The dawn came blood-orange. Not for symbolism, but because the planet's twin suns burned low on the horizon like smoldering coals, choking the sky in dust. Kakarot stood atop a jagged ridge above the canyon, his arms folded. The wind tossed his hair, but he did not flinch.
Behind him, the camp stirred. Dozens of once-forgotten Saiyans were training, coordinating, thinking. They were becoming more than warriors. They were becoming weapons with minds.
And minds could change the galaxy.
> "They'll come for us soon," he said.
Taroa stood beside him, clutching a cracked tablet glowing with biotic readouts.
> "They already are. The Elites are mobilizing units to the southern hemisphere. Scouting teams are being sent to investigate the 'Rogue Uprising.'"
He didn't look at her.
> "Good. Let them come."
---
—The Iron Heir—
The throne room of King Vegeta was carved from blackstone, its walls lined with the decayed armor of fallen foes. Torches burned blue with gravity-flame, casting dancing shadows across the marble. Beside the throne stood Prince Vegeta, barely a teen, but already cloaked in arrogance sharpened by pride.
> "He's gathering insects," the boy scoffed. "They can't stand before the Elite."
> "It's not about standing," Bardock said from below, his voice hard. "It's about spreading."
King Vegeta's glare cut sharper than any sword.
> "And you let your son start this rebellion?"
> "My son isn't rebelling."
> "No?"
Bardock's fists clenched. His scouter beeped faintly—high, irregular pulses from the southern canyons.
> "He's transforming."
---
—Confrontation at Bloodstone Gorge—
The Elite Strike Force came at dusk.
Three squads. High-grade scouters. Full-armored juggernauts with years of battlefield cruelty behind them. They didn't speak as they surrounded the gorge. No negotiations. No diplomacy. Only energy charges warming in their palms.
And at the center, Kakarot stood shirtless, arms open.
> "You're early," he said with a grin.
The first blast came fast—blue, hot, and lethal.
Kakarot didn't dodge.
He bent it.
The air around him shimmered, biotic energy flaring as he lifted his hand and twisted. The beam curved mid-flight, screaming like a banshee before hurtling backward and exploding in the face of its sender.
> "What—what the hell?!"
> "Kinetic warping," Taroa muttered into her recorder. "He's learned to turn enemy energy. Reflexively."
The fight began in earnest.
Gine was the first to join him—blades of red ki dancing from her hands like claws. She tore into the front line like a demoness, her movements precise, almost artistic. Her power was nowhere near his, but her fury more than made up the difference.
Then came the others. Tulo. Rezan. Sal. Saiyans no one had heard of, now moving like phantoms, their biotic pulses disrupting the Elites' coordination.
But still, they were outnumbered. Overwhelmed.
Until Kakarot let go.
—The Obsidian Flame Rises—
His scream was silent, carried not by lungs but by will.
The air collapsed in on itself, a pressure drop so vast it pulled blood from the noses of those nearby. His body glowed—not gold like the myths, not red like rage—but obsidian black edged with violet light. The ground cracked. His hair shimmered with kinetic light.
Biotic Storm: Obsidian Ascendancy.
> "This is no child," one Elite whispered in terror. "This is a—"
Kakarot appeared before him in an instant and crushed his scouter between two fingers.
> "Say it."
> "—monster."
A grin curled on Kakarot's lips.
> "Good. Now scream it."
The battle didn't last long after that.
---
—Aftermath—
They buried the dead with hands still raw from combat.
The outcasts had lost seven. The Elites? Forty-three. Most died before they even understood the new rules of engagement. The rules Kakarot had rewritten.
Taroa recorded everything.
Gine didn't speak to her.
She didn't need to.
That night, Gine visited Kakarot's quarters. She entered without a word. He looked up, seated cross-legged in meditation. Sweat clung to his skin. His biotic field still shimmered faintly.
> "You were magnificent," she said.
He opened his eyes.
> "You shouldn't be here."
> "I know."
Silence.
Then, she crossed the room, knelt before him, and placed a hand against his chest.
> "But I came anyway."
Their kiss was not gentle. It was not hesitant. It was layered with emotion, loss, triumph, and something ancient.
Not lust.
Devotion.
--
The Whispered Name
In the quiet places of Planet Vegeta, rumors spread. A boy who twisted energy itself. A camp of the weak who had beaten the strong. A woman who stood by his side, not as his mother—but as his first follower.
And a name whispered in shadows:
The Obsidian Flame.
A god among the discarded.
---
✅ End of Chapter 5 – Part 2