The Legend Returns

  A violent storm of energy rippled through the battlefield, shattering the rocky terrain beneath them. Gairok’s eyes widened in pure disbelief as Zeelthar stood before him, his body engulfed in a golden inferno, his hair now impossibly long, spiked upward like the mane of a divine beast. His aura wasn’t just power—it was a force of nature, bending the very fabric of space around him.

  “This… This can’t be possible,” Gairok muttered, his voice trembling. “Super Saiyan 3 is a myth… A legend! How the hell did you achieve it?”

  Zeelthar’s glowing eyes snapped open, locking onto Gairok with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. His once-arrogant smirk had vanished—his face was calm, but his presence was overwhelming.

  “You talk too much,” Zeelthar said coldly, his voice deeper, layered with power. “Let’s see if you can back it up.”

  Gairok roared in rage, his crimson aura igniting as he lunged forward, throwing a devastating punch aimed at Zeelthar’s skull. But before the attack could land—

  CRACK!

  Zeelthar’s hand effortlessly caught Gairok’s fist. The force behind it should’ve obliterated mountains, but Zeelthar didn’t even flinch. His grip tightened, and before Gairok could react—

  SPLURT!

  Zeelthar ripped Gairok’s arm clean off.

  The battlefield froze.

  Gairok staggered back, his mouth opening in a silent scream before he let out a horrific roar of agony. Dark red blood gushed from his shoulder, splattering across the cracked ground. His body trembled—not just from pain, but from fear.

  “This fight is over,” Zeelthar stated, tossing the severed arm aside like trash.

  From the distance, a figure descended from the sky, his dark cloak billowing as he landed atop a jagged rock formation. His sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, his expression unreadable.

  It was Vaiken, one of Zeelthar’s closest allies—a warrior feared across the cosmos for his ruthless precision in battle.

  His gaze flickered between the trembling Gairok and the unstoppable force that was Zeelthar. “So… The rumors were true.” He smirked. “You really did unlock it. The forbidden transformation.”

  Zeelthar said nothing, his golden aura still roaring like a wildfire.

  Vaiken crossed his arms. “Zeelthar, Zeelthar… Always the overachiever. First, you break the Saiyan hierarchy, now you’re tapping into myth.” He chuckled. “You realize what this means, right? You’re no longer just a warrior—you’re a symbol.”

  Zeelthar’s eyes narrowed. He knew what Vaiken meant. This wasn’t just a fight anymore. His power challenged history itself.

  The Saiyans would no longer see him as just another elite warrior.

  They would see him as something far greater.

  A kingkiller. A god-slayer.

  The End of Gairok

  Gairok, still clutching his bloody stump, grit his teeth and launched himself forward in desperation. “I won’t let you humiliate me, damn you!”

  Zeelthar moved before Gairok could even process it.

  A single strike.

  A thunderous shockwave.

  Zeelthar’s fist buried itself into Gairok’s gut, bending the brute’s body backward as saliva and blood erupted from his mouth. The impact wasn’t just physical—it crushed his spirit.

  With a flick of his wrist, Zeelthar sent Gairok hurtling through ten mountain ranges, his body skipping like a broken ragdoll before slamming into the distance. The silence that followed was deafening.

  Zeelthar exhaled, his golden aura still burning, his power still limitless.

  Vaiken let out a low whistle. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

  Zeelthar turned toward him. His piercing gaze cut through the silence. “Take him,” he ordered. “Zeelthar doesn’t kill the weak.”

  Vaiken smirked. “Hah. I like this new you.”

  Without another word, Vaiken vanished in a blur of speed, disappearing toward Gairok’s unconscious, broken form.

  Zeelthar, still standing amidst the battlefield’s destruction, clenched his fists. His new power thrummed through his body, but something about it felt… unreal.

  He had crossed a threshold.

  And now, the real war was about to begin.

  Gogetas story

  Chapter 1: The Arrival at the Saiyan Academy

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  ---

  Gogeta woke up to the sound of the sun rising over the Saiyan homeworld. His small, yet intense golden eyes stared at the ceiling, flickering with a burning energy that was almost too much to contain. At only seven years old, he had already shown an immense potential far beyond the typical Saiyan child. Yet, despite his natural abilities, there was one thing his mother, Bumma, couldn’t ignore—he needed training.

  Today, however, was different. Today, she was going to make sure he went to the Saiyan Academy.

  Bumma, Gogeta’s mother, stood at the door, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her son as he lay in bed. "Gogeta, get up," she said, her voice sharp but filled with affection. "You need to train. You’ve been slacking, and the academy is waiting for you. You can’t keep avoiding it."

  Gogeta groaned, his hands covering his eyes. "I don’t want to go, Mom. I don’t need some academy to tell me what to do. I can train myself. I’m already stronger than most."

