theunkn0wn-0

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 009 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE, ABUSE, GORE, SELF-HARM, MENTAL ILLNESS, DISORDERS, & HEAVY ANGST!!! Mentions of MURDER, BLOOD, & DEATH!!!

010 | Sanctuary of Solitude

❝Sometimes the worst place you can be is in your own head.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

        The trip back to my hideout was a blur. My thoughts spiraled, drowning out everything else, leaving me moving on instinct alone. The forest around me twisted into indistinct shapes, the biting night air cutting through my skin as I dashed forward. Branches lashed at my face, sharp twigs snagging my clothes and leaving behind stinging welts. Each slap of foliage assaulted my heightened senses.

I crashed through a tangle of vines that clung like frantic hands, trying to drag me back. Their resistance pulled at my momentum, but I forced my way through. Then, without warning, the clearing emerged; a patch of muted light amid the darkness that revealed my hideout. Its weathered walls entwined with creeping ivy, dimmed under the cold sliver of moonlight and it offered no comfort as usual.

It stood as a silent witness to my return, a reminder of my self-imposed exile. I landed heavily at the entrance, my knees buckling, momentarily forgetting how to stand. My limbs trembled, not from exhaustion but from the storm raging inside me.

My breaths came in ragged clouds, visible in the chill, only to dissolve into the night. I found the worn wooden door and shoved it open. The hinges screeched in protest before snapping with a hollow thud of the door against the wall, the sound echoing through the still air like a judge's gavel.

Inside, the cabin remained as it always had been; small, cold, devoid of warmth. However, tonight, its emptiness felt personal, as though the walls themselves were mocking me. My footsteps resonated against the wooden floorboards, the sound bouncing back in quiet accusation.

Drained and restless, I collapsed against the nearest wall, my legs giving out beneath me. The rough surface pressed into my back as I slumped down, the cold seeping through my torn clothes. The emotions I had fought so hard to suppress surged like floodwaters breaching a dam. My fist slammed into the wall, the wood splintering under the force.

The sharp crack did nothing to quell the tempest inside me. I pressed my other hand to my forehead, fingers digging into my temples as though I could physically rip the thoughts from my mind. My breath hitched and my chest tightened. Eventually, I yanked off my facemask and threw it aside. A bitter taste coated my tongue as I swallowed against the pressure tightening in my throat.

"And what about you? What happens if you do this? Will you be any different from him?"

Goku's words crashed over me like a hammer against fractured glass, replaying again and again. His voice haunted me, each syllable a wound that refused to heal and I squeezed my eyes shut. I hated him for being right. I hated myself more for letting those words fester.

"Is there another way to find peace?"

The question carved itself into me, and my fists clenched until my knuckles ached, nails biting into my palms. Anger surged again, burning through my veins, a fire feeding on helplessness, growing into self-loathing. I gritted my teeth then slammed my fist into the wall once more, harder this time. The dull pain grounded me, but only for a fleeting second.

"Shut up." The words tore from my throat in a strained, hushed cry. The words weren't meant for Goku. They weren't meant for anyone but me. My knuckles throbbed from the earlier impact, the sting of torn skin a welcome distraction. However, the quiet—god, the quiet—it clawed at me, amplifying every thought, every doubt and something inside me snapped.

With a sharp breath, I rose to my feet. The small wooden table before me was the first to fall victim to my fury. A swift kick sent it toppling over, the crack of breaking wood reverberating through the room, pieces skidding across the floor, colliding with the ceramic vase on top. Its shattered fragments mixing with overturned soil, the once-thriving plant now crushed underfoot.

A snarl ripped from my throat, raw and unrestrained, slicing through the air like the cry of a wounded animal. It faded into an oppressive stillness, as though the very walls were holding their breath, waiting. It wasn't enough; nothing ever was.

The dam fully broke. My hands lashed out, grasping the nearest object—a mug—and hurled it across the room. It exploded against the wall, shards scattering like rain on wood. I didn't stop. I tore through the cabin like a storm, my movements wild, unthinking. Old books, delicate trinkets, worn-out furniture—all of it met the same violent fate. Glass shattered. Wood splintered.

The sound of destruction filled the air, drowning out the relentless pounding in my skull. I moved with manic energy, every throw, every swing fueled by an anguish that gnawed at my very core. The cabin became an extension of my mind—cracked and irreparable. The scent of splintered wood mingled with musty fabric, underscored by the sting of fresh wounds as my hands split open against jagged edges, smearing red across the walls and floor. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the rage drained from me.

I stood in the center of the wreckage, chest heaving, my pulse hammering against my ribs. My gaze swept over the aftermath; a desolate landscape of shattered glass, overturned furniture, and splintered wood. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind only emptiness. My knees threatened to buckle, but I forced myself to remain standing, trembling and bloodied.

The weight of everything pressed down, suffocating in its finality. Tears welled up, tracing silent paths down my face. I didn't bother wiping them away. What was there to mourn? What was left of me, of this cursed, eternal existence? My hands trembled as I stared at them.

The wounds I had inflicted moments ago were already mending, the torn skin knitting itself back together, leaving only faint pink lines, until even those vanished. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, hollow and foreign in the ruined space. My voice cracked, raw from screaming, the words catching in my throat.

"What's wrong with me?" I murmured, barely able to hear my own words. The silence answered as it was deafening and indifferent.

Until it wasn't.

"You look pitiful."

My heart stopped. I knew that voice. It wasn't the disjointed whispers that haunted me; this was real, solid, laced with the kind of contempt that could be backed up with action. My body locked up, dread tightening around my spine. My breath hitched, my eyes wide, unseeing. Piccolo. I hadn't sensed him. I hadn't heard of him. My guard was down; he had slipped in unnoticed.

"You're even more pathetic than I thought."

The words hit like a strike, each syllable deliberate, heavy with disdain. I felt exposed, humiliated under his gaze. "I..." My voice faltered, a pitiful attempt at speech that dissolved into nothingness. My throat was dry, my lips trembled as shame sank into my bones.

Anxiously, I turned to face him and my pulse was pounding in my ears. Faint moonlight filtered through the broken windows, casting a soft glow across the wreckage, and I was met with nothing. Then, without warning, his hand clamped around my throat from behind and his nails dug into my flesh. I gasped, lungs burning as his grip tightened, feeling the warm rivulets of blood trickled down my collar. Terror gripped me, my mind screaming in silent protest.

"You think this helps? Destroy everything around you to feel better? Pathetic."

His voice was cold, scornful. The edges of my vision darkened, flashing with spots like dying stars. His grip forced me to acknowledge my fragility. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I bit them back, refusing to give him the satisfaction. I could fight, I had the strength. Regardless, I didn't.

I remained frozen, suffocating as my mind churned with self-loathing and rage, tangled with the sickening relief of feeling something beyond the endless void. My hands twitched, weakly reaching for his wrist, whereas I lacked the will to resist. Finally, he eased his grip just enough for me to suck in a desperate, gasping breath.

"If you're so intent on self-destruction, don't waste your time on furniture. Face the real problem."

My shaky hands clutched his wrist, a silent, broken plea for this to end. For everything to end.

"You can't even hold yourself together. You're weak. Insignificant."

Piccolo spat, brimming with contempt. With this, he released me, and I crumpled to the floor, coughing, wheezing for air. My hands flew to my throat, feeling the indentations left by his nails; they were already repairing themselves. The blood cooled in the night air, mixing with the dirt and ash clinging to my skin.

"You're nothing."

My head snapped up, desperate to meet his gaze and find some trace of... what? Understanding? Pity? He was gone again. I scrambled back, hands slipping on the debris-littered floor, eyes darting around as my heart pounded, drowning out the wind that howled through shattered windows.

A rough hand seized my face, jerking me forward to the side. Nails bit into my cheeks as he crouched beside me. Up close, the ridges of his face looked sharper, his nose wrinkling at the scent of sweat and an overbearing smell emanating from me.

"You disgust me. You're absolutely repulsive."

His sneer deepened as he tilted my face up. My tears fell freely now, mixing with blood and grime. His scorn was like a brand, searing my pride. My chest tightened, breaths shuddering under his scrutiny.

Despite everything, already feeling like I'd hit rock bottom, his cold revulsion found a way to push me lower. Yet beneath the shame, a flicker of defiance remained. My lips parted, the salty tang of tears stinging my tongue.

"Let go of me." His sneer formed into a smirk and his grip tightening in response, sending a jolt of pain through my jaw. He found my resistance amusing; a last, feeble gasp from a shattered spirit.

"You don't get to tell me what to do. You're in no position to demand anything. Struggle all you want; it'll only make things worse."

I glared at him, though my fleeting anger dissolved from his words, leaving behind the familiar cocktail of fear and resignation.

"I told you I'd make you wish for death. Don't test me."

His voice was ice, sending a chill through my core, rooting me to the spot as dread replaced my momentary courage. Any resistance would lead to something far worse, and I knew what that meant. I recalled King Piccolo's punishments, the searing agony. The anguish was still fresh despite the time, lingering like a scar etched into my soul.

The strength I thought I'd reclaimed drained away, replaced by futility. My lips parted, "Please, no..." The sentence fell from my mouth, cracked and pitiful, betraying my will. The sound of my voice filled me with loathing of how pathetic I had become.

"You're begging me now? You?"

Piccolo's laughter was profound and unsettling, rattling inside my chest. He fed on my suffering, drinking in my desperation and his satisfaction was clear as the moonlight glistened his face. My pleading voice seemed to fuel him, each broken word like a symphony of triumph.

"You don't deserve peace. You're only reaping what you've sown."

I wanted to fight back, deny it. Yet, he was right. I had no right to ask for mercy; not from him, not from anyone. No matter how much I tried to justify my actions, no matter how I rationalized the choices I had made, this was my fate. This reckoning was of my own making, and he had every right to exact his sick sense of righteousness after what I'd done to his father.

"I..." The words faltered, dying on my tongue. I didn't even have the will to apologize. I refused to because deep down, I still believed that what I had done was necessary. Betraying his father had been a means to an end, a path to achieve something greater, and that path had led me nowhere. I had made my choices and he was an utter monster.

"You have nothing to say for yourself?"

He ridiculed, his tone sharper than a blade, cutting through the silence. Piccolo leaned closer, his breath ghosting against my skin as his voice dropped to a vindictive grumble.

"No apologies, no explanations? Just the sniveling expression of a coward too ashamed to face the consequences of their own actions?"

Fresh tears welled in my eyes again, blurring my vision. I struggled to speak, my throat ache and dry. Pride and fear battled for control, leaving me paralyzed. My mind churned with a maelstrom of emotions—regret, anger, despair—none of which could save me now.

"Please," I finally croaked out in a raspy and strained voice. It was all I could manage, a single word that carried all the load of my despondency.

"Please... That's it?"

He repeated, his voice thick with mockery as his eyes gleamed in satisfaction.

"Is that all you can manage? Begging for forgiveness now, after everything you've done?"

