Dragon Ball Alternative

Vegeta felt like he was dying. The agony shooting through his back was so fierce that even the lightest touch of his skin against the soft fabric of his inner armor felt like shards of glass tearing at his nerves.

Yet, through sheer force of will, he planted one shaking hand on the ground and began pushing himself up. His legs almost buckled, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to rise. As he rose, he caught the sound of Frieza's grating voice through the pounding of his heart.

"I'm almost done here, so just stay right where you are."

But Frieza wasn't looking in his direction. No, his words were directed at the rest of the so-called "allies"—the bald one, the Namekian, and Kakarot's spawn.

Blood welled in Vegeta's mouth as he forced himself to stand tall. Slowly, he turned, his unbroken pride silently conveyed through the stubborn lift of his chin.

Finally, Frieza's eyes met his with a single brow arched in amusement.

Vegeta wasn't stupid. He understood the meaning behind that look. To Frieza, he wasn't a threat—just a nuisance, a piece of flotsam caught in the waves. And as much as it twisted his gut to admit it, Frieza was right. He never stood a chance.

His gaze flicked briefly toward the others.

Their presence was a reminder that he needed Frieza's attention to stay on him, not on Kakarot, who must be receiving care from that healer boy.

Admitting the truth made his blood boil, but that clown Kakarot had surpassed him as the strongest Saiyan and was now their best hope. If the moron could hang on long enough for the magic kid to heal him, the resulting Zenkai boost might just propel him past his current limits—past Frieza.

That being said, his actions weren't motivated by any desire to help Kakarot. He had no intentions of throwing his life away for that imbecile. No, Vegeta was sacrificing himself for the survival—and the eventual triumph—of the Saiyan race.

However, by doing this, Vegeta was conceding that he was silently entrusting his hopes for victory in Kakarot's hands. It was a blow to his pride, but somehow, he found himself at peace with it. He could, begrudgingly, come to terms with the fact that he wouldn't be the one to kill Frieza. He could even accept that the one to defeat Frieza might not bear the title of the Prince of All Saiyans.

But then again, the title "Prince of All Saiyans" was just that—a title. It could be passed to any Saiyan, so long as they were the strongest. And at this point, Vegeta could no longer deny that his own weakness and failures had stripped him of the right to bear that title. He was no longer worthy of it.

But his current situation meant he couldn't officially pass it on to Kakarot either.

So, the title would likely die with him.

Vegeta hated that. Because, for him, "Prince of All Saiyans" was more than just a title; it was his identity, his legacy, and, for most of his life, his greatest source of pride.

For so long, he had clung to his titles and vows like lifelines. The one destined to avenge the enslavement of his race. The one who would stand victorious over Frieza's corpse. The strongest Saiyan. These goals and promises had molded him, defined him. But now, one by one, they had slipped through his fingers, never to be fulfilled.

If so, what, then, was the purpose of 'Vegeta'?

What was the point of his existence if he failed every step of the destiny he needed to achieve? Had he accomplished anything? Changed anything? Without his pride, without his title, without his vengeance, who even was he?

Even after contemplating it ever since Kakarot had first engaged Frieza, Vegeta still had no answer. And now, he no longer had the time nor the capacity to keep pondering it.

So, he took action instead.

Because, in the end, all that really mattered was giving Kakarot the opportunity to finish what Vegeta could not. This way, when Frieza finally fell, it would be because of the unyielding will of a Saiyan.

And if the final act of his pointless existence was to buy the time needed for that victory, then so be it. If his life had no other meaning, then at least it would have this. At least his death would serve a purpose.

For Vegeta, that was enough.

None of these thoughts were shared—not spoken nor conveyed telepathically. Vegeta saw no need to explain himself, to justify his actions, or his motives. Kakarot and the others would likely never understand why he had foolishly stepped forward to challenge Frieza. They wouldn't know of the silent decision he had made to forfeit his title, nor the shame and hope he felt. But that was simply how Vegeta operated. His actions spoke louder than his words, and his words were ironclad.

And now, after enduring Frieza's torment, his body was at its absolute limit. He had already bought as much time as he could for Kakarot's recovery. He had already done everything within his power.