  Bumma’s expression softened for a moment, but then she shook her head. "It’s not just about being strong, Gogeta. It’s about learning discipline, control, and harnessing your power properly. You can’t keep acting like this forever."

  Gogeta sat up, his spiked black hair catching the sunlight. "I can do all that myself! I’m strong enough already, right?" He smirked, his tail swishing with impatience.

  Bumma sighed and crossed the room to him. "No, Gogeta. You need to go. I’m signing you up today, and that’s final."

  ---

  The Saiyan Academy

  Later that day, Gogeta found himself walking beside his mother, who led the way toward the massive Saiyan Academy. The towering stone walls loomed over them as they approached the entrance. Gogeta couldn’t help but stare up at the grand structure, feeling a mix of curiosity and annoyance. It looked like a place where only the strongest of Saiyans would go, yet something inside him made him want to refuse.

  As they walked through the gates, Bumma guided him into the main hall where an older Saiyan male was standing behind a counter, looking like he had seen hundreds of children walk through these doors. He gave them both a nod before turning his attention to Gogeta.

  "You must be the new recruit," he said in a low, gruff voice, eyeing Gogeta with a mix of interest and suspicion.

  Gogeta didn’t respond right away. He was trying to make himself seem indifferent, but the fire inside him was burning too brightly. He wasn’t just any Saiyan child. He was something else—something more.

  "I’ll sign him up, thank you," Bumma said before her son could say anything. She pulled out a tablet and started typing in the necessary information. "He’s a bit… special, so I’m sure he’ll stand out here."

  The Saiyan behind the counter raised an eyebrow. "Special, huh? That’s what they all say. But every Saiyan here has potential. It’s whether or not they can control it."

  Bumma smiled, but her eyes remained serious. "Don’t worry, he’ll handle it."

  ---

  First Day in Class

  Gogeta was placed in the youngest class of the academy. It was filled with children around his age, some older, some younger, all buzzing with energy. Most of them shot him curious glances as he entered the training hall. Gogeta wasn’t sure what to expect—he knew his strength was far beyond any of them, but would that matter? This wasn’t just about brute force; he had to prove himself to these kids and to himself.

  As Gogeta made his way to the center of the room, several of the kids stared at him, sizing him up. One of them, a young boy with spiky red hair, approached. "Hey, you’re the new kid, right? You look pretty strong. Think you can keep up with us?"

  Gogeta didn’t flinch. "I can keep up just fine. Who are you?"

  The boy grinned. "Name’s Kato. We can train together, yeah?" He looked Gogeta up and down. "I’m guessing you don’t want to be left behind, right?"

  Before Gogeta could answer, a girl with short blue hair stepped forward. She had a serious expression on her face, but there was a glint of competition in her eyes. "He’s strong, sure. But does he have the brains to match? Strength is one thing. Strategy is another."

  Gogeta eyed her, amused. "I’ve got both. I’m Gogeta."

  "Vela," the girl said, offering a short nod. "Don’t get too cocky. Strength doesn’t always win."

  Gogeta raised an eyebrow. "We’ll see about that."

  ---

  Training Begins

  The day’s first exercise was basic hand-to-hand combat, something Gogeta had been doing for years. But the others were still learning how to hold their stances, how to punch without wasting energy. To Gogeta, it all seemed like slow-motion. He dodged and countered with ease, and whenever a kid tried to challenge him, he simply knocked them aside without breaking a sweat.

  Vela watched him carefully, studying his every move. She had seen strong kids before, but there was something different about Gogeta. It was more than just raw power; it was his precision, his focus. Still, she wasn’t about to make it easy for him.

  During the next round of sparring, Vela was the first to challenge him. "Let’s see what you’ve really got," she said, crossing her arms.

  Gogeta grinned, his tail flicking back and forth. "You sure you’re ready for this?"

  The Extended Fight: Gogeta vs. Vela

  ---

  The tension in the training room was thick as the students and instructors formed a circle around Gogeta and Vela. Their eyes locked, anticipation in the air. Vela stood, fists clenched, her body relaxed but ready. Gogeta, at just seven years old, stood with an almost playful smirk on his face. To anyone watching, he appeared like a child who was in over his head.

  “Let’s make this a good one, Gogeta,” Vela said, her tone calm but laced with the hint of challenge. She was a strong fighter for her age—nine years old—almost two years older than him. And she knew what she was up against. Gogeta wasn’t just strong—he was a prodigy. But even he wasn’t invincible.

  Before Gogeta could respond, Vela was already in motion. She darted forward with explosive speed, her movements fluid as she shifted into a series of precise martial arts strikes, targeting Gogeta’s face and torso. Her speed was remarkable for someone her age, but it was clear that Gogeta’s reflexes were already sharp enough to follow her movements.

  Gogeta didn’t move, his eyes tracking each of her attacks with calm precision. Vela launched a swift high kick toward his face, but with a fluid twist of his body, Gogeta dodged it, barely shifting his stance. Vela’s face tightened, surprised by his ability to anticipate her every move.