He tilted his head, his expression almost wickedly amused while tears streamed down my face silently, trembling as if I couldn't contain my emotions. Every word he spoke felt like an unfortunate imprint of the choices I had made.

"You betrayed us. You defied your own kind. I'm not interested in your wretched pleas."

I tried to answer to justify myself or argue my case, though my voice was caught in my throat, tangled with my accountability and shame as pride refused to let me fully submit.

"Speak. Or I'll find other methods to make you talk."

He commanded; his nails pressed against my skin, sending spikes of pain through my already frayed nerves. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him what he wanted. His patience burned away like dry kindling.

"Still nothing? You're going to make me work for it, huh?"

An involuntary whimper escaped my lips. The sound was degrading to how utterly impotence I was on display. His smirk turned into a grin at my pitiful sound and his eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. His hands shifted, releasing my face only to grip both sides of my head. He dug into my temples, and a crushing pressure began to build, sending a fresh wave of terror through me.

I knew what was coming as this was one of King Piccolo's favorite punishments. The memory made my stomach twist and the pain flared in my skull as his hands constricted further. My vision blurred, and a sharp, splintering agony consumed my thoughts. Flesh compressed, bone gave way.

"Please!" I cried, sounding like a hushed whine through the pressure.

The pain intensified, and I realized he was going to crush me completely. My body trembled, my breath came in ragged gasps, and for the first time in centuries, I felt the raw, primal fear of death. I struggled to form sentences, the strain of guilt, dread, and humiliation constricted my throat. Finally, as my skull began to splinter beneath his grip, the words tore from me like a banshee scream.

"I'm sorry!"

My eyes snapped open, a sharp gasp tearing from my lips as I bolted upright, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. My vision wavered before gradually sharpening, revealing the dim, wrecked interior of my cabin. Broken beams and shattered glass littered the space, bathed in the cold glow of moonlight filtering through the fractured windows.

I blinked rapidly, scrambling to orient myself. My hands trembled as they rose to my face, tracing my cheeks where Piccolo's hands had been moments ago—or had they? My skin was clammy, the phantom pressure of his grip lingering, but my fingers found no bruises or fractures.

It wasn't real.

Piccolo wasn't here. No ki signature, no evidence of his presence.

Only the faint creak of the damaged structure and the rhythmic pounding of my heartbeat broke the oppressive stillness. The air carried the scent of ash, aged wood, and sweat, grounding me in reality. I lowered my hands, my fingers brushing over the wooden splinters embedded in my palms. The sharp sting forced me further into wakefulness, the realization settling in.

It's a dream, just a nightmare.

I told myself, yet it felt empty.

It was just a nightmare.

I repeated the thought, willing myself to believe it. Although the memory of his hands, his voice, the crushing, unbearable pain—it was vivid, too vivid. I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaled deeply, and held my breath, trying to quell the tremors wracking my frame. The exhale came uneven, half a whimper, betraying the terror still clinging to me.

Get a grip.

My pulse still raced as if my body hadn't yet realized the danger had passed. Forcing my eyes open, I scanned the space once more, searching for any movement, any indication that I wasn't alone. Nothing.

I leaned back against the wall, its rough edges digging into my back, rooting me in discomfort. My thoughts spiraled, replaying the nightmare in relentless detail, each detail felt realistic as it made it hard to distinguish between dreams and reality. This wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last.

Shifting slightly, I wrapped my arms around myself, seeking comfort that refused to come. For now, in the silence of this ruined cabin, I was safe; if only temporarily. My body had given out at some point, collapsing under exhaustion of my breakdown and having a nightmare. I must have blacked out, though not for long enough.

My gaze drifted toward the shattered window, where towering trees loomed like silent sentinels. Beyond them, the sky remained dark, but a diluted blue crept along the horizon. Four, maybe five hours had passed. Not enough to make a difference.

The wind whispered through the broken glass, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, tinged with the metallic tang of blood of mine or someone else's, I wasn't sure. Rain pattered softly against the roof, steady and rhythmic. A gust of wind sent the leaves outside rustling, their whispers unsettling something deep in my chest.

I curled in on myself, although the cold still seeped through. Thoughts tangled and twisted, an incoherent storm thrashing inside my skull. A shaky breath escaped me. I needed to focus. The sun would rise soon. I had to erase the evidence, clear any trace of what had happened. And then—

Then what?

I had no answer.

My gaze returned to the broken window, to the slivers of sky beyond it. The world continued as if my existence or actions meant nothing. I could be torn apart, shattered into fragments, and still, I would heal physically. My body would mend itself as if nothing had happened. No wounds, no scars. Just the echoes of pain that never truly faded.

What was the point?

No one knew where I was. No one would come looking. If I stepped on the shards of glass scattered across the floor, if splinters embedded themselves deep into my skin, it wouldn't matter. I would regenerate, as I always did.

Then the memories came, dragging me under. The tournament grounds were reduced to rubble and bodies crushed beneath from my fury. Innocent lives snuffed out in an instant. Piccolo hadn't been the only one responsible. I had been just as monstrous. Just as merciless.

Guilt coiled around my chest like a vice, unrelenting. Each shattered piece of furniture, each bloodstain smeared across the floor, reflected the abyss inside me. The nightmare had been horrifying, but this was worse. This was real.

The first weak rays of dawn pierced through the storm clouds, their light muted by the steady downpour. The rain continued, cold and unyielding, drumming a relentless rhythm against the wooden walls. The world was waking, but I felt none of its renewal.

Eventually, I forced myself upright, my movements stiff and sluggish. The cabin felt too small, its walls pressing in like a tomb. I needed to get out. To breathe. Stepping forward, glass crunched beneath my bare foot. I ignored the sting and the fresh trickle of blood. My other foot, still clad in a single battered shoe, pressed against the floorboards as I moved toward the window.

Outside, the forest stood in eerie stillness, its towering pines shrouded in mist. Rain fell in heavy sheets, dampening the usual sounds of the wild. The scent of petrichor filled my lungs—damp, earthy, almost cleansing. I took a slow breath, willing my pulse to steady, and for my mind to quiet. It didn't.

My eyes darted across the landscape, scanning for threats, for unseen eyes in the shadows. But there was nothing. Just the trees, the rain, and solitude. I then eyed the shards of glass clinging to the window frame, seeing a fractured reflection of myself. My clothes were ripped and burned, soaked in blood, and hung limply against me. My hands, still stained crimson, trembled at my sides.

The image staring back felt foreign. Unfamiliar. A stranger I couldn't recognize. Hollow. That was the only way to describe the sensation clawing at my insides; a void, expanding and endless. There was no one to help me. No one understands me. No one to tell me it would be alright at this moment.

There never had been.

My throat ached, dry and raw, but I ignored it. My stomach twisted in on itself, gnawing with hunger, and I remained still. Eating felt... wrong. The thought of food after what I had done made me feel sick. How could I pretend I hadn't killed innocent lives mere hours ago?

I let out a slow, weary breath. The rain drummed softly against the roof, a numbing sound. I stood motionless, caught between the pull of nothingness and the hunger that had long since faded into the background of my mind.

I had no idea how long I had been standing there as time had lost its meaning. Finally, I forced myself to move, dragging my feet toward the small wooden dining table. I pulled out a chair and sat, my gaze drifting to the empty chair across from me. Why had I even bothered to put an extra chair there? And yet, the answer surfaced unbidden in my mind:

"It's proper to have manners for your house guests."

The voices had returned.

"What house guest?" I said, even as I knew the answer was a fabrication of my mentality. Still, I found myself responding, as if some part of me longed for conversation, even if it was with the voices in my head. They had become my only company. Whether they tormented me with harsh words, whispered doubts about my reality, or simply observed, they were always there.

"House guests," I repeated with a murmur, a humorless chuckle escaping my lips. I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the wooden table, fingers running through my disheveled hair.

"You know who. It's why you left the chair there. For them."

I froze as their words settled over me. "Them?" I whispered, scrambling to grasp the meaning. The voices often knew more about me than I cared to admit, digging up things I had buried long ago.

Who was 'them'?

I lifted my gaze to the chair.

It was no longer empty.

A figure sat before me, clothed in tattered, bloodstained fabric. My breath caught in my throat. The sight was familiar—too familiar—and horribly wrong. The figure had no head. Where a face should have been, only a jagged, gaping wound remained, leaving behind a broken jaw that hung unevenly.

The bottom teeth were blackened, and rotten; the remnants of its throat gurgled as if trying to speak through the ruin of its body. Its flesh was a grotesque patchwork of decay, exposed muscle and sinew writhing with maggots. A sickening stench of rotting meat filled the air, an assault on my senses that turned my stomach.

My body went rigid, a cold dread seeping into my bones. My heart pounded so violently it drowned out the rain, the wind, the world beyond this nightmare. I knew this corpse, his body, and the state of his wounds. The man whose head had been blown apart by a gunshot, his skull bursting like a ruptured balloon. And now, he sat across from me. It was Lascell.

Something wet and warm dripped onto my hands. My breath hitched as I lifted trembling fingers to my face. Blood. My mouth was coated in it, dripping in the corners of my lips. The iron tang burned my throat and a distant part of me realized I had been biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to break flesh.

I couldn't move. Every nerve screamed for me to run, but my body refused to obey. Then the gurgling stopped. The silence was worse. The corpse shifted. The rotting jaw creaked and the torn sinew barely held it together. And then, in a voice that was not his own, in a voice that should not have existed—

"[First Name]... why did you leave me?"

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: February 17, 2025 Published: February 17, 2025

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 009 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 NEXT CHAPTER: 011 | 𝑨 𝑺𝑶𝑼𝑳'𝑺 𝑳𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 008 | 𝑪𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑺𝑰𝑺 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE, GORE, and HEAVY ANGST!! Mentions of DEATH, MURDER, and PROFANITY!!!

009 | The Weight of Conviction

❝All the bright, precious things fade so fast, and they don't come back.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

Goku drove my spine into the jagged earth, his weight pinning me as shards of rubble bit into my abdomen. Each movement sent bolts of pain through my body, my breath hitching with every jolt. His voice broke through the fog of my overwhelming emotions.

"You can't let this anger control you," he said, his words an anchor pulling me back to reality. "Don't you see? Look around you!"

My chest heaved as I froze, my gaze shifting to the barren wasteland surrounding us. The moon's cold, silver light bathed the wreckage in an eerie glow. Dirt and rubble stretched as far as the eye could see, scattered with the splintered remains of trees and the shattered fragments of the tournament stage.

The acrid stench of charred wood and scorched vegetation overwhelmed the faint memory of food, blending with the pervasive scent of death. The stench was unbearable, a nauseating blend that made my stomach churn.

An oppressive stillness superseded the cheers of spectators, amplifying the desolation. Smoke curled lazily from the blackened ground like a mourning shroud; each detail reminded me of the destruction Piccolo and I had unleashed, and something inside shifted. For a brief moment, the rage burning in my chest dimmed, leaving a hollow ache in its place.