Except for one thing.

An end worthy of the former Prince of All Saiyans.

One last attack. One final explosion.

With a sense of finality, Vegeta tore away what little remained of his shattered armor, revealing his battered body for all to see. His torso was covered with cuts and bruises, and blood dripped from wounds both old and new.

From deep within, his energy ignited, shining with the fierce brilliance of a dying star's final, glorious blaze. Faint specks of light drifted away from his glowing form, rising like ghostly fireflies into the sky.

Without hesitation, Vegeta launched himself at Frieza with a ferocity so unrestrained it bordered on fanaticism. The way he flung himself forward, arms outstretched, momentarily resembled a maiden throwing herself into the embrace of her beloved.

It was unfortunate that Frieza was less than accommodating.

With utter indifference, his leg shot up faster than the eye could follow, becoming a streak of white and purple that struck the charging Vegeta—

—right in the dick.

Vegeta's momentum came to a dead stop.

For one agonizing moment, the entire battlefield turned eerily quiet. It was as if the universe itself had a moment of silence for the grievous violation of the Universal Fighting Bro Code.

A short distance away, the entire Z Fighter crew flinched in unison. Even Piccolo, who rarely showed any emotion, winced and averted his gaze, muttering something along the lines of, "Yeah, I know. Even Vegeta didn't deserve that."

Meanwhile, Vegeta slumped limply off Frieza's leg and collapsed to the ground in an ungraceful heap. The glow around him vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, snuffed out like a candle caught in an unforgiving gust.

"Oh," Frieza said, blinking innocently. "My apologies. That was not my intent."

Frieza lied.

Curled on the floor, Vegeta's mouth hung open in what was undoubtedly a scream of pure agony. No sound came out, but whether that was because his scream was too high-pitched for mortal ears or because his body had simply "peaced out" was anyone's guess.

"Well," Frieza said as he observed Vegeta writhe on the ground like a worm. "Perhaps I overdid it just a little."

He hadn't. He'd done exactly what he intended to do.

On the ground, Vegeta's body locked up as he endured the most excruciating pain of his life. His ears rang with a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else, while his vision swam and darkened at the edges. It felt as though his very world was falling apart.

He also wanted to throw up.

But somewhere through all that pain, he heard it: Frieza's fake, high-pitched laugh.

"Now, now, Vegeta, don't pin the blame on me," Frieza tutted, as though chastising a misbehaving child. "Haven't I made myself clear? When you die, it will be on your knees, groveling like the wretched little monkey you are. You remember that, don't you?" He paused briefly, his smile widening. "And besides…"

Frieza leaned in ever so slightly.

"Suicide is the coward's way out~."

Then, abruptly—

"H-Hey!"

It was Krillin.

Frieza, who had been fully engrossed in his torment of Vegeta, lazily turned just enough to bring the others into his peripheral vision. His expression shifted back into one of mild annoyance.

"You b-broke the Fighting Bro Code, F-Frieza!" Krillin's voice cracked as he stammered. He waved his arms frantically, trying to get Frieza's attention. "You—you should give Vegeta, uh, thirty seconds—no, a minute—to recover! That's like, a universal rule!"

Krillin was scrambling to think on his feet, doing his best to buy even a moment of time. There was no plan behind his actions, not really, but anything that bought them even a fraction of a second was better than standing idle and doing nothing.

In truth, it was a reasonably good attempt, but…

"Really?" Frieza shot Krillin a cold, withering look. "What, exactly, gave you the impression that I care about such juvenile nonsense?"

…it was unfortunate that Frieza didn't give a single flying fuck.

At Frieza's cold glance, Krillin froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He had no response.

A slight movement on the ground caught everyone's attention. They turned in unison, eyes wide when they realized it was Vegeta. Despite the brutal blow to his family jewels, the Saiyan prince still wasn't done yet. Somehow, he was still trying to rise.

Vegeta's fingers twitched in the dirt before clenching into fists. His legs trembled like a newborn foal's as he dragged one knee under him, then the other.

