Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH43

[Escarot - POV]

“Who would’ve thought that butterfly jerky would be so good,” I muttered, chewing up a piece of my newest culinary piece. I was quite thankful for my creativity.

Talking about that…

Creativity was the seed of creation. At least, that’s what I’d started telling myself lately. Sounded smart. Made me feel like I wasn’t just throwing random crap at a wall and seeing what stuck.

But I guess that’s how most things start, right? You try something stupid, it works, and then you act like you knew what you were doing all along.

Take Surge, for example.

On Namek, Surge was just a desperate little power-up trick I pulled out of nowhere, designed to boost my combat efficiency by increasing the natural flow of energy throughout my body. In short, a poor man’s Kaio-Ken, the great value version of it. That was the plan anyway.

Now? After a few months using the technique, and now experimenting with it.

Now I have four different sub-modes of Surge.

Each with their own specific function.

Each with their own weaknesses.

And each assembled together by nothing but instinct, trial, and lots and lots of error.

Surge: Force— was all about strength. Pure, stupid, glorious raw power, to give others tons of blunt-force trauma. It overall made my every strike hit harder.

Surge: Drive— amplified my speed. Reactions, dodging, closing distance in a blink.

Surge: Guard— had come out of necessity. Basically I had gotten tired of being ragdolled through mountains by things that didn’t even have brains, and while that didn’t happen as often as it once did. I figured: if I could amplify strength and speed, why not my defense?

And lastly, Surge: Flow— This one increased my Ki efficiency. Control. And usage. The hidden MVP for those beam clashes that would make it so  every drop of energy was used in a more efficient manner. Nothing flashy. But it would make the difference when the time came.

I was honestly surprised I had managed to create the stances so fast.

Granted, none of them were perfect or finished yet. But they worked. I wasn’t worried though, I still had time to iron out the details. 

The important thing was that I was getting stronger, at an alarming rate.

And yet…

Something felt off lately.

I don’t know how to explain it… but I could feel my natural limit approaching.

My body was preparing for a peak. That invisible wall all children hit eventually, and as much as I loved ignoring the glaring fact that I was a kid, I was one.

“Though… Goten and Trucks were quite powerful for a couple of brats,” They were stronger than Frieza, and capable of using the Super Saiyan transformation.

But that probably had more to do with their parents than anything else. Genetic power-ups via Super Saiyan powered parents? Probably. No way for two kids that barely trained being stronger than half the Z-fighters, at least not without some kind of cheat code in their DNA.

I didn’t have that kind of luxury.

I was strong, sure. Stronger than I had any right to be for a kid. But I wasn’t them. I wasn’t born with Goku’s plot armor or Vegeta’s inferiority complex fueled gains.

So yeah, I was starting to feel it.

The plateau.

If my peak wasn’t strong enough for what was to come, things would end very poorly for me.

I was nowhere near Super Saiyan level, or near acquiring said transformation. But I supposed that even without that, I still had options…

I was pretty sure I was already stronger than Frieza on his first and second form. 

And considering the cocky bastard likes to walk around at his weakest… I could… I don’t know… just kill him before he had the chance to even question why a Saiyan was attacking him.

It would be very anticlimactic, sure, but it would get the job done.

“It would break so many unspoken anime rules to just blast him,” I chuckled, imagining the scene.

I had to be honest—knowing that I could, just nuke Frieza's ship from orbit before he even powered up? It was tempting.

Real tempting.

“Could just fly in, fire a full-power blast through his ship, and call it a day,” I muttered aloud. “No transformations. No speeches. No racist monologue from his part. Just bang. Done.”

My tail twitched violently behind me as a jolt of unease crawled up my spine.

Ugh. There it was again.

That instinct. That stupid little voice buried deep in my Saiyan blood that practically sneered at the idea of winning that way.

Smart? Absolutely.

Effective? No doubt.

Honorable?

...Who the hell cared?

And yet…

I grimaced as my tail coiled tighter, an involuntary response of disgust. It wasn’t just some external feeling—it was internal. A complete state of revulsion that rattled my bones at the very thought of robbing myself of the fight.

“That would be the smart choice…” I muttered with a dry chuckle. “But fuck, we Saiyans are dumb, aren’t we?”

It was impressive, really. I had a brain filled with memories from another life, a lifetime of stories, even genre-savvy hindsight. And yet, one whiff of a challenge and my body went full caveman: “No, we fight, we fun, we have zero self-preservation skills.”

I knew fighting Final Form Frieza would be suicidal if I didn’t reach Super Saiyan. I knew the math. I watched what he did to Vegeta. To Krillin. Hell, to Goku before the rage-fueled transformation turned the tide.

And yet, part of me was already getting hyped at the thought of facing him. Of testing myself. Proving something.

To who?

I had no fucking clue. Myself, maybe? Some imagined scoreboard I kept inside my head, ticking names off, I had no idea, the point was that my entire body whispered, drunk on adrenaline and idiocy: “Let’s fucking do it! Or are you a pussy!?”

I sighed.

There’s something wrong with Saiyan brains. We’re born addicted to combat. Raised to think pain is just a milestone toward power. I swear, if you opened our skulls, you’d probably find a monkey punching itself, and nothing more.