"I..." My voice faltered, the words strangled in my throat; I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. The memory of terrified cries echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of the lives I had extinguished. The reason for those lives was my insatiable need to exterminate Piccolo.

All because I wanted to survive.

The pain through my mangled arm was a brutal, throbbing ache; however, it was the anguish inside that cut deeper. The guilt was unbearable, gnawing at me like a living thing. The desire to break free, to finish what I had started, still clawed at me; now, it felt like an ember—persistent yet weaker. I arched my neck to scowl at Goku.

"Why are you stopping me?" I rasped, my words barely above a whisper.

Goku's grip loosened slightly. His dark eyes bore into mine, filled not with judgment but with something else: compassion. It infuriated me that I could feel the weight of his pity, provoking me to lash out and rip that look off his face.

        Was it really 'pity' he was showing?

"Because killin' him won't fix this," he said steadily, practically gently. His gaze flickered at our surroundings, then back to me. "Look at what's been lost. Do you really think more death is the answer?"

"You don't understand," I responded in frustration; my voice quivered, and I pulled away from his grasp, wincing as the broken bones in my arm ground together.

"I do understand," Goku firmly interrupted, yet his tone remained calm. "I understand more than you think. Revenge... it won't give you what you're looking for. It'll only take more from you."

I scoffed, shaking my head. The fury that once consumed me began to fracture, tinged with something I did not want to name—doubt. The warmth of his body against my back and the steady beat of his heart were a stark contrast to the coldness of the night and death around us.

"You're stronger than this," he continued. "I've seen it in our fight. There's a fire inside you, and it's not meant for mindless destruction."

"Let me go," I spat, yanking at my injured arm. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain lancing through me, and I barely registered it. "You have nothing to do with this!" My voice cracked under the weight of my irritation and distress. Regardless, something about the manner he spoke—the conviction in his tone, his eyes gazing into mine—made me hesitate, unsure if it was a ploy.

"Yes, I do have somethin' to do with this," Goku countered. "This isn't about you or Piccolo. This is about everyone. I have a friend, Kami; he's the guardian of this world. If Piccolo dies, Kami dies too. And without Kami..." He let the implication dangle in the atmosphere, heavy and unspoken.

Guardian of this world?

"You have a choice," Goku stated, his voice quieter now. His grip on my arm remained tight, though there was no malice in his touch, only a steely resolve.

"Is more bloodshed really what you want? Or is there another way to find peace?"

A hollow ache settled in my chest heavily. The question struck me, slicing through the brume of my wrath and the clamor of my jumbled thoughts. For a long moment, I said nothing. My mind raced, torn between the primal hunger to fight and the faint glimmer of reason Goku had ignited. I stared at him as his words pressed down on me, solemn and undeniable.

        Is there?

My heart thundered against my ribs, the sound deafening in the stillness. The ground beneath me remained hot from the battle, its scorched surface mirroring the turmoil roiling within. I wanted to scream, to unleash the storm of emotions at my throat.

Pain radiated from my broken arm, the bone grinding against torn muscle with every twitch as my shoulders tensed. Yet, even this agony paled against the torment that Goku's words had unearthed—my eternal existence. The constant nights spent evading capture, along with the maddening solitariness and the whispered taunts of my sanity.

Memories overflowed in, haunted by the faces of those I couldn't save and those who saw me as nothing more than a creature. I could almost hear their voices, a cacophony of misery, joy, and anger that lingered like ghosts in my head.

        I don't know.

The answer eluded me, lost in the storm of doubt and anguish as I averted my gaze from Goku. A sharp jolt of pain brought me back to the present, the scream I longed to release dying in my throat. It was swallowed by a suffocating blend of despair and outrage.

"You can't bring back what's been lost, and you don't have to destroy what's left," he said, his tone maddeningly calm. "There's always another way."

His sincerity pierced through my defenses, laying bare the vulnerabilities I had fought to conceal. I wanted to reject it, to shove him away and dismiss his words as a trick. But I couldn't move. My legs felt like lead, and my breath was shallow and strained.

"I know it's not easy," he continued, as his breath closed in. "Believe me, I've been there. I've fought battles that made me question everythin' I thought I knew. In the end, it's the choices we make that shape who we are." Goku's words stirred something inside me, a bitter ache I couldn't suppress. The lump in my throat grew unbearable.

"You're not alone," he said softer than I'd ever heard. It wasn't a command or pity. It was... human. "Not in this. But the choice... it has to be yours."

His words chipped away at my resentment, leaving me raw. For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to breathe, shaky and uneven. Everything came crashing down, a torrent of emotions I could no longer ignore. I finally looked at Goku, his gaze gentle and devoid of judgment.

It held an understanding. The kind that only came from facing your problems and choosing to rise above them. His hands pressed me against the fractured ground, rooting me in place. Under the dim moonlight, Goku's face stood out—a mixture of determination and kindness that unsettled me. Kindness I wasn't worthy of, not after everything I'd done. Not after the lives I'd taken, each one staining my soul.

Somewhere in the distance, faint energy signatures approached, pulling my attention—no doubt it was his friends; somehow, they survived. Their energies were faint but growing closer. I did not feel relief—not exactly. My paranoia rose to the surface, thoughts of warnings, scenarios, and contingencies they might see my identity. And then, just beyond the fog of my overthinking, I felt it: Piccolo's ki.

Weak, distant, but undeniably alive.

When I finally spoke, my voice was hoarse, barely carrying over the heavy silence. "Okay," I whispered, each word scraping against my pride as I forced myself to relent. "I won't attack. You can let me go now."

His grip loosened, yet his hands remained poised, ready to act at the slightest provocation. He studied me, his dark eyes boring into mine as though searching for any hint of deception; I met his gaze without flinching, masking my true intentions. After a pause, he nodded, a small, weary smile breaking across his face. Relief—perhaps even hope—flickered in his expression.

"Thank you," he said, his words laden with sincerity. "I know this wasn't easy."

Easy? He had no idea what I'd endured.

I didn't respond, staggering to my feet with slow, pained movements. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to retaliate, to reclaim the control I'd lost. Instead, I gritted my teeth and clutched my injured arm, tugging the shredded sleeve of my hoodie down to conceal the gruesome sight. My regenerative ability had already begun its work, stitching torn muscle and splintered bone back together with an unnatural efficiency that felt more invasive than natural.

Footsteps crunched against the rubble, followed by Krillin's voice cutting through the quiet. "Goku! Are you alright?"

Snippets of conversation from Yamcha and Tenshinhan reached my ears, mingling with the faint sensations of other approaching energies. I looked away to hide my face and my other hand tugged my hood to conceal me further, as my gaze was locked on Piccolo's unconscious form yards away. Seeing him vulnerable, so close to death, stoked the embers of my fury into a blaze.

I glanced at Goku, urgently speaking to his friends, likely explaining the situation. Their words blurred into meaningless noise; nothing they said mattered. My arm had fully healed, and with it, my resolve solidified. This wasn't over. A surge of energy erupted within me, my ki blazing like an unrestrained inferno.

The wind roared in my ears as I launched forward, my vision narrowing to Piccolo's prone figure—power burned in my palm, ready for the final, decisive blow. A wicked smile curved my lips, my target clear.

Before I could strike—

"No!" Goku's voice tore through the tension like thunder, jolting me from focus.

I barely registered his movement before his fist slammed into my face, sending me sprawling. Agony radiated through my skull as I tumbled across the ground, landing with a force that rattled my teeth. The air left my lungs in a rush, and the world spun as I came to rest on the jagged earth, my body a crumpled heap.

Momentarily, I lay there, dazed and disoriented. Pain surged through me, sharp and all-encompassing. Slowly, my regeneration kicked in, although it couldn't smother the anger igniting within, chasing away the haze of confusion. Snarling, I scrambled to my feet, only for Goku to pin me down with unrelenting strength that made my back pierce under the rocks.

"Why?" His voice trembled with frustration, though beneath it, I caught a faint trace of pleading. "Why are you doin' this? I thought we had an understanding! I don't wanna hurt you, but you're leavin' me no choice!"

Who the hell does this guy think he is, telling me what to do?

His hands gripped my shoulders, firm but measured, as if trying to reason with me instead of forcing my compliance. I glared at him, my chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Fury boiled inside me, clouding my thoughts like a storm as I spat blood onto the dirt. The bitter taste burned like fire in my throat.

"He needs to die!" I shouted, cutting through the air like a raw, primal scream. My fingers curled around his arms, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my grip. "Piccolo is a monster, a reincarnation of his father. You don't know what his kind is capable of—he'll never stop until the world is his to control!"

I spoke from experience, from the scars King Piccolo left on me. They etched themselves into my very being, a constant reminder of the price of inaction. I couldn't let history repeat itself, not when I had the chance to end it.

Goku's gaze softened, his brow furrowing as he scanned my face. "I know you're angry," he said, his voice steady yet tinged with sorrow. "You're scared." My breath caught in my throat as the phantom weight of confinement pressed against my ribs, suffocating me. I shoved the thought away, refusing to let fear hold me.

"This isn't the way; it doesn't solve anythin' and it won't undo the past."

I barked a laugh, sharp and bitter, cutting him off. "Undo the past? Don't give me that bullshit. The past never leaves. It festers. It rots. And it always comes back." My voice cracked as I hurled those words at him, each one a shard of the pain I'd carried for hundreds of thousands of years. "I don't care about Kami or whatever he thinks. Maybe he would agree the only thing that matters is keeping the world safe from Piccolo. If that means I get my hands dirty, so be it."

Goku's eyes didn't waver. "This isn't you," he implores. "You're not a monster."

I froze, his words stirring something deep within. Briefly, shame flashed in the depths of my core; regardless, it was snuffed out by the tidal wave of wrath that followed. My eyes shifted to Piccolo's unmoving body, and my chest clenched with an overwhelming feeling.

"When he wakes up, what then?" My voice shook despite my efforts to control it. "What happens when he kills your loved ones? Are you willing to risk everything in the hope that he'll change?"

Goku's eyes locked onto mine, unwavering. "And what about you?" he asked quietly. "What happens if you do this? Will you be any different from him?"

That struck a nerve.

I wanted to scoff, to laugh it off—but his gaze pinned me in place. The weight of my actions crushed me. I had torn through the tournament grounds like a force of nature, leaving devastation in my wake. And what had it all been for?

"Get off me!" I shouted in a raw and desperate voice.

"Please," he urged. "Let me help you."

For a fleeting moment, I wanted to believe him. But the knot in my stomach tightened, and the shadows of paranoia crept in, louder than his words.

Did he think this was a game, or worse, some manipulative tactic?

"Will you shut up, goody-two-shoes?" Disdain laced every syllable, and my voice continued to crack, exposing the turmoil that churned beneath my defiant exterior. His unrelenting optimism was gasoline to the fire burning inside me. My grip tightened on his arm—not enough to hurt him. Not yet. I did not want to add another senseless death to the carnage I've wrought with Piccolo.