"Frieza…" Vegeta's voice was high-pitched, half an octave higher than normal, as he fought to stand. "I'm not…" His words broke off with a sharp gasp as his knees buckled beneath him. But with a growl of determination, he straightened again, swaying slightly as he stood on unsteady legs.

"I'm not done with—!"

Vegeta's words were abruptly ended by the violent spray of blood from his mouth. He froze, and slowly, almost as if in a daze, his gaze drifted downward.

It took him a moment to register the pale white arm lodged deep within his abdomen.

Frieza's arm.

It took another moment to realize that Frieza had closed the distance and impaled him in the time it took for a single blink.

He hadn't even seen the lizard move.

Vegeta's body stiffened in shock, and his hands instinctively reached for the arm embedded in his stomach, clutching it as if he could wrench it free. His vision blurred, shadows creeping in at the edges, but he willed himself to lift his gaze.

Frieza seemed to tower above him.

"What a shame, Vegeta," Frieza drawled casually. "Because I'm quite done with you."

Vegeta felt a strange, unfamiliar pressure deep within his abdomen. Frieza's hand dug around, burrowing into him before seizing something from within. The pressure intensified for a brief moment before the unbearable agony hit as the tyrant yanked his arm out in one swift, ruthless motion.

Red blood surged as Frieza pulled back, his hand drenched in gore. Tightly clenched between his fingers was something slick and crimson—a length of red rope.

Vegeta blinked slowly as his brain struggled to interpret the visual input.

Ah. That was his intestine.

The ground seemed to lurch upward as Vegeta crumpled to his knees. With his head hung low, he saw the length of his intestines slip further from the gaping wound in his stomach.

Frieza's sneer twisted with pure revulsion as he released the intestine. With a sick plop, the rest of it dropped to the ground, forming a small grotesque pile at Vegeta's knees.

"Well, well, well," Frieza shook his bloodied hand, sending droplets of crimson splattering to the ground. "Thus ends your story, Vegeta. How… anticlimactic."

Vegeta strained to lift his head, though it felt as though an entire mountain was pressing it down. His exhausted, half-closed eyes met Frieza's, who stood only a few feet away.

Frieza extended his hand, and from his open palm, a Death Ball began to take shape. The heat from the orb made the blood on Frieza's hand hiss and evaporate, leaving behind crimson flakes that peeled off and drifted through the air like ash.

The eerie glow of the Death Ball illuminated Frieza's face, and the sharp light cast over his cruel, angular features made him look every bit like the demon he was.

"Unfortunately, I lack both the time and patience to properly break you, so I suppose I shall settle for this. A shame, really." Frieza sighed, feigning disappointment. "But I will take comfort in this: that despite your oh-so-proud vow to die fighting, to never bow, here you are! Precisely where you swore you'd never be—kneeling before me. Waiting to be culled like livestock. Just like your father."

The words hit Vegeta like a blow, and he felt his heart pump a fresh wave of anger through him. Every inch of his being demanded he rise, strike, do something—but his body refused to obey. His muscles felt as immovable as stone.

Then, Vegeta registered Frieza saying, "Ah, just another example of another vow you couldn't keep."

Vegeta's fury boiled, but no words came; his strength had been utterly drained.

As his gaze remained fixed on Frieza, something caught his eye—a flicker of movement beyond the tyrant's shoulder. Vegeta's instincts flared, and his eyes locked onto a sudden burst of electricity.

Frieza, too, must have sensed it. His crimson eyes darted to the side, just in time to see Nappa's massive leg swinging through the air, aiming a powerful kick directly at the hand holding the Death Ball. Nappa's boot connected cleanly, and the crackling sphere was sent upward into the sky.

But Nappa wasn't finished. With a roar, he launched himself into a rapid assault, fists and feet flying rapidly.

Frieza, however, easily dodged Nappa's wild strikes. After a brief exchange, the tyrant nimbly leaped backward, putting several meters of distance between them. His feet touched the ground lightly as he casually brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder.

Nappa landed heavily between Frieza and Vegeta, his boots slamming into the earth with such force that a small plume of dust rose around his foot. His stance was wide, his massive arms flexed, as faint electricity crackled around his body. Without sparing a glance at Vegeta, Nappa roared at Frieza.

