Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH54

[Escarot POV]

I stood in the throne room, silent.

The room smelled like smoke, blood, and piss.

Most of the guests had cleared out the second the King's brains hit the back wall. The smarter ones left even before that. Now it was just me, the still-smoking corpse of King Vegeta, and the God of Destruction and his flamboyant attendant watching like they'd just finished a decent stage play.

Beerus lounged across the royal seat like it was custom-made for him. Legs dangling over one armrest, tail flicking lazily. Whis stood beside him, staff in hand, looking slightly amused in that usual smug, polished way of his.

So.

That was that.

The King was dead. I killed him. And now…

My plans were fucked.

There was no going back.

No more playing the quiet soldier. No more shadow work. No more “stay out of the spotlight and survive long enough to do something.” I stepped into the light and burned the throne with my name.

The question now was: what next?

I sighed.

“So,” Beerus said, breaking the silence with a yawn as he stretched his arms overhead, “what’s your plan now, brat?”

“Not much of a plan, really,” I replied, shrugging. “Didn’t really plan this, it just happened.”

That got a snort out of him.

Whis twirled his staff once and gave a faint, thoughtful hum. “Ah, how very Saiyan of you. Kill first, consider consequences… possibly never. I suppose that’s what makes your kind so entertaining.”

I shot him a look and chuckled. He was right.

He smiled back, eyes half-lidded like he already knew what I was thinking.

Beerus kicked his feet off the side of the throne and leaned forward. “Well, as long as you continue cooking for me whenever I please, I don’t care~”

“Anytime, Lord Beerus,” I replied.

Beerus chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. “Have to say, the show was magnificent. The way you blasted his skull off… phew. Direct. Not bad form either. No theatrics. Just zap and done. You mortals usually waste time on theatrics and end up making the result disappointing.”

“I’m not a fan of speeches.”

“Good,” Beerus said. “We’ve got enough of those in the universe.” He glanced sideways at Whis, who pretended not to notice.

I glanced at the corpse. It was still twitching slightly— Blood pooled around the base of the stairs, soaking into the cracked marble.

A fitting stain for a legacy built on cowardice.

I was still looking at the blood when the heavy double doors creaked open behind me.

Boots echoed once, twice, then stopped.

I didn’t turn.

“... Sire,” a voice said, tight with nervousness. “The royal advisors await you in the inner chamber.”

I blinked.

...Was he talking to me?

I turned my head slowly, just enough to see him out of the corner of my eye. Looked like a junior officer. Still saluting. Still kneeling. Still shaking slightly.

I looked at Beerus. Then at Whis.

“Is he talking to me?” I asked flatly.

“Oh, yes,” Whis said, lips curling in amusement. “Quite observant of you.”

“Why?” I asked, slower this time.

Beerus was already laughing. That kind of low, satisfied, half-lazy laugh that meant he was fully entertained.

Whis stepped forward slightly, staff tapping once on the marble as he gestured to the corpse behind me. “Because, dear Escarot, by traditional Saiyan law—which, might I add, no one here was ever brave or smart enough to rewrite—killing the current King in open combat... makes you the King.”

What kind of stupid law was—actually, no, this tracks perfectly for a species whose cultural advancements peaked at "hit harder" and "hit even harder."

I stared at him.

He giggled.

“Yes,” he continued. “Consequences, meet dumb actions.”

Beerus barked a laugh. “HA! This keeps getting better and better!”

“I didn’t kill him for the throne,” I muttered, more to myself than them.

“Doesn’t matter,” Whis replied. “Intent is irrelevant. You publicly defeated him. You survived his final attack. You humiliated him. And then, you executed him. Very publicly, I might add.” He tilted his head slightly. “No one is going to challenge that, or you. Not unless they want their heads turned into soup.”

“I wouldn’t kill anyone else… I think,” I said.

The Saiyan still kneeling coughed slightly. “Your orders, Sire?”

I turned to him fully this time.

He looked terrified. Like… downright scared of me.

His eyes flicked toward the corpse. Then to me. Then quickly to the floor.

I took a breath.

Let it out slow.

“Tell them… I’ll be there… when I’m ready?” I said, unsure how to address the situation at hand.

“Yes, S—uh—yes, bye!” He stood and backed away like I might blast him just for fun. Then he turned and rushed out, armor clinking with every awkward step.

Silence returned.

I stared at the space he’d left behind.

The throne room suddenly felt too big. Too wide. Too quiet. I wasn’t used to silence that carried weight.

Whis strolled past me, graceful as always. “You should sit,” he said, nodding at the throne. “It’s tradition. Wound’t you agree Lord Beerus?”

Beerus, who was clearly enjoying this far too much, kicked off the throne like, landing in front of me with a casual spin, with a grin that stretched so far and wide; that it almost looked like he was having the best time of his immortal life.

“Yes, yes,” he said, gesturing dramatically at the throne. “Tradition, decorum, royalty. You’ve earned it, haven’t you? Sit. I shall allow you to take the seat instead of me… for this time.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------

[Lord Beerus POV]

“Did you really have to force him to sit, Lord Beerus?” Whis asked, twirling his staff as he giggled.

I didn’t even look at him. I just folded my arms and stared at Escarot, now planted awkwardly in that eyesore of a throne like someone who’d sat down without realizing he’d stepped into wet paint.

“Yes,” I said flatly. “Of course I did.”

Whis chuckled again. “It wasn’t very subtle.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” I leaned back against the steps and let my tail flick behind me. “He was standing there like a confused toddler who broke his favorite toy. Someone had to push him forward. Might as well be me. He should feel grateful.”