"You're dooming everyone with your childish idealism." My words lashed out, yet they felt hollow as if I were fighting a battle not just with him but with myself. I couldn't meet his gaze, choosing to focus on the devastation surrounding us. The tournament grounds stood as mute testimony to the destruction my rage had wrought—hundreds dead, their bodies crushed beneath my hands.

Will you be any different from him?

The question echoed in my mind, a cruel whisper from the recesses of my fragile mind.

Was I any different?

Finally, Goku loosened his grip and stepped back, giving me space. I pushed myself to my feet, brushing dust from my torn clothing as the phantom weight of his hands lingered. I ignored the urge to lash out at him, my muscles continued to scream in protest. My body could heal, but my mind was a different battle altogether.

"I'm sorry," he quietly uttered with an undertone of regret. "I can't force you to see things my way. I wish you'd think about it."

I gritted my teeth, a bitter sound scraping from my throat. "Think? About what? Sparing him so he can come back stronger? So he can destroy everything and everyone?"

Goku's eyes glanced at Piccolo's unconscious form, his face etched with concern. "He can change," Goku stated and turned back to me. "Everyone deserves a chance to change. Piccolo is part of this world, just like you an' me. Maybe he's done terrible things, it doesn't mean he can't change."

I swallowed hard, bile rising in my throat, and my jaw tightened. "And what happens if you're wrong?" My voice was low, sharp enough to cut. "What happens when he doesn't change?"

Goku opened his mouth to respond; however, I did not let him. "This is your issue now," I asserted strongly, closing the distance between us, and my finger jabbed hard into his chest. "If he kills again, it's in your hands. It's not mine. The blame is yours for sparing that brute's life."

He didn't get a chance to respond as I tightened my fist and delivered a forceful blow to his abdomen.

The impact reverberated through my arm, a sharp jolt coursing down my bones as Goku doubled over. The dull crunch reverberated through me, a disturbing blend of satisfaction and malevolence surging in its wake. His eyes widened, and the air left his lungs in a painful gasp. He staggered back, clutching his stomach, while shouts from his friends were muted by the relentless thrum of adrenaline coursing through me. My decision was made.

Without a word, I ascended into the sky, breaking the sound barrier. The wind roared in my ears and the icy air stinging my face as clouds scattered into thin wisps. Faintly, Goku's hoarse shout reached me: "Wait!"

I didn't look back.

I pushed higher, the broken landscape shrinking beneath me, and the people I left behind became a distant blur. Above the clouds, I dropped my energy, masking my presence and hiding myself from anyone who might try to follow. And then I was alone.

My chest heaved as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind a hollow ache once more. The icy wind brushed against my skin, biting through the layers of clothing and numbing me to the bone, but it wasn't enough to quiet my thoughts.

I flew through the open expanse, the pale moon casting its ghostly glow over the barren landscape below. Ragged mountains formed the earth like scars, their peaks shrouded in mist. The cold air smelled faintly of stone and frost, clean yet sharp, a scent that only seemed to amplify the emptiness settling within me.

Damn it, why did I run?

The thought churned in my mind, and my fists clenched at my sides, trembling as my nails bit into my palms. I should have stayed and fought until Piccolo was in ashes. The image of his twisted smirk burned into my mind as my stomach twisted.

That man doesn't understand. He never will.

My teeth ground together at the thought of him, his naive optimism, his faith in people—even monsters like Piccolo. He'd hesitated, giving Piccolo another chance to wreak havoc, and I'd allowed it.

What is wrong with me?!

The outrage resurfaced, hot and consuming, searing away the cold briefly. I needed to go back. I had to finish what I'd started and end the threat before it could grow. The idea ignited brightly in my heart, a singular focus that nearly drowned out doubt lurking from the edges.

No. I made the right choice.

I told myself, though the words rang hollow. My jaw tightened, the muscles in my face taut with tension.

Right?

The question lingered, and I shook my head violently as if the motion could dislodge the uncertainty festering within. Despite my attempts, it spread, winding through my mind like a slow, venomous tide as the familiar panic awakened.

Stupid! Stupid!

I mentally lashed out at myself, the self-loathing rising like bile and naming Goku's mindset as ridiculous. My flight became erratic, the wind jerking me as I wavered, trying to regain my focus to fly. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the thoughts back into the depths where they belonged.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: December 13, 2024 Published: December 25, 2024

I have reasons to publish this chapter instead the day I finished. During this month, some of you may have your finals/exams for your education or are busy preparing to meet your loved ones to celebrate the holidays; I wanted to give you all a chance to focus on your life. Since it's a break and a celebration on this day, this is a gift from me to you after everything that's been going on this year of 2024. Stay safe, and Happy Holidays!

— The_Unkn0wn_0

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 008 | 𝑪𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑺𝑰𝑺 NEXT CHAPTER: 010 | 𝑺𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑻𝑼𝑨𝑹𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑼𝑫𝑬

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ [ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 007 | 𝑼𝑵𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, and SCARIFICATION!!! Mentions of DEATH & PROFANITY!!!

008 | Catharsis

❝I endured for the flames within me burn brighter. In the crucible of adversity. I emerged unscathed. For the blaze of my inner strength, outshone the inferno that sought to consume me.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

Every sound and shift in the air around me became crucial, as my eyesight returned. The debris and lingering smoke obscured my view, forcing me to rely on my heightened senses. I rose from the ground, the bruises on my body already healing, though the pain remained. The stench of burning energy and scorched earth mixed with the coppery scent of blood and sweat made the air thick and heavy in my lungs.

The smoke dissipated the area, revealing the aftermath of the chaos as my breath hitched, the reality became clearer. I could finally make out the figure of Piccolo, battered but still standing, his hulking frame staggered slightly. Blood ran from his wounds, but the damage I had inflicted was already mending, his regeneration kicking in to mend the fresh slashes and punctures. His outstretched hand glowed with that all-too-familiar green light.

My heart skipped a beat and my eyes widened.

That light—that sickening green glow—I recognized it immediately. The Evil Containment Wave.

The realization hit me like a freight train, as the dust cleared, revealing the extent of the carnage. Time seemed to slow as I grasped the implications. Piccolo, standing there, battered and bruised, but smiling, as he prepared to use one of the most dangerous techniques in existence. 

The same technique that had been used to imprison his father. My breath caught in my throat as if gripped by an invisible hand, my chest felt tight and the rapid pounding of my heart echoed in my ears, drowning out all other sounds.

No... not again. Not me.

My lips curled into a snarl behind my facemask, a feeble attempt to hide the sheer panic across my features. The memories flooded in, unbidden and relentless. Being trapped, bound in a prison that defied time, tortured for what felt like eternity, and the maddening silence. My hands began to tremble, and I felt the old familiar panic clawing my body.

My breathing quickened, shallow gasps as if the air around me had thickened, refusing to fill my lungs. I took a step back, instinctively retreating, my vision narrowed, focusing entirely on the orb in Piccolo's hand. He noticed the dread in my eyes, his lips curling into a wide, vicious grin. He reveled in my reaction, savoring every moment of distress when I realized the tables had turned, and I was the one at his mercy.

Bastard...

The cold sweat that drenched my skin made my movements sluggish, my limbs heavy. I couldn't go back to that—I wouldn't. I wanted to scream, but no sound escaped my lips. My throat was tight, my body frozen between fight and flight, and I couldn't decide which to choose. My gaze flickered between Piccolo and the rapidly growing sphere of energy in his hand. It grew larger, and the air crackled with its ominous power.

If I didn't move, if I didn't act—

An explosion rang out, and the world snapped back into focus.

"I won't allow it, Piccolo!" A blast of ki struck Piccolo from behind, sending him staggering forward, his concentration shattered and a hiss escaped from his lips. The green orb fizzled out, the threat momentarily diffused.

Who?

My eyes darted toward the source of the attack who had so boldly interfered in our bloodshed while my heart was still racing in my chest. A figure—a blur of speed—rushed toward Piccolo and engaged him in a fierce clash. I blinked, my mind struggling to process the sudden shift in the battlefield. The intruder moved with breathtaking speed, slowly I examined the stranger, and my heart sank to my core.

Despite the aged and frail form, I could see the undeniable resemblance to King Piccolo. The two warriors grappled, their hands locked in a deadly struggle for power. The intruder—a green-skinned, elderly demon—had halted Piccolo's attack, saving me from the brink of entrapment. His grip on Piccolo's wrist was unyielding, he pulled downward with all his might, preventing him from launching the Evil Containment Wave. The technique, which had seemed so imminent, was now thwarted.

For now.

Piccolo snarled in frustration, his eyes blazing with fury at the old individual interference. He struggled against the stranger's grip, his muscles straining with the effort. "You dare interfere, old man?" Piccolo spat, his voice laced with venom.

The old demon's expression was grim, his eyes filled with a mixture of determination and sorrow. "I cannot allow you to continue down this path of destruction, Piccolo," he said, his voice steady despite the exertion. "Your father's evil ends here."

My knees felt weak, the weight of what almost happened still pressing on my ribcage. The relief that washed over me was brief, quickly replaced by dread. My heart still throbbed painfully in my chest, but my mind was starting to catch up.

Two King Piccolos.

Whether they were incarnated or born, whatever history these two shared, it was irrelevant now. But my goal remained unchanged—to eliminate the dangers before me. My chance to slaughter them stood before me, and I couldn't waste it. My hands flexed, the ki crackling around my fingers as I summoned power to my palms. The orbs formed quickly, pulsating with raw energy, their heat radiating against my skin.

"I don't know what's going on," I muttered, my voice hoarse from the lingering panic. The adrenaline coursing through my veins burned away the shock, replacing it with a feral, unhinged desperation. Both Piccolo and his elder counterpart turned toward me, their eyes locking onto mine.

"But I do know one thing..." I felt the weight of the energy in my hands, the growing power ready to be unleashed as they absorbed the vast reserves of potency within me, growing in size. My lips twisted into an erratic smirk, a callous expression devoid of hesitation behind my mask.

"You're both meant to die."

With a savage cry, I hurled the two orbs of energy at the clashing demons. The spheres screamed through the air, hurtling toward their targets with a force that shook the crumbling foundations beneath my feet. As they barreled toward their marks, the power was overwhelming, the heat intense enough to sear the air around them.

I stood there, heart thumping, I watched the two demons react to the incoming attack, their movements quick yet frantic. Piccolo, slowed by the earlier onslaught, tried to evade, but it struck him squarely in the chest, sending him hurtling back, his roar of pain swallowed by the explosion's deafening echo.

The elder demon fared no better.

The sound of his body slamming into the cracked ground reverberated through the arena, a sickening crunch followed by an eerie stillness. Dust swirled in the wake of the impact, the tremors still rippling through the fractured earth. I could see Piccolo now, sprawled in the rubble, his face twisted in discomfort as he struggled to push himself up, battered and bloodied.

His breath came in ragged bursts, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, the sharp and iron scent of blood barely noticeable in the smoke-filled air. His gaze shifted to the elder demon crumpled in the rubble, struggling to rise. The impact cratered the floor where he landed.