"If you want to get to Vegeta, you'll have to go through me first!"

Behind him, Vegeta let out a feeble growl, "S-shut the fuck up, Nappa! This isn't your fight!"

"It is now, Vegeta! What kind of general would I be if I let my prince die before me?!"

"Then, s-stand down!" Vegeta snapped, his hands gripping his stomach tightly as he struggled to keep his intestines from slipping out. "This is an order! A direct order!"

At that, Nappa finally shot a sharp glance over his shoulder at the kneeling Vegeta. When their eyes met, the world seemed to pause. Nappa's gaze dropped, taking in the blood pooling beneath Vegeta and the trembling of his prince's hands as he fought to hold himself together—physically and mentally. He looked back into Vegeta's eyes, his expression unreadable, before it hardened into something else.

"I refuse! You said it yourself—the Prince of All Saiyans should not die on his knees!"

"I'm not worthy of that title anymore…" Vegeta's voice was quiet and bitter.

Nappa looked surprised by the admission. His broad shoulders stiffened, but years spent by Vegeta's side had given him an unmatched understanding of Vegeta's mindset. The meaning of Vegeta's words clicked into place almost instantly.

He shot Vegeta a pointed look and asked, "Is that why you charged at Frieza alone? Are you giving up?"

Vegeta jolted at Nappa's words, his pain momentarily forgotten as he stared at Nappa with wide eyes.

A short distance away, Frieza observed the scene with a sneer, his eyes half-lidded in boredom.

"How touching," he interrupted, his tail lazily swaying behind him. "But surely, you're aware of how pointless this little charade is. Nappa, wasn't it? I didn't peg you as the type to be so eager to follow Vegeta into the grave."

Without warning, Frieza raised his hand. The movement was slow and languid, but it carried an undeniable sense of inevitability.

Nappa tensed as his attention snapped back to Frieza. But what could he do? Against Frieza's monstrous power of 90 million, he was nothing more than a hapless insect scrambling beneath a magnifying glass.

Frieza flexed his fingers.

Nappa's scream tore from his throat. His limbs contorted unnaturally, bones snapping with sickening cracks as they folded in on themselves. His skin tore open, dark blood seeping from the jagged wounds as his arms and legs warped grotesquely, curling like pretzels under an invisible force.

The telekinetic assault was executed so swiftly that no one could have reacted, let alone intervened. One moment, Nappa stood bracing himself; the next, he was crumpling to his ruined knees, howling in pain.

It was brutal.

It was efficient.

But it was anything but painless.

"N—no…!" Vegeta snarled through clenched teeth. His vision swam as he pressed a trembling hand to the gaping wound in his stomach, his palm slick with blood as he desperately tried to keep his insides from spilling out. "You d-dumbass!"

But all Vegeta could do was watch in horror and fury as Frieza sauntered casually toward Nappa.

Nappa lifted his head to glare at the tyrant. Blood dripped from his mouth, but his teeth were bared in a snarl of pure hatred.

"You'll g-get yours one day, F-F-Frieza!"

Frieza stopped in front of Nappa and tilted his head with curiosity.

"Will I, now?" he said softly, almost sweetly, as if addressing a child lost in a naive fantasy. "Regardless, I don't think you'll live long enough to see it."

With that, Frieza raised a single, delicate finger and gently prodded Nappa's forehead. The touch was insultingly light, like brushing dust from a surface, but it was enough to send Nappa off balance.

The Saiyan General snarled as he toppled backward. Another roar of pain tore from his throat as he hit the ground, but he refused to look away from Frieza.

Frieza chuckled coldly. With the same unhurried pace, he raised his foot and placed it firmly on Nappa's chest. The pressure was light at first, almost teasing, but the intent behind it was clear. Frieza's grin stretched wider as he pressed down a little harder, causing a strained groan to escape Nappa as the weight on his chest grew.

Frieza didn't neglect to take a moment to cast a brief glance at the rest of the peanuts behind him. It was fleeting, but his overwhelming killing intent conveyed an unspoken warning to stay out of the way.