Escarot still hadn’t said anything. Just sat there, arms crossed, mouth set like someone forced to eat a vegetable they hated. Honestly, I found it amusing. He looked ridiculous up there. But… not wrong.

“Besides,” I added, “I kind of like the idea of him ruling these idiots.”

Whis raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

I gestured lazily at the corpse still bleeding on the floor. “I hated that arrogant bastard.”

“That he was.”

“Mm.” I nodded. “Coward. Arrogant. Loud. Always pretending he had more power than he did. No sense of scale. No sense of respect. Kept trying to look me in the eye every time I came around—like that would earn him points.” I waved a hand. “His entire reign was just posturing like an idiot.”

Whis chuckled. “And here I thought you just didn’t like his food.”

“That too,” I grumbled.

Honestly, that man’s cooks couldn’t season anything properly if you handed them a universal cookbook and slapped them with a spice rack. Everything was overcooked or under-flavored or both. You’d think a planet full of fighters who eat one hundred times their body weight would know how to grill meat, but no—they don’t.

“But Escarot,” I continued, pointing one claw lazily toward the throne, “He’s different. He knows his place.”

Whis tilted his head. “And what place would that be?”

“That of a mortal,” I said. “Where he belongs.”

There was no arrogance in that. 

Unlike most, Escarot understood his place in the universe. He fed me, he respected me, and more importantly—he didn’t waste my time. I’ve blown up planets for less than what King Vegeta used to pull with his little speeches and fake bows.

Whis gave me that sly little grin. “So… what you’re saying is, he’s tolerable.”

I smirked. “More than tolerable. I might even say he’s… mildly competent.”

Whis gasped in mock shock. “My word, Lord Beerus. High praise!”

I ignored him.

My eyes drifted back to Escarot again. He wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t speaking. Just sitting there, thinking. I could see it in his eyes. He was already turning this over in his head. Calculating. Planning. Mortals were always doing that kind of thing. Waste of time.

Whis turned to face me directly, a flicker of curiosity slipping through his usual knowing grin. “So… does this mean you’re abandoning that other little plan of yours?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Which plan?”

He gave me a sly look. “The Cold Clan. You remember—the little idea you floated a while back? About telling them to wipe out the Saiyans for you?”

I clicked my tongue. “Ah. That.”

Whis gave a slight nod. “Yes, you seemed quite set on it back then. Something about ‘being tired of their barking,’ if I recall.”

“I was tired of their barking and their stupid king,” I grumbled.

I looked down again at Escarot.

“Now, I’m… reconsidering.”

Whis arched a brow. “Oh?”

“I have… expectations,” I said slowly. “Escarot—he might be worth the detour. Their extermination can wait for now.”

Whis smiled. “So you’re calling off the extermination?”

“For now,” I replied. “Let’s see where this mess goes. Who knows? Maybe this rock won’t be such a waste of space after all.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

[Escarot POV] 

I was king now.

…Hurray.

Not exactly how I thought the day would go. Then again, I didn’t think I’d be blasting a skull into red paste either, but here we were.

Wasn’t like I had a choice, either. Beerus didn’t ask me to sit on the throne. He told me. The subtext wasn’t hard to read:

Sit the fuck down or be destroyed.

So I sat.

King Escarot. Has a ring to it, doesn’t it? Ugh.

I looked out over the empty throne room. I glanced at the body. Former King Vegeta. Should probably clean that up. Eventually.

I leaned forward and rested my chin on one hand.

“So this is it?” I muttered. “I’m the king now. I guess I’m supposed to... rule?”

The word felt foreign in my mouth.

I didn’t know the first damn thing about running a planet. What did kings even do? Taxes? 

I had a vague idea of how King Vegeta ran things, which was basically "do whatever makes him look strong" and "kill anyone who looks like competition." Not exactly a sustainable system, considering I just blew his head off.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “...Maybe I could change the name back to Planet Sadala.”

It was the original name, before we blew up our first home and moved here like space cockroaches. Probably wouldn’t change much, but it sounded cooler. More historical. Less... Vegeta-y.

That alone made it worth considering.

“King Escarot of Planet Sadala.” Hm. Still sounded like a prank.

There was a knock at the doors. A nervous-looking advisor poked his head in, took one look at the corpse on the floor, and went pale.

“Do you—uh—require assistance, Your Majesty?” he stammered.

I stared at him.

Did I need assistance?

“Yeah,” I said. “Have someone clean this mess.”

The guy nodded so fast I thought his neck might snap. “Of course, sire! At once!”

He vanished like his tail was on fire.

I leaned back in the chair again.

Beerus yawned. “Feeling regal yet?”

I gave him a look. “I feel like I sat on a rock and got promoted for murder.”

He snorted. “That’s basically how your entire species works.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Whis stepped forward, hands behind his back. “Well, as far as Saiyan traditions go, this is probably one of the smoother transitions of power I’ve witnessed.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“Oh, I know.” He smiled wider.

I closed my eyes for a moment. Tried to center myself. Tried to figure out what the hell I was even supposed to do now.

A week ago, I was laying low, trying to stay off the radar. And now? Now I was sitting on a throne with a dead king at my feet, a terrified planet waiting for orders, and two nearly omnipotent beings watching like this was a reality show for them, which might as well be.

My life had officially gone off the rails.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I expect a holiday named after me,” Beerus said, stretching his arms behind his head. “And a parade. And a planetary feast at least two times a year.”

Of course he does.