Piccolo glared at me, eyes burning with a fury so intense it sent a shiver down my spine. His snarl cut through the haze of smoke and noise like a blade. "You'll pay for that, cockroach!"

"Don't tell me you care for him?" The words escaped before I could stop them, driven by a wild, reckless impulse. There was no logic left, only instinct, only survival.

His response came as a thunderous yell, "You know nothing of what I feel!" The earth quaked violently, cracks forming beneath our feet, snaking outwards as his energy swelled. I could feel my ki rising in response, surging like fire, burning away the last vestiges of sanity.

Piccolo's hands crackled with fierce, golden ki, an aura surrounding his frame as if his wrath had taken physical form. He leveled a piercing glare in my direction. "I will make you pay for everything you've done!" His voice was guttural and raw with anger.

I flexed my hands at my sides, feeling the energy pulse and ignite, barely restrained beneath my fingertips. A sharp, shaky breath escaped me as I forced every ounce of power into my hand, a blazing sphere of ki forming, coiling around my fingers with electric intensity. It grew, fiery tendrils snapping through the air, casting jagged light across the broken landscape.

"Then come at me brute!" I spat, my voice shaky with desperation.

Instantly, I propelled myself forward, hovering above the cracked ground, closing the gap between us. I swung hard, my ki-infused fist aimed with deadly precision at his face. But as my ki-infused punch was about to connect, his form shimmered, flickered, and vanished—an afterimage.

My eyes widened as I swung through empty air, my momentum sending me off balance, my body turning to face behind me. My mind barely registered what was happening before pain exploded across my face. His clasped hands smashed into me, sending my body plummeting to the floor with bone-jarring force.

The impact rattled my skull, a crunch filling my ears as agony radiated from my nose down through my spine. I tasted copper and felt my blood warmth dribble down my lips. Piccolo's assault didn't stop there. As I lay defenseless on the ground, he brought his clasped hands down upon me again with devastating force, pulverizing my body and burying me in the broken ground.

A choked, gurgling scream tore from my throat as the ground crumbled, and shockwaves of pain coursed through my battered face. The ki orb around my hand sputtered out, its energy fading, slipping through my fingers like water. I lay there, broken, my vision dimming, the edges of my sight darkening as consciousness began to slip away.

No, no.. keep... goi.....

My mind screamed, but the darkness was closing in, pulling me down. I could feel the warmth draining from my limb; the last sensory details faded into black. I don't know how long I was out. Seconds? Minutes? The moment I gasped in air, the ache crashed back into my awareness, every throb sharp and immediate yet gradually fading away.

I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus. Through a hazy fog, I saw him: the elder demon, looming over me, bruised but resolute, his breaths uneven. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, though his words sounded like echoes in a tunnel.

"Good, you're—"

I didn't let him finish.

Instinct overtook me, a surge of power rushed through me, primal and unrestrained. I hurled myself upward, my fingers igniting with ki as I launched a frantic volley of blasts toward him, an attempt to tear him apart before he could finish me. His eyes widened as he stumbled back, caught off guard by the fury of my assault. One of the blasts clipped his shoulder, leaving a shallow wound. But the way his eyes narrowed, I could tell he wasn't only taken aback by my attack—he saw something more.

"[First Name], I'm trying to help you!" he shouted, discomfort evident in his voice. "I'm on your side!"

But reason had evaporated. His words became meaningless, drowned in a torrent of rage and desperation that blurred all else. My pulse thundered, every instinct urging me to rip, tear, destroy. I fired another blast, a cruel grin creeping onto my lips as he deflected it with a grunt of exertion.

In my mind, everything around me was an enemy, a threat. They all wanted me subdued, silenced. My gaze settled on his injured arm, a chink in his defenses. With a swift kick, I sprang to my feet and closed the gap, unleashing another flurry of strikes.

His body battered and bruised, could only defend himself as best he could. His defensive movements grew frantic, his body moving with the practiced agility of a seasoned warrior but strained under the onslaught. My savage smirk only widened, savoring his struggle.

"Please!" he called, his voice cracking under the strain. "You must listen to me! I'm not your enemy!"

His words fell upon deaf ears. I watched as his movements slowed, as weariness began to weigh down his steps. My pulse quickened, and the exhilaration of watching him falter felt intoxicating. I lunged, drawing back my arm to deliver a brutal blow to his injured shoulder. My fist connected, sending shockwaves through him.

He cried out, collapsing onto his knees, his arm hanging uselessly at his side, the bones shattered, and flesh torn. For a moment, he looked up at me, his eyes hollow with a haunting mix of fear and resignation. I read his gaze—he had accepted whatever fate I had for him.

My foot swung back, positioned to deliver a devastating blow to his face when a furious shout shattered through the air, causing me to halt my actions mid-swing. I turned, and my gaze locked onto Piccolo, his form was blazing with renewed energy and a crescent-shaped ki attack, charging between his fingers, pulsing with deadly intent. His sharp-like nails glistened in the blood-red hue of the setting sun.

Acting on reflex, I flicked my wrist, summoning a barrier just in time. His ki blast collided with the wall, detonating in a shockwave that rattled the floor, forcing me back. I raised my arms in a futile attempt to protect myself from the blast wave. Dust and debris filled the air, and I stumbled, feeling my hood fall back, my hair tangling as I fought to keep my footing.

The light from his attack dissipated; it was a brief moment of respite as the barrier disappeared, and I stood there, lowering my hands, my body tensed for the next attack. Piccolo stumbled back, his eyes wide with surprise at my sudden defense. His gaze shifted between the elder demon and me, his jaw clenched, and his expression hardening with steely resolve. His eyes burned with outrage and determination, likely his pride wounded.

"You're just like him," Piccolo remarked, his voice hostile. His hands trembled, fingers clenched so tightly that his green skin split, letting droplets of blood seep through. "Stubborn, defiant, incapable of submitting to anyone's will but your own."

He took a step forward, his towering frame shuddering with the rage that vibrated through every muscle, every inch of his being. His words felt like a spiteful reminder of the cycle of retaliation and hatred that bound us. "You should have been the one stuck in that containment! You should have suffered like my father did, rotting away for centuries!"

Without thinking, the words escaped my lips, seething with bitterness. "Oh, yeah?" I spat back, my voice barely a hiss, yet laced with raw hatred. "I should've killed your father instead of trapping him." My words, thrown like a weapon, struck him. I took a step forward, my muscles tensed, my vision sharp and tunneled onto Piccolo's twisted expression.

"Maybe I should've taken his life so you wouldn't have been born!"

Piccolo's eyes widened at the words, shocked before his gaze hardened into something darker. I could see the war raging inside him, a flicker of disbelief, a hint of uncertainty, but mostly a blazing unbridled rage, his muscles coiled and ready to strike.

"You..." His voice dropped into a feral snarl, unable to form anything more articulate. Without warning, he lunged at me, faster than my eyes could track. His fist struck forward, aimed with lethal intent, the sheer momentum rending through the still air.

However, I was ready, and as his fist cut through, I moved my own, channeling energy from my hands as I parried the strike. The impact was a thunderous collision of power, a shockwave rippling outward from our clash, and the force of it drove us both back, our balance challenged, our bodies straining against the recoil.

"You want to take responsibility for my existence?" he taunted. "Then you should be prepared to face the consequences of your actions."

Before his words could sink in, I surged forward, harnessing my speed to disappear from his line of sight. I appeared behind him in a flash. He spun around, his movements fueled by reflex, his elbow hurled and aimed directly at me. But his blow passed harmlessly through the space where I should have been—just an afterimage I left behind and reappeared behind him once more.

Taking the opening, I drove my elbow into his back with all the force I could muster, feeling it connect solidly against his spine. For a frozen moment, time seemed to halt as the repulsive crunch of bone breaking filled my ears of my brutal strike. His scream echoed through the barren landscape as he was flung forward, his body wracked by the impact.

He hit the ground with a vibrant thud, breath heaving, hands clawing at his back, fingers slick with blood and sweat as he assessed the jagged shards of his broken bones beneath his flesh and tissue. Though his regenerative power began to mend his wounds, he was weakening. Every second his body knitted itself back together, his reserves of energy diminished, sapping the vitality that fueled his stubborn ferocity.

Struggling, Piccolo pushed himself to his feet, his movements slow, his back crooked as he forced himself upright. The pain was etched on his face, his eyes watering and each gasping for a struggle. Even in misery, his gaze remained fixed on me, unwavering and defiant.

I mirrored his stare, neither of us breaking eye contact as he stepped forward, his movements awkward and unsteady. A tense silence settled, interrupted only by the raw sound of our breaths. The acrid scent of sweat and smoke, mingling with the distinct tang of burnt flesh, seeped into the air, as the horizon burned crimson and gold with the setting sun, casting a fierce, bloodied light over our battered forms.

I steadily walked towards him, my shoes crunching against the ground. My clothes are clad in dried blood and scarcely tattered by the force of our attacks. We advanced, closing the distance until, with an unspoken signal, we pounced at each other. Our bodies clashed and every movement was a blur of power and agility.

His fist streaked toward me, and I ducked, my hand connecting with his ribs in a shock of energy. Piccolo staggered back, grunting in pain, but countered with a swing of his own, his knuckles splitting the skin above my left eye. The sting was sharp, though it only fueled my determination. The fight stretched, our blows shaking the earth, sending cracks, spidering across the rocky ground.

Sweat poured down my face, his swings and charging ki was sluggish, his steps heavier as he pushed his body to its limits. Unlike him, my own body healed, a blessing, and a curse, allowing me to push past the broken bones and torn flesh without faltering. My endurance had become my prison—an eternity of fighting, of healing, of watching everyone else grow weary while I remained, bound to this cycle and this damn planet.

Every time Piccolo attacks, I meet his moves with precision, slipping past his guard, striking, retreating, and wearing him down. His determination was fierce, while desperation had crept into his gaze. Piccolo lashed out, his leg blurring through the air with a vicious kick, and I anticipated the move, ducking beneath the strike. Moving instinctively, I threw myself forward, grabbing him with every ounce of strength.

My arms enveloped his leg and waist, and together we crashed against the rocky floor, fracturing profoundly. Dust swirled up around us in a storm of grit, I had him for a moment—until he retaliated with a punch to my face, a brutal blow that sent a spike of pain shooting through my skull. I gritted my teeth against the searing ache, refusing to let go. I tightened my grip, reckless with my actions mixing with the thrill of the struggle.

We rolled across the busted ground and thrashed to gain control. Piccolo wrenched free, flipping me beneath him, his clawed nails digging into my shoulders, attempting to pin me down; I felt the agonizing prick of skin breaking from his grip.

"Get off!"

I brought my knees to my chest and energy surged within my legs. I shot them forward in a powerful double kick, launching Piccolo through the air. His claws raking across my shoulders tore pieces of flesh as he was flung away. My body cried in anguish, the wounds burning, but I could feel them already beginning to heal, the pain receding.