Frieza made eye contact with Piccolo.

Beside Piccolo, Gohan—who hadn't caught Frieza's subtle glance—twitched with a deep, instinctual urge to help. His fists clenched, and his Ki flickered erratically around him. But before he could act, a firm green hand gripped his shoulder and held him in place. Gohan's eyes shot upward to meet Piccolo's solemn gaze.

Piccolo gave a single shake of his head.

Gohan hesitated as his eyes drifted back to the scene before him. But in the end, he heeded his mentor's warning. A wave of helplessness twisted in his gut as he once again stood by, unable to act.

"Any last words? Consider it my final gift to you," Frieza asked Nappa with a wide smile. He applied more pressure, clearly savoring the way he stretched out Nappa's agony.

By now, Nappa had realized what was coming. He let out nothing more than a strangled grunt, suppressing a scream as Frieza's foot pressed down harder on his chest. His breaths became shallow under the pressure, and he knew his time was running out—Frieza was going to kill him. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to tilt his head back, craning to catch a glimpse of Vegeta one last time. His vision was blurry, but Nappa managed to find him.

"Vegeta," Nappa rasped, his voice gravelly. "Don't look at me like that." He mustered a faint, lopsided grin through the blood on his face. "I've been ready for this moment since the day I swore my loyalty to you. This... this is just another step on the path I chose."

Vegeta's jaw clenched tighter as if he were trying to crush his frustration and shame into nothing. His hands, pressed against the earth, curled into fists, his nails digging into the soil beneath him. But he remained silent.

Nappa's gaze softened as he regarded the younger Saiyan with something unspoken and almost paternal in his eyes.

"It's been a long journey, hasn't it?" he continued, his tone quieter now. "From the day you were a scrappy little prince, all fire and fury, too stubborn to see beyond your own nose. Always hell-bent on proving yourself and showing the universe what you were made of."

He let out a shaky breath, a faint chuckle slipping out. "You've carried the entire Saiyan race on your back your whole life. You've done more for us than anyone could ever have hoped."

Unbeknownst to Vegeta, Nappa's mind wandered as a cascade of memories rushed at him. He saw flashes of their shared past—a much younger Vegeta, no taller than his hip, eyes blazing with will. Nappa remembered shielding the boy from ambushes on hostile planets, teaching him the nuances of combat, and tending to his wounds after brutal training sessions. He recalled secretly witnessing that boy scream his vows to the stars.

Beneath it all, there was a boy crushed by the weight of impossible expectations. And yet, that boy who shouldered the aspirations of his entire race—who should have crumbled, who should have given up—never uttered a single complaint. Instead, he stood tall and quietly outworked everyone around him until he wielded a strength far beyond his years.

Nappa had never said it aloud, but he had always admired that strength. It was why he had devoted himself to nurturing it, protecting it, and following it to the bitter end.

The present came crashing back as a loud crack rang from Nappa's ribs, reminding him that both his time and Frieza's patience were very limited. Nappa spluttered violently as blood spilled from his mouth.

With the last of his strength, Nappa gathered whatever Ki he could muster. The energy gathered in his throat, flickering as it made its way to his lips—a dim, dying ember held together by sheer will. The tiny Ki orb drifted toward Vegeta, fragile like a small spark, but it was all he had left to give. It faded into Vegeta's chest.

"T-take this. It's not much… but it's all I have left. Take it, and know that I've stood by you through everything—not because I had to, but because I believed in you." His voice cracked, but he pushed the words out nonetheless. "So, take my energy… my life… and finish what you started. Fulfill your promises, Vegeta. You'll rise again. I know you always do."

Crack, crack, crack…

"It's been an honor, my Prince. You've made this old soldier proud." A weak chuckle escaped, more of a croak than a laugh, as Nappa added, "I guess… I'll shut up now. Sorry for being such a pain in the ass all the time."

Crunch!

The sound marked the end of Nappa's suffering. His ribcage shattered completely, jagged bones splintering and collapsing inward. His chest caved in, and Frieza's foot pressed mercilessly into what remained.