  “You’re fast, but not fast enough,” Gogeta said, his voice barely above a whisper as he effortlessly evaded another series of punches.

  Vela wasn’t giving up. She immediately launched a barrage of strikes—a flurry of elbows, knees, and spinning kicks—hoping to overwhelm him. But Gogeta was still moving with ease. He blocked an incoming punch, his other hand reaching out to grab her wrist before she could land another blow. With a twist, he flipped her onto the ground with almost no effort.

  The watching students gasped in awe. They had never seen anyone their age move like this, especially not someone so young. Vela quickly recovered, rolling to her feet, her brow furrowing in frustration.

  “You’re good, Gogeta,” she said, her voice determined. “But you won’t win with just speed and power!”

  She switched tactics. Her movements became more deliberate, more strategic. Vela began to focus on subtle shifts in Gogeta’s stance, trying to disrupt his balance. She aimed to strike his weaker points, testing him. Each time Gogeta dodged, she would close the distance again, trying to land a hit.

  But Gogeta’s movements were so fluid, so natural, it seemed like he could predict her every move. As she kicked low, trying to sweep him off his feet, Gogeta jumped just high enough to avoid her. He landed smoothly, his eyes flashing with the faintest trace of annoyance.

  “That won’t work,” Gogeta muttered under his breath, his body barely giving any indication that he was exerting effort.

  Frustration began to show on Vela’s face as her attacks grew more erratic. She tried to switch her technique again, this time attempting to overwhelm him with a series of rapid punches aimed at his head. But with a single swipe, Gogeta deflected her blows, pushing her back.

  The spectators began to murmur, their eyes wide with admiration and disbelief. Gogeta wasn’t just strong—he was calculating, using technique and instinct in a way far beyond his age. But Vela was a skilled fighter, and her persistence was beginning to show. As Gogeta stood back, slightly out of breath, Vela lunged at him with a series of feints, attempting to break through his guard.

  Suddenly, something in Gogeta snapped.

  His eyes narrowed, the faintest glow beginning to radiate from his body. His aura flared to life, surrounding him with a powerful golden glow. Vela, caught in the middle of her strike, froze as she felt the intense energy surge from Gogeta.

  “Enough games,” he muttered, his voice low and determined. He clenched his fists.

  In a flash of light, Gogeta’s hair spiked upward, turning a bright, golden hue. His energy exploded outward, sending a shockwave through the room. The students and instructors gasped, their jaws dropping at the display of power from the seven-year-old.

  One of the instructors, a middle-aged Saiyan man with sharp eyes, watched in stunned silence, his mouth agape. “He’s... only seven?” he whispered, barely able to believe what he was seeing.

  Gogeta’s presence had transformed entirely. His power had surged, and every inch of his body seemed to pulse with raw energy. Vela, still standing a few feet away, took a step back, her eyes wide with disbelief.

  “What the—?!”

  Gogeta smirked, his body now radiating a fierce golden aura as his pupils gleamed with determination. “You wanted a fight, Vela? Let’s see if you can keep up.”

  The transformation was instantaneous. With a single movement, Gogeta closed the distance between them, his speed now so overwhelming that Vela barely had time to react. She attempted to block one of his punches, but the force behind it was too much, sending her crashing back into the ground.

  The students watching couldn’t believe their eyes. They had all seen transformations before, but never like this. Gogeta’s energy was unlike anything they had experienced. His strength was beyond anything they could fathom for a child his age.

  Vela, struggling to regain her footing, looked up in awe as Gogeta stood tall, his aura flaring around him like an unstoppable force. His golden hair shimmered, his eyes locked on hers, and for the first time, Vela saw that same quiet confidence she had noticed earlier—only now, it was backed by power.

  “Is this really all you’ve got?” Gogeta’s voice was calm, almost indifferent. “I’ve barely even begun.”

  Vela gritted her teeth, frustration boiling over. But she was determined not to go down without a fight. She got back to her feet, charging at him with all the strength she could muster, her hands moving in a blur as she attempted to land a decisive blow.

  But Gogeta was faster, stronger. With a fluid sidestep, he dodged her attacks and delivered a precise strike to her midsection, knocking the wind out of her. The students cheered, but the instructor—still in shock—took frantic notes, scribbling down every moment of Gogeta’s performance.

  Vela staggered back, her breath heavy, but she didn’t give up. She looked at Gogeta, now standing with his arms crossed, his golden aura still shimmering around him.

  “Impressive,” Vela said, gasping for air. “But it’s not over yet.”

  “I think it is,” Gogeta replied, his eyes glowing fiercely as his power continued to surge.

  In that moment, Vela knew she had met her match. But the fight wasn’t just about power—it was about heart. And Gogeta had more than enough of that to go around.