I forced myself to my feet and looked up into the night, the stars were twinkling brightly like diamonds in the vast darkness. The air carried the faintest hint of smoke mingling with the oppressive quiet that followed. There was no calm, no peace; only the electric tension thrumming between us.

Hovering above, Piccolo raised his hands, gathering the last reserves of his power into a ball of scorching ki that expanded, its heat washing over me like a furnace. My heartbeat thundered in my chest, sensing its intensity even from where I stood. The pale glow bathed the landscape, illuminating every detail.

My lips pressed together firmly and I extended my hand, concentrating as the energy pool within my palm sparkled and crackled once it took form. I dropped low, muscles coiling, then surged forward, launching toward him with everything I had. The wind tore against my skin, shrieking past, yet all I could see was Piccolo's face—unhinged, resolute, a mirror of my grim perseverance.

He roared, his ki blazing in his hands, and with a thrust, he unleashed the massive ball of energy toward me, a searing wave of heat that threatened to swallow me whole. Whereas I met it head-on, my own orb of energy blazing with an intensity that matched his. It streaked through the air, a comet of raw power aimed directly at his ki blast.

For a heartbeat, the world fell silent, each fraction of a second stretching into eternity as the two attacks barreled toward one another, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The lights grew brighter, two orbs that pulsed with the heat of a dying star.

Then they collided.

The explosion was cataclysmic, with a deafening boom that shook the heavens. The sky split by a flash that swallowed the world whole. Debris scattered like shrapnel and jagged stones pelting me as I tumbled backward. The world spun around me, colors blending together, my senses dulled by the sheer violence of the collision.

The energy ripped at my body, the scorching heat burning my skin, the sheer velocity knocking the air from my lungs as I plummeted back to earth. Pain bloomed in every nerve, sharp and brutal, as my body crashed into the ground with bone-breaking force.

I couldn't let out a cry.

●

●

●

My body convulses as I gasp for air sharply, every breath labored, choking on the dust and grit that coated my mouth and lungs. I coughed violently, spitting out clumps of dirt as my vision spun, the world around me was a haze. Then my body screamed in excruciation, every jolt of pain tearing through my nerves, as though they were being set on fire one by one. I wailed out in misery that echoed in the silence of the night.

The unnatural pulse of my regenerative abilities fighting against my own mangled flesh. The torment grew as my bones knit back together, tissue fusing back into place with a fiery sting that was both a curse and my only salvation. I could hear the sticky flesh shifting and the sound of bones crunching.

The dried blood on my clothes mixes with the sweat and grime that coats my burned skin. I writhed on the jagged rocks, grating against my exposed wounds, I didn't even want to move, yet my body involuntarily shifted to lay on my stomach. Through the suffering, one thought crystallized in my mind...

Where is Piccolo?

I focused, straining every sense to detect even the faintest of energy. Gritting my teeth, I pushed my battered form onward, muscles trembling as my legs dragged behind me, barely functional as they struggled to heal. I pulled myself forward, inch by gurgling inch.

My path was marked by a trail of blood, smeared against the ground. Finally, I caught it—a faint pulse of ki emanating from the rubble nearby. My eyes narrowed, and I staggered to my feet, unsteady and weak but driven by locating Piccolo as I stumbled forward, my eyes locked on a familiar figure.

In the distance, Piccolo's prone form lay half-buried in debris, his chest barely rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. I pressed onward, my vision tunneling on him, the fallen monster, who, despite everything, clung to life. The silence was defending like the calm before a storm.

Each step sends shockwaves of discomfort through my mending bones and burned flesh, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins helps to dull the edge. I loom over him, my gaze fixed on his unconscious body. "Just die already," I hissed, the words escaping my lips like a prayer for his demise.

My hand rose, the remnants of my power surging within me, forming a crackling orb of energy around my fingers. With focused concentration, I shape the energy into a razor-sharp blade, enveloping my hand. I raised it, ki flaring, and felt the weight of this moment settle over me — I was his executioner, and he was powerless to stop me.

But then, out of nowhere, a force blindsided me, tackling me with enough strength to send me hurtling through the air and crashing onto the unforgiving ground. The impact jarred me so completely that I could feel my bones splinter beneath the strain.

A scream tore through me as white-hot pain blossomed in one of my arms, the stranger twisted and bent my arm in unnatural angles. I could feel the sickening pop as my bone tore free from the muscle and tissue, protruding grotesquely from my skin. My vision blurred, the agony swelling until it was the only thing I knew.

"Stop this now!" a voice commanded, the authority in his tone cutting through the fog of misery that clouded my mind. The stranger's weight pressed down on me forcing my spine to arch painfully, and then the sickening crack reverberated through my body as my vertebrae snapped.

My thoughts scrambled, snapping me out of my unhinged state and forcing me to confront the reality of my situation. My breaths came in short, desperate gasps, reduced to little more than broken whimpers. Summoning what little strong will remained to push back my anguish, I craned my neck to look up, my eyes focusing through the searing ache.

It was Goku.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: November 2, 2024 Published: November 2, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 007 | 𝑼𝑵𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺 NEXT CHAPTER: 009 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 006 | 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑲𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, and SCARIFICATION!!! Mentions of MURDER and SWEARING!!!

007 | Unfinished Business

❝Revenge is a kind of wild justice.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

        Junior's teeth were bared, his face twisted in a malevolent grin. With a sudden twist of his wrist, my head jerked to the side, and pain shot through my neck with an audible crack, momentarily blacking out my senses. My body, limp and unresisting, was hurled like a projectile towards the wall behind him. The momentum sent me reeling through the flimsy wall, smashing into the cold, unforgiving concrete, creating a dent.

"Ack!" The sound escaped my lips involuntarily, each breath a labor against the agony rippling from my shattered windpipe. As consciousness returned in fragments, I struggled against the shockwaves coursing through me, forcing me to stay awake. Strands of hair tumbled loose from my hood, bloodshot eyes wide from the lack of oxygen.

I slumped to the floor, the echo of ragged breathing mingling with the taste of blood in my mouth, coughing out as my windpipe healed. Through blurred vision, I looked up, Junior loomed over me, a haunting reminder of King Piccolo's dominance — not merely in height, but in the crushing weight of suffering endured.

"Is that all you've got left, [First Name]? Watching your life seep away, knowing your miserable fate? We haven't even started to fight."

Junior's voice dripped with disdain, the sneer etched into his features. Summoning every ounce of will, I propped myself up on an elbow with a ragged huff as my body began to heal, listening to each word that left his green lips.

"Why..." I uttered, my voice barely above a whisper, weakened as my windpipe gradually mended. "Why do you have to be here, out of all places?"

It was a foolish question, but at that moment, distress and anger took control of me. I couldn't help but question fate, the universe, or even a higher being. Were they mocking me, or did they have a twisted sense of humor to bring me such misfortune in my eternal fucking life?

Junior's eyes narrowed at my rhetorical question, and he let out a harsh, dry laugh. "Didn't I tell you before? But I'll remind you again, [First Name]," he spat my name with disdain, "my father gave me a mission, a purpose. However," Junior paused, his killer's grin returning, "I want you to remember that you caused this. And I'm going to drag out your demise to the very end. You will scream. You will bleed. And I will revel in it."

Gritting my teeth; I met his gaze defiantly. Memories of King Piccolo flooded back, reminding me of the times I had failed his missions and the severe punishments that followed. He had excelled at making me regret my immortality. Junior's sadistic demeanor mirrored his King Piccolo's cruelty in ways that cut deep.

"You're just like your father," I scoffed, the word 'father' tasting bitter on my tongue. Although he was an incarnation of King Piccolo, Junior wasn't the same demon I had met before. He was worse, more unstable.

"And you're just like you were, stubborn, aren't you, [First Name]?" Junior matched my defiance with his own, his teeth gleaming as he spoke my name. "But you cannot expect this to end the same way. Emotions blinded my father, but I am not. This time, I'll make sure you're properly punished. I had my fun here; I'll get our revenge."

I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat tightening. "I should have known you're smart enough to figure out how to get rid of me," I said, my emotions roiling. I knew what he was planning. He was going to make me suffer before trapping me by using the Evil Containment Wave.

"Oh, I'm smart enough." He said in a mocking tone, his wicked grin never wavering. "Smart enough to anticipate your every move and futile attempts to escape. Like that bottle you got 'em from the food stance for my entrapment? I'm aware, [First Name], and I'm prepared. While your mind is quick, mine is faster, and my foresight is sharper."

That son of a bastard! If he hadn't shown his abilities, I would have been in the same situation as Hero.

Each word he spoke amplified my paranoia, my blood pounding in my veins, my heart hammering against my chest. He could hear it, surely—the panic, the fear, every emotion I tried to bury. The demon's confidence seemed unshakable, despite the clear knowledge that even death wouldn't stop me.

Only eternal confinement could.

"You see, while your loyalty may have swayed my father, I am immune to such flattery. You will not worm your way out of this. You will not survive this." He said as Junior leaned slightly towards me.

"You're about to face hell. And I'm going to be your personal tour guide."

With his final words, a surge of rage propelled me forward, but the booming voice of the announcer cut through the tension like a sharp blade. "Ladies and gentlemen! The final round of the tournament is about to begin! Who will become the next world champion: Anonymous or Junior? Will the two fighters step into the arena!"

The sudden announcement halted my advance, but my eyes betrayed my continued fury. The urge to murder Junior was overpowering, and only the circumstances held me back for the moment. As the loudspeakers heralded our showdown, Junior and I shared an unspoken understanding that the championship title held little significance, it was clear neither of us cared about the tournament.

The distant cheer of the crowd outside was a stark contrast to the tension and true intentions. I glanced towards the exit, envisioning the oblivious spectators eagerly anticipating a display of martial arts battle, unaware of the bloodthirsty grudge match about to unfold before their eyes.

"Well," Junior's dark chuckle pierced the air, drawing my narrowed gaze back to him, a smirk of amusement dancing across his features, "it seems the timing couldn't be more perfect. Let's give 'em a show."

With that, he spun on his heel and marched towards the exit, knowing I had little choice but to follow. Internally, I sighed, emotions roiling within me, already losing all rational thought. He knew I cared about people, about innocence—something King Piccolo had always assumed, leading to my betrayal.

But I betrayed him for my own selfish reasons. I could use it to my advantage, making him underestimate me further. In that moment of desperate survival; I didn't truly care about others. I acknowledged a grim truth: perhaps I was more callous than I dared to admit.

But none of it mattered now.

With my wounds healed and the blood that had trickled down my neck dried, I moved forward purposefully, each step echoing through the cavernous hall with calculated resolve. I adjusted my hood and secured my face mask, steeling myself for what lay ahead as I trailed behind Junior. Stepping outside, the horizon bathed us in a warm wash of golden-orange sunlight, and a brief serenity before nightfall descended upon us.

"Here are the combatants now!!! Who will emerge victorious!?"

