred, and his breath caught in his throat.
Another punch.
His body hurtled downward like a meteor, smashing into the ground with an impact that shattered the rocky terrain beneath him.
Dust settled. Bardock coughed weakly, blood trickling from his lips. His arms twitched, but he could barely move.
Above him, Conquest landed softly, rolling his shoulders as if barely exerting himself.
Bardock's eyes flickered toward the sky.
In the distance, beyond the smoke and destruction… a tiny pod burst across the heavens.
His vision darkened. His breath slowed.
But he smiled.
Kakarot… live.
Conquest grinned in satisfaction, another world reduced to dust and ruin.
"Another world falls, my lord," Conquest said, not hiding his amusement. "These lesser species crumble so easily."
Thragg barely acknowledged him, his attention shifting to a nearby display.
Conquest's grin faltered. A single pod escaping into space.
"Huh? What's this?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes. He gestured at a Viltrumite officer. "Magnify the image."
"Shall I intercept, my lord?" Conquest asked, turning to Thragg.
Thragg barely glanced at the screen. "No."
Conquest frowned. "But—"
"It is of no concern." Thragg's voice was calm, unwavering. "The Saiyans are finished. One escaping changes nothing."
Conquest's grin returned as he shrugged. "Heh. You're right. Not like one little monkey's gonna make a difference."
Thragg's gaze lingered on the fading dot of the Saiyan pod before dismissing it entirely.
"A pity," Thragg murmured. "The Saiyans had potential. Capable of evolving under extreme conditions. Had they bent the knee, they might have been useful."
Conquest scoffed. "They were too wild, too arrogant. Their pride made them weak."
Thragg nodded slightly. "Yes. And that is why they are gone." He turned away, already thinking of their next conquest. "A species that refuses to be controlled has no place in the Viltrumite Empire."
Meanwhile, the tiny Saiyan child continued his journey, oblivious to the forces that ruled the stars.
The space pod's trajectory remained locked—Earth. A planet of no significance to the Viltrumites but one that would soon become home to the greatest warrior, unlike any they had ever encountered.
The night was shattered by a streak of light burning across the sky.
A burning object, small yet swift, descended toward Earth, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. It crashed violently into the dense wilderness of a remote forest, sending a shockwave through the trees. Birds scattered, animals fled, and the ground trembled as fire spread outward from the crater.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of scorched earth and smoldering leaves.
A lone figure stood at the edge of the devastation, his posture rigid, his grip tightening around a wooden staff. His weathered sandals pressed into the ashen soil as he took slow, deliberate steps forward. Each footfall sent tiny puffs of dust into the air, the lingering heat from the crater warming the ground beneath him.
His eyes, sharp despite his age, narrowed as they settled on the object at the center of the destruction. Nestled within the impact site, half-buried in the dirt, was a round metallic pod—unlike anything he had ever seen. Its surface was sleek, dark, and scorched from re-entry. A thin trail of steam hissed from its seams as the pod's door slowly unlatched.
The old man tensed, bracing himself. Whatever lay inside, it was not of this world. A soft hissing noise escaped as the pod's door slowly unlatched. The old man braced himself, expecting something dangerous.
But then, a cry.
A baby.
Inside the pod, wrapped in a thin, alien-looking cloth, was an infant—tiny, yet with an unusual presence. He had a tuft of wild black hair, dark eyes that flickered with curiosity even as tears streamed down his cheeks, and most notably, a small tail curled beside him. The old man's heart clenched. A baby, alone in such a place, from a strange origin.
Cautiously, he reached in and picked up the child. The moment their skin touched, the baby stopped crying, as if sensing something familiar. Warmth spread through the old man's chest.
He looked at the sky, then back at the infant.
"...You're not from here, are you?" he murmured.
The child cooed in response.
The old man sighed and smiled gently. "Then I suppose I'll have to look after you, little one."
And so, the boy from the stars was taken in by the man known as Gohan.
Years later...
The morning sun peeked over the mountains, painting the sky in hues of gold and orange.
Birds chirped in the trees, and rushing water echoed through the valley. Amidst the serene landscape, a young boy balanced atop a wooden pole in the middle of a fast-moving river.
His hair was spiky and wild, his expression focused. His muscles tensed as he held a deep stance, arms outstretched for balance. A single misstep and the current would sweep him away. But he was in no danger—his feet were firm, his instincts sharp.
Nearby, an elderly man watched with a mix of pride and amusement.
"Alright, Goku, that's enough!" Gohan called. "Come down before you fall and make a fool of yourself!"
With a playful grin, the boy named Goku bent his knees and—
WHOOSH!
—Launched himself from the pole, flipping gracefully through the air before landing right in front of Gohan with a soft thud.
Gohan shook his head. "You're way too strong for a little boy."
Goku rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I didn't mean to jump that far, Grandpa!"
Gohan chuckled and patted the boy's head. "Well, if you're gonna be that strong, you must have discipline."
Goku's tail flicked behind him as he grinned. "Does that mean more training?!"
Gohan smirked. "It means more chores."
Goku groaned dramatically, flopping onto the ground. "Aww, come on! Training's way more fun!"
"Balance, my boy. Strength without wisdom is just destruction waiting to happen."
Despite the words of wisdom, Goku pouted.
But he obeyed, helping carry firewood and fetch water from the river—though more often than not, he accidentally broke the buckets or carried logs far too big for a normal child. His strength, unnatural even for a well-trained martial artist, was something Gohan never quite understood.
But he didn't need to understand it. He only needed to raise Goku right.
As Goku carried firewood toward their home, a sharp, pitiful sound made him stop.
He turned. There, nestled awkwardly between two roots, was a small bird—its wing bent at an odd angle, trembling.
Goku crouched down, gently scooping the bird into his hands. It chirped weakly, terrified.
"It's okay," Goku whispered, voice soft. "You're gonna be okay."
His fingers were calloused from training, rough with strength meant for fighting—but he held the bird like it was the most fragile thing in the world.
Gohan watched from a distance, a warm smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Goku set the bird carefully in a patch of tall grass, out of the wind. He even left a few berries nearby.
Then he stood, scratched his head, and laughed sheepishly at how serious he'd gotten.
"Come on, Goku!" Gohan called.
"Coming, Grandpa!" he shouted, bounding up the hill after him.
As the day faded into night, the two sat together outside their small home, watching the stars.
Goku stretched his arms behind his head, his tail curling absentmindedly.
"Grandpa?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you think… I'm weird?"
Gohan chuckled. "You? Oh, absolutely."
"Hey!"
"But," Gohan continued, smiling softly, "that's not a bad thing. You're special, Goku. And no matter where you came from, you're my grandson."
Goku's face lit up, and he beamed.
"Now," Gohan said, getting to his feet, "it's getting late. Let's get inside before—"
A howl echoed in the distance.
Gohan stiffened. Something felt… off.
And as Goku looked up, his eyes wide, the full moon cast its glow over the forest.
A deep, primal instinct stirred inside him.
And then—his world went black.