Son of the Queen: A Saiyan Among Gods

Chapter 1: Clash Beyond Reality

The Null Realm trembled.

An infinite expanse of void, silent and lightless, now shuddered as two powers collided with such force that even the Gods of Destruction stood frozen in awe. Reality cracked, space folded in on itself, and time became meaningless.

At the center of this storm stood two beings—mortal by birth, divine by power.

Jiren, the Pride of Universe 11, glowed with raw crimson energy. His red aura flared violently, torn clothing clinging to his impossibly muscular frame. He stood like a mountain unmoved by time, an embodiment of iron will. His every breath hummed with power.

Facing him was Son Goku, silver-haired and silver-eyed. He emanated calm, divine serenity. Ultra Instinct surrounded him in a shimmering halo of silver-white light, his breathing composed despite his body screaming in fatigue. Muscles tense, eyes still, heart unwavering.

The warriors of Universe 7 and 11 watched from the stands, accompanied by their Supreme Kais and Gods of Destruction. Even the usually aloof Angels had returned from the far reaches of their universes to witness this final moment.

The air around the fighters was thick with silence... and then—

A shout. A flash.

"KA... ME... HA... ME... HAAAAAA!"

The beam surged forward like a star unleashed. Jiren countered with a roar, but Goku's attack consumed everything. In a flash of light, Jiren was blasted backward, vanishing into the distance.

He reappeared in the stands of Universe 11—wounded, drained, defeated.

His comrades stared in horror. They knew what came next.

Jiren turned to Goku one final time and, with quiet acceptance, gave him a thumbs up. A faint smile crossed his bruised face—part pride, part sorrow.

"Universe 11: All participants eliminated."

The voice of the Grand Priest echoed like a divine judgment. A blinding light swept across the stands. Within seconds, Universe 11 was gone—erased. All except their Angel.

From the void emerged Zeno, King of All, his small form radiating cosmic authority. The Grand Priest stood beside him, a living conduit of order.

He looked at Goku, and his voice softened.

"Son Goku. You have won the Tournament of Power. And in doing so, you have mastered what even the gods have failed to achieve."

He paused.

"But your mortal body... was never meant to wield such power."

Goku nodded, smiling faintly.

"Then let my wish be this," he said without hesitation. "Restore all the universes erased by Zeno."

The Grand Priest nodded, raising his hand. Super Shenron was summoned, and in the sacred tongue of the gods, the wish was made.

Across all realms, life returned.

But Universe 7 did not celebrate.

They watched as Goku's form shimmered. His edges blurred. His very essence began to fade. Whis had warned them: even a body as strong as Goku's could not sustain such divine energy forever.

He turned to the stands, locking eyes with his friends.

"Gohan, take care of your mother and Goten. Vegeta... the Earth's in your hands now."

With that, Son Goku vanished.

Tears flowed. Warriors bowed. Even the Destroyers stood in solemn silence. For the first time, a mortal had walked among the gods—and surpassed them.

But not all was lost.

In the shadows, a mysterious figure watched. With a flick of fingers, he opened a dimensional rift and slipped through.

What he did not know... was that the Grand Priest, by Zeno's order, had preserved a single spark of Goku's essence.

And that spark followed him into the unknown.

Chapter 2: Birth of the Impossible

At Mount Olympus

Mount Olympus, a realm suspended in the clouds and wreathed in divine grandeur, stood tall and eternal. The skies above it never stormed unless Zeus willed it, and the winds whispered hymns in reverence to its immortal inhabitants. Beneath the ethereal sunlight, nymphs danced through golden gardens, dryads whispered from marble pillars, and the scent of ambrosia drifted like perfume through the air. Yet even among this eternal paradise, tension loomed.

Inside the grand Hall of the Gods—a chamber vast enough to rival Madison Square Garden—the thrones of the Twelve Olympians formed a majestic U around the eternal hearth of Hestia. The flames licked upward in slow motion, casting divine shadows on the polished celestial marble.

(Author's Note: Though Percy Jackson's Olympus currently floats above the Empire State Building in modern times, this story is set in the age of ancient Greece. Olympus, in this era, resides in its classical peak above Thessaly—but the myths remain unchanged.)

The Council was in uproar.

Zeus, lord of the skies, sat tall with storm clouds writhing in his palm. Poseidon, his brother, leaned back with a thunderous scowl.

"This time, you've gone too far, brother," Poseidon said. "You have sired another child. Another demi-god."

"Not the first, certainly not the last," Hermes muttered with a chuckle as he whispered to Apollo.

Ares smirked, arms crossed. "At least this one sounds promising. I say let him live—let's see if he can fight."

Hephaestus tinkered with an orb of celestial bronze, mostly ignoring the conversation. Aphrodite was busy examining her reflection in a polished mirror, while Artemis sharpened her silver blade, her eyes quietly seething.

"Enough," Hera's voice cut through the din like a blade. She rose from her throne, radiant and terrible. Her piercing brown eyes silenced even the wind. "I will not sit here while my husband dishonors me again."

Hestia opened her mouth to speak, but Hera cut her off with a raised hand. "I need time. You may continue your deliberations."

And with a flash of light, she vanished.

Somewhere Beyond Time

Hera stood on a precipice between worlds, far from Olympus, in a grove of ever-blooming flame lilies. Her heart, usually guarded by layers of pride and duty, trembled. She regretted her pact with Zeus more than ever—his infidelity, his recklessness, his indifference to the pain he left behind.

Her thoughts swirled in chaos.

And Chaos answered.

A rift tore through the air—silent and sudden. From it emerged a swirling orb of light, an essence not of god or titan, but something older. Primordial.

The essence slammed into her before she could flee. She gasped as part of her own divine core unraveled—threads of her essence were drawn out and woven into the invading light. Pain surged through her spine, but so did something else—creation.

She fell to her knees, trembling.

And then—a cry.

Before her, wrapped in a glowing blanket of her own golden aura, lay a child.

He had spiky black hair, glowing onyx eyes that shimmered with unknowable depth, and—shockingly—a monkey-like tail. The child radiated power. Not divine power. Not titan-born strength. Something alien. Limitless.

Hera, though stunned, stepped forward. The child wailed and thrashed his tail—but when it curled around her wrist, he stilled. He opened his large, shining eyes… and laughed.

She blinked.

That laugh cracked something in her. Something long hidden behind scorn and betrayal.

Hera lifted the child into her arms. He looked up at her with joy and trust, unknowing of the world's cruelty. She remembered her sons—Ares, hardened by war. Hephaestus, cast from Olympus at birth. No more.

"This time," she whispered, "I will do better."

She cradled the boy tightly. "From now on, your name shall be Kakarot. Son of Hera."

The stars above shimmered.

Later: The Hearth of Safety

In the quietest corner of Olympus, Hestia stood in her sanctuary, flames dancing around her fingertips. She looked up as Hera appeared, child in arms.

"I cannot raise him on Olympus," Hera said. "Too many eyes. Too much pride."

Hestia extended her arms. "Then let him grow near the hearth. I will keep him hidden. Loved."

And so it was done.

Kakarot—the warrior from another cosmos, born anew from divine and cosmic essence—grew up beside sacred flames. He learned gentleness before power, heart before strength.

But in the dark corners of the universe, Chaos smiled. The loom of fate had been split. And a figure cloaked in white, with skin of stars and a smile like judgment, turned away from his viewing sphere.

"Let the game begin," whispered the Grand Priest.

To be continued..