I glanced at Junior entering the arena, then darted to the other fighters. Some met my gaze, while others focused on their thoughts. My attention lingered on an old man among them, his appearance unfamiliar, but I quickly dismissed the person, refocusing on Junior. He stood waiting, his eyes filled with murderous intent.

I walked confidently towards the center, keeping a calculated distance from Junior. Standing firm, I adjusted my stance, my muscles coiling with tension. The announcer's voice boomed through the microphone, amplifying the already charged atmosphere.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for! The final match of the 23rd World Martial Arts Tournament!"

The crowd began chanting, their voices merging into a deafening roar. But I barely registered any of it — all my focus was on Junior. His eyes met mine with unwavering intensity as he discarded his mantle, the heavy fabric hitting the ground with a definitive thud.

Weighted clothing...

I thought, recalling Goku's similar tactic, shedding weight to unleash his full power. The realization that Junior had trained for this moment only heightened my anxiety and wrath. My hands trembled slightly, but I clenched into fists tightly, adrenaline already coursing through my veins.

Fear mingled with resolve, every nerve was electrified, and my senses heightened to the nuances of our impending clash. The announcer's voice, filled with excitement, echoed through the arena, "And without further delay, get ready!"

The rhythmic beats of traditional tenor drums reverberated, adding to the mounting tension. Their tempo quickened, mirroring the accelerated pace of my heart. "Let the final match of the tournament..." The sound of the gong reverberated like a shot across the arena.

"Begin!"

My mind slipped back into a familiar state I had tried for so long to suppress — a dark place filled with violence and aggression, the desperation of survival. Junior launched himself at me, ki blazing from his fingertips, the air crackling with energy as he barreled toward me and shot out a ki blast.

The speed of his assault was staggering, a blur of motion intended to leave me bewildered and reeling. Or even taking in the attack as Junior had always believed I would save and protect innocent people.

But he was mistaken.

I instinctively dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding his initial blast as it streaked past dangerously close, crackling with destructive power. Junior's expression shifted from predatory zeal to disappointment, his attack wasted as it hurtled toward the crowd.

A sneer tugged at his lips as he realized I had no compunction about risking the spectators' lives as he regained his composure quickly. It only fueled his desire for revenge, anger, and the thirst for blood. The spectators, initially in awe, now began to realize the gravity of the situation. Taken aback by the sudden change of events, they scrambled to escape the incoming blast.

As I found myself lunging forward. The deafening eruption rang in my ears, the ground trembled as the explosion from Junior's missed attack echoed, the force of the shockwave nearly pushing me forward. Junior and I moved simultaneously, a blur of motion as we closed the distance for brutal hand-to-hand combat.

The world narrowed to the space between us, every sense heightened. I could hear the rustle of fabric, the crunch of our feet against the ground, the sharp intake of breath. His reflexes were swift, and he initiated the first strike without hesitation. His powerful leg cocked back, ready to deliver a vicious kick aimed at my torso. Ki channeled into that single leg, the blow-packed devastating force as he swung his leg.

Instinctively, I evaded the attack. Junior's disappointment turned into a snarl of aggression. His eyes flashed, and his hand darted forward again, razor-sharp nails extended to inflict a deep cut on my visage.

Quick reflexes and expert flexibility allowed me to dodge his claws by arching my back. The close shave left me breathless, the tension in the air almost palpable. The burgeoning ki between us grew while the sound of the explosion faded. The smell of blood, sweat, burning concrete and flesh assaulted our nostrils.

The screams of the crowd, the distant cries for help, and the panicked scramble for safety added to the symphony of violence playing out in the arena.

Junior's fists were a flurry of speed and strength, each strike aimed with precision, attempting to exploit any opening. I counter-attacked with a brutal assault, my strikes fueled by a primal need to prevail against an opponent bent on destruction.

His movements are fluid and aggressive, seething with rage. The air trembled with the sheer impacts, the arena seemingly shaking with each blow. Neither of us held back, both of our attacks fierce and ruthless, each strike designed to tear the other apart.

Our combat intensified, each blow reverberating through the arena. The ground beneath us cracked and trembled, unable to withstand the force of our clash. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and burning debris, every sense overwhelmed by the chaos surrounding us.

His elbow found its mark, crunching into my jaw with a sickening thud. A sharp yelp broke my reserve as my head snapped back from the power behind the blow. The pain sent waves that threatened to distract me; I quickly overcame the haze of discomfort, using it to my advantage to mislead Junior.

Swift as a viper, I wrapped my arms around his muscular arm, my grip tight, and my leg shot forward with a swift swoop. The force of my momentum and grip propelled him into the air and crushed him to the ground's unforgiving surface. The force of the impact left Junior sprawled.

A groan of pain and frustration escaped his lips, and the wind knocked out of him temporarily. Now in a vulnerable position, I did not allow him to get a break. I hurled my left hand towards his neck, aimed at his larynx, my fingers pressed together like a blade.

He recognized the attack at the last second—one he had seen used on King Piccolo. He rolled out of harm's way, narrowly averting the attack. My hand pierced the cement floor, and the pain shot up my arm, the impact leaving a crater that attested to the raw might I had. I yanked my hand back as the adrenaline numbed the dull throb. There was no time for distractions. I whip my head back.

Junior returned to his feet, dusting the concrete remnants from his clothing fabric. The anger in his eyes was evident, but unlike his father, he didn't let it consume him. With a snarl, he launched forward, determination etched on his features. His hand shot out.

Another wave of ki pulsed from his fingertips, forming a crescent-shaped aura that bore down on me. My eyes widened as the realization hit me like a freight train that Junior’s– no, Piccolo– new attack would obliterate whatever it hit.

“Piccolo!”

My voice erupted in a guttural shout of a war cry of a blend of rage and defiance. I used my hands as leverage, pushing off the ground with incredible force, the swirling aura of my ki energy growing more potent as I attempted to sweep Piccolo's leg from beneath him as a last-ditch act to disrupt his move. However, his innate agility proved too much as he easily evaded my strike by launching vertically, safe from harm.

My eyes flickered upward, catching Piccolo hovering mid-air, his hand still poised with a crescent of ki energy. He unleashed the pent-up energy, sending the blast hurtling toward me at an alarming speed. With no time to dodge, I raised my arms protectively, forming a shield of ki energy just moments before the explosion reached me.

The explosion resonated through the stadium like a clap of thunder, shaking and shattering the ground beneath me. The sheer force of the blast sent debris flying in all directions, and the once-proud arena transformed into a chaotic maelstrom of destruction.

I shut my eyes against the blinding light; the heat was overwhelming, even with the protective barrier. The roaring explosion assaulted my ears. The heat trickled through my skin and attire as sweat formed on my forehead; I felt like I was going to melt.

Moments after the explosion had died out, feeling the residual heat from the blast, I lowered and dissipated my ki barriers. Through the cloud of dust and debris, I could make out the silhouette of Piccolo floating above the devastation, untouched by the cataclysmic event.

I scanned around. The arena was unrecognizable, a vast expanse of rubble and shattered ground as a wide crater. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt energy, charred material, and flesh mingled with the smoke.

Oh shit. Oh fuck, oh no.

I couldn't sense any life energy in the immediate vicinity. Maybe a few survived. Or so? The consequences of my actions, as well as the destruction wrought in this battle, were stark and undeniable. My eyes were wide, and my teeth gritted together, swallowing the guilt.

My gaze redirected to Piccolo, focusing back on the battle as the dust settled and cleared. Piccolo descended slowly, his gaze locked onto mine, the intensity of his gaze almost physical. He landed with a soft thud, his body coiled with tension, ready to pounce at any moment.

“You’re like a cockroach, always managing to survive,” he remarked, his voice low and menacing. “But this time, there's nowhere to run. No one to aid you. No more tricks.”

His words echoed in the desolate arena, amplifying the cold reality of my situation. The words were a bitter truth, cutting deeper than any physical wound. I couldn't run from him; he would still chase me until the end. I had no allies, no one to help me. Not that I could obtain them anyway.

That fact alone pushed me to my limit of maintaining any rational sense within me.

Without warning, Piccolo lunged at me, his movement a blur of speed and precision. His hand, tipped with razor-sharp nails, slashed downward with lethal intent. In that fraction of a second, time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the deadly glint of his nails and the fierce determination etched on his face. I braced myself, boosting my energy, the air around me crackling with ki.

I met his attack head-on, my body absorbing the initial cut as the pain was sharp and immediate. I gritted my teeth against the pain, pushing through it. I channeled all my fear, anger, and desperation into a single, powerful punch. My fist connected with Piccolo's abdomen, the impact driving the air from his lungs, causing him to double over and his eyes to water in pain.

But I did not halt there.

A fierce war cry tore from my throat, an unbridled expression of the storm raging within me. My fist drove through his defenses, tearing through flesh and muscle and penetrating deep into his torso. I felt the sickening give of tissue and internal organs before my fist emerged from his back, coated in blood and viscera.

Piccolo's breath hitched, a gasp of ache escaping his lips. His body convulsed, and he jerked his hand back. He tried to push me away with his hands clawing at my arm in a desperate and animalistic ferocity. But I held firm, my eyes blazing with a fierce perseverance mingled with a hint of madness.

Even as his body quivered with the shock of injury, I knew he could regenerate. Yet, the victory of wounding him felt intoxicating, an addictive rush. I wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

“You... think you can... defeat me? End me...?”

Piccolo rasped, each word a struggle, accompanied by a coughing spasm that expelled a spray of blood. He heaved, nauseous from the pain and his insides being torn apart. His nails dug into the skin of my upper arm, a futile attempt to wrench himself free from the agony I inflicted. He wanted to throw up, though kept it together, yet that made it worse.

My body began to mend the gashes that he had inflicted across my shoulder to my torso, restoring blood, tissue, and muscle. The pain ebbed, replaced by a cold clarity; I twisted my arm deeper into his wound in response to his words. Piccolo’s nails bit into my skin, his face twisted, the agony clear on his features as he retched, the act a testament to my brutal assault, and I felt a twisted satisfaction, my lips curling into a sadistic grin.

He gagged, barfing from the pain and the nauseating sensation of my arm inside him. Blood dripped from his mouth, splattering onto the ground, and staining the fabric of my clothing. However, what I didn't expect was Piccolo to vomit up a small bottle. It clattered to the ground, rolling away slightly. My eyes widened in recognition.

Was that...?

Before I could fully grasp the significance of the bottle, Piccolo lashed out. With a sudden, vicious swipe, his nails raked a deep slash across my eyes. My once-[Eye Color] eyes now bore gaping slits that oozed blood, staining my face with crimson streaks as my vision was obscured. A guttural shriek of pain and anger burst from my lips at the savagery of his sudden attack.

Instinctively, my free hand flew to my damaged eyes, desperately trying to alleviate the searing pain. Piccolo took advantage of my disorientation, yanking my arm free from his body with a sickening squelch, the wet slap of blood against the ground echoing in my ears.

My other senses heightened in the absence of sight, every sound and sensation amplified. I was tossed aside like a rag doll, my body skidding across the broken floor. The impact jarred every bone; the brutal collision was an unforgiving slap of reality.

I groaned, the discombobulation rendering me susceptible to further attack. My hands fumbled in the darkness, trying to orient myself, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I fought to regain control. The ground beneath me was rough and cold, the texture abrasive against my skin.

The metallic and salty taste of blood lingered on my tongue, mingling with the acrid scent of sweat and the tang of iron from Piccolo's wound. The cold, hard surface of the crumbled floor pressed against my back.

I could hear Piccolo’s labored breaths, a reminder of his presence. In my blinded state, every subtle sound and shift in the air around me became critical. My ruined eyesight began to heal, but I didn't wait passively. I scrambled, using my elbow for support as my body shifted from prone to a seated position.

I listened intently, sensing his energy and my breathing steadied, the pain receding to a dull throb. I angled my arm, tendrils of energy coiling at my fingertips, my resolve unbroken despite the ache and disarray. The energy within me surged, expanding with a furious intensity; I channeled it into my palm, where heat began to coalesce into a deadly sphere before releasing a blast of devastating power.

The sphere of searing energy erupted, spreading across the ground with unstoppable force. The roar of the explosion reverberated through the air, a deafening sound that seemed to crack the very earth beneath us.

As the echoes of the blast faded, I felt the sting of blood drying in my eyes, blurring my vision further. I hastily wiped at them, wincing at the discomfort. The acrid smell of scorched earth and energy hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent and taste of my blood that dried up.

Despite the chaos and pain, one question lingered in my mind: Did I get him?

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: August 3, 2024 Published: August 4, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 006 | 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑲𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 NEXT CHAPTER: 007 | 𝑪𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑺𝑰𝑺

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 005 | 𝑪𝑨𝑻𝑨𝑳𝒀𝑺𝑻 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF HEAVY ANGST, PANIC ATTACK, BLOOD, & VIOLENCE!!! Mentions of MURDER, SWEARING!!!

006 | Reckoning

❝Sometimes it takes a good fall to really know where you stand.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

 "Suck my—"

The announcer's voice cut me off, calling for Junior's opponent to arrive. The blaring speakers were silenced as I sensed a distant energy behind me. Turning, I saw an old, nerdy man approaching, perhaps in his forties or fifties.

His light beige skin was smooth, complemented by neatly combed, short black hair. His black eyes, round and serene, exuded a calm and somewhat absent-minded expression behind glasses. A small, gentle smile lent his face an air of benign simplicity. He was dressed in a simple white button shirt and black pants, but he seemed vastly out of place in the martial arts arena.

I stepped aside, my eyes lingering on him as he walked past me. As he entered the ring, the speakers blared again, announcing his presence. "Ladies and gentlemen, Hero has arrived! Get ready, this sure will be an amazing battle!"

The crowd's excitement surged, their cheers growing louder in anticipation of the showdown between Junior and Hero. Hero apologized for his tardiness, explaining that he had lost his way. I would raise an eyebrow; he seemed like a goofy man just trying to live his life from my perspective while the other fighters beside me exchanged glances, their faces mirroring my own skepticism.

While I watched him, I sensed a familiar energy as Goku approached us. Krillin raised an eyebrow, curiosity lacing his tone. "Hey, where have you been?" 

Goku, standing next to us, smiled sheepishly. "Oh, something. I'll tell ya later," he answered before falling silent. Tenshinhan's curiosity was piqued as he glanced at Goku, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Something, huh?" he repeated, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

Krillin chuckled at Goku's vague answer. "Classic Goku," he teased. "Always keeping secrets."

"Is that so?" I interjected, my tone tinged with curiosity and skepticism about Goku's sudden disappearance. I glanced at Goku, noting the surprise on everyone's faces as they turned to me. Goku, Tenshinhan, and Krillin couldn't help but react to my sudden interest in the conversation, while Yamcha regarded me with a hint of curiosity.

Goku chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, you'll see soon enough," he replied cryptically.

"Get ready, the Second Semi-Final begins... now!"

The announcer's voice boomed over the microphone. Hero's eyes narrowed in defiance, an unexpected anger flashing behind them as he gazed at Junior. The crowd's cheers and chatter made it difficult to hear their exchange, but Junior's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. The tension between the two fighters was palpable.

Suddenly, Hero's energy surged, and he assumed a battle stance. With a swift upward motion of his hand, the ground trembled and an impulsive blast erupted, sending Junior soaring into the sky. The wind from the attack was so fierce that I had to close my eyes against the blinding light and brace myself to avoid being knocked over. The sound of the blast was deafening, leaving my ears ringing as I slowly opened my eyes to see the arena, now slightly crumbled and empty.

Another powerful explosion erupted from a mile away, shaking the ground once more. Squinting at the light as it diminished, I caught a glimpse of Hero descending before he landed gracefully, not breaking a sweat.

Junior reappeared behind Hero, slashing at him with sharp nails, but Hero vanished, reappearing above Junior, who turned too late. Hero bashed his knee into Junior's back, sending him crashing face-first into the arena ground with such force that the ground shattered, creating a hole. Junior fell through, breaking through the other side of the arena floor.

The crowd erupted in cheers at the match's progression, impressed by Junior's resilience. My eyes narrowed, an emotional turmoil brewing inside me as I observed the scene. Everything happened so fast.

Hero's skill was impressive, and for a moment, I hoped he might be the one to defeat Junior. However, something about Hero's fighting style seemed almost lethal, as if he were trying to kill Junior. Perhaps I was overthinking it, but his style was eerily reminiscent of King Piccolo's, it unnerved me.

As they faced each other again, Hero regained his bearings, his teeth gritted in determination. The others—Krillin, Yamcha, Tenshinhan, and Goku—watched in stunned silence, their eyes glued to the unfolding events. The air was thick with suspense, every movement and attack charged with the possibility of a volatile outcome.

"Unbelievable," Tenshinhan muttered, his voice filled with astonishment at Hero's incredible strength and agility.

"Who is this guy?" Yamcha exclaimed, his voice a mix of disbelief and awe.

Krillin shook his head in disbelief. "What—how? He just—and—I've never seen anything like it."

The four of them continued to watch, their eyes glued to the battle. Tenshinhan's expression grew contemplative. "This fight seems personal. Hero is attacking Junior as if they were at war."

Hearing Tenshinhan's words confirmed my suspicions. Krillin raised an eyebrow, contemplating his statement. "Yeah, it does seem a bit intense for just a tournament fight," he agreed, his voice tinged with concern.

Yamcha nodded, his eyes fixed on the battle. "It's like there's more than just winning on his mind." Goku remained silent, his eyes narrowed as he studied Hero's movements, his expression inscrutable.

With a shout from Hero, he charged Junior with reverent speed, his quickened steps echoing on the floor. Junior prepared for the onslaught, eyes narrowing as they closed in on each other. Junior swung his hand to the left in a slash, but Hero halted abruptly, defying the momentum that had propelled him forward, catching Junior off guard.

Seizing the advantage, Hero struck a blow to Junior's abdomen; the sickening thud echoed through the arena, sending Junior hurling backward before he regained his stance. Hero charged at him again, tossing jabs and hooks left and right, yet they both seemed to block and avoid each attack with precision and inhuman speed, their movements a blur.

My eyes struggled to keep up, their bodies flickering across the ring. In a blink, Hero vanished, reappearing behind Junior, leg poised for a devastating kick. Junior, reacting with astonishing speed, caught Hero's leg before impact, gripping it fiercely.

With a powerful swing, Junior tossed Hero to the ground. Hero's agility shone through as he placed his hand on the floor, preventing a face-first crash, and performed a backflip to land gracefully. Junior did not waver. His energy spiked, creating an orb of light within his palm. He aimed and fired at Hero.

The blast was overwhelming, the blinding light forcing my eyes shut. The force behind it pushed spectators back, the wind roaring through the arena. However, I forced my eyes to open, determined to witness every moment. Through the blinding light and my astonishment; I saw Hero's hands outstretched, catching the blast and redirecting it upwards, away from the crowd.

My eyes widened at the sight. His hands hissed with smoke, the heat visibly intense; I knew the agony of such an act, having experienced it against Goku, yet Hero showed no signs of injury. It was a startling display of resilience.

What am I seeing right now?

Hero's expression was laced with fatigue and determination, while Junior, momentarily shocked, quickly regained his composure. It was clear that Junior now understood he could not underestimate this seemingly frail old man.

Yamcha broke the stunned silence first, his voice barely above a whisper. "How is he not seriously hurt from that?"

The audience was awestruck into silence by the display of power and endurance. Even the usually loquacious announcer was speechless, his voice lost in the sheer awe of the moment. I knew any normal human would have been severely injured, if not worse, by such an intense blast.

"This isn't normal at all," Krillin breathed out, his eyes still fixed on the arena. The fighters beside me could only watch, their eyes wide, their words lost. They had never seen such a display of strength and resilience before.

Despite the uncanny event, Junior displayed formidable power, surpassing even his father, King Piccolo, in speed and strength. I stayed silent, my gaze remaining on Junior as he stood his ground, his eyes narrowed at Hero, clearly sizing him up and analyzing him.

With the crowd dead silent, Junior's lips parted and spoke something I couldn't catch until Hero responded, "▯:⋊|♁⨅⌟◸.⋥.Ə| ∆∙◸.⋥.⨅⌟⨉⨉ ◸.⨉⨉ ⨅⌟◸.▯:⨕∙|▷ ▯.⊓⨉⨉◸.⋥.⋊|⨉⨉⨉⨉, ⨿⁚◸.⩞⩞◺⌝⊐:◺⌝" Translating... |Reading minds is dirty business, Piccolo.

What is this bullshit?

It caught me off guard; I couldn't discern his words, almost gibberish to my ears. It was a tongue I couldn't place, which only added to the mystery and tension of the moment. Junior seemed to understand, his eyes widening before responding in a bitter tone, "⨅⌟◺⌝ |▷◺⌝.⊓ ▯:⋊|♁⊐:⊐:|▷ ⨕∙∟◸.⋥.ɛ |▷◺⌝.⊓ ⩞♁⋥. ☉◺⌝◺⌝⊐: ∆∙⋊| P◸.⨕∙ ∟ ⨕∙ ∟♁⨕∙ ⨅⌟◸.⨉⨉Ə|.⊓◸.⨉⨉⋊|" Translating... |Do you really think you can fool me with that disguise?

Tenshinhan, Krillin, Yamcha, and Goku exchanged confused glances, their eyes darting from Hero to Junior. "Did you catch what they were saying?" Krillin asked, his voice edged with both curiosity and concern.

Yamcha shrugged, just as baffled as the rest. "Sounded like some kind of weird language, didn't it? I'm just as confused as you."

"But they seemed to understand each other," Tenshinhan observed, his voice carrying a mix of surprise and unease.

"Yeah, that's what's strange about it," Krillin agreed as Goku remained silent, his brow furrowed in deep thought, clearly focused on deciphering the exchange between Hero and Junior