And even though I wasn’t just a saiyan, but a man with memories of a different world, and a different way to think. My instincts just couldn’t give two flying fucks about that.

Still. I suppose it was good to acknowledge the conflict between my past life and this one. If nothing else, it kept me from turning into a full-blown meathead.

I can’t blame Goku anymore for being the way he is, he was pretty smart all things considered before they lobotomized him in Super.

“Time to get some wasps for dinner,” I said, cracking my neck.

“Oh my, you’ve certainly made a mess of this planet.”

I froze mid-step.

I didn’t feel him. And while I knew why I couldn’t feel his power. It was still unsettling that I couldn’t feel his presence in any shape or form. He had no sound, no smell, nothing…

And yet, there he was— floating lazily above a field of scorched trees, hands behind his back like he hadn’t just appeared out of thin air.

I sighed, shooting him a look. “You could at least pretend to make a sound when you show up.”

He chuckled. “And ruin the dramatic effect? Perish the thought.”

I crossed my arms. “So, what, you finally remembered I existed?”

Whis smiled in that infuriating way of his. “You could say that. You’ve grown nicely, Escarot. But your vacation on Inektia-9 is officially over.”

“Inektia 9? There’s more than one planet like this one? Why?”

He ignored the question, as usual. “Come now. You’ve passed the test.”

“What test?” I asked.

He tilted his head. “None in particular.”

I… hmm, fuck it. I won’t question him, I’m happy to leave this place.

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

[Okara POV]

When Whis told me he was going to crank up my training a few weeks ago, I thought, hell yeah. Finally. What I didn’t realize is that he meant crank it past the point of sanity and straight into kill-you-and-resurrect-you-for-more-reps levels of hell.

And it. Was. Awesome!!!

My knuckles were shattered multiple times. My bones ached in places I didn’t know had bones. I was bleeding from the inside at one point last week. And still, I kept going.

Because it was working.

Through pain, through rage, through every cursed second, I felt it.

I was getting stronger.

Not just a little. Not just kind of. I was getting stronger! For real! For the first time in my life, I could feel it deep in my gut—like that low hum you get before a good fight, when you know you’re about to beat someone into the dirt without any mercy.

And this time, this feeling wasn’t just anyone.

It was for Escarot.

That smug, condescending bastard who kept training without me. The one who said we’d grow stronger together, and then ditched me like I was dead weight.

Well, not anymore!

I clenched my fists, pacing around the edge of the marble platform like a caged animal ready to bite at any given moment. My muscles were itching for a fight.

“You are quite excited, aren’t you?” Beerus said, lounging on the absurdly comfy pillow we had been tasked to get for him, licking some kind of food off his fingers. “Can’t say I understand the appeal of watching two little flies beat each other up. But I suppose… there’s some amusement in it, especially if there’s food.”

My eyes twitched, insulted. Yet, I turned to him, bowing so fast I nearly headbutted the ground. “Yes, Lord Beerus. Of course, Lord Beerus. Thank you for allowing us to entertain you, Lord Beerus.”

I said it with every drop of politeness I could squeeze out of my mouth, but inside, I was screaming.

When Escarot had told me he was stronger than us, I believed him, but… I had no idea how much stronger than us he was…  a week ago he sneezed in my direction and almost killed me.

If it wasn’t for Whis, I would’ve died… 

Literally.

One second, I was mopping the floor, next second I was a half-away across the planet, clinging to an inch of my life. 

So yeah. Pride or not, I bowed. I smiled. I thanked him. And I absolutely did not make eye contact unless he said my name.

He was scary.

But that was beyond the point, the point of today was me! Beating Escarot!

I grinned, baring my teeth.

“He won’t ignore me after this,” I muttered to myself. “He’s gonna see me now. He’s gonna know.”

I imagined him standing there, all cocky and cool, and then staring at awe at how strong I had become!

“Lord Beerus,” Whis said, like nothing in the universe surprised him, “Excuse the delay, but I took the liberty of bathing and repairing Escarot’s armor, his stench was simply unbearable.”

“Well, excuse me, but that’s what happens when you leave anyone without soap in a place that always feels like an oven.”

And there he was.

Escarot.

My energy spiked.

“Oh, hey Okara,” he smiled. “How have you been?”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I walked up to him—step by step—and stopped just a few feet away. Close enough that I could see a little scar on his cheek, a reminder of the training he endured this past few weeks.

I could tell he had worked hard just by looking at him.

But I had worked a hundred times harder!

“Let’s fight,” I said, grinning like a lunatic. “Right here. Right now.”

“Now?” Escarot raised an eyebrow. 

I punched at him.

A solid crack echoed throughout the courtyard as my fist smashed into his jaw. Not at full-strength yet—no—but definitely strong enough to send a message.

He flew back a good ten meters before his boots scraped the ground, finally managing to stop himself. Dust swirled in the wake of his skid, his head still lowered.

Then he turned.

Slowly.

Wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Blood.

A small line of crimson stained his palm, then dripped to the floor.

His eyes met mine.

Not angry. Not shocked.

Just quiet recognition.

He saw me now.

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

[Power Level Section]

Escarot: 685.000 (suppressed)

Okara: 685.000 (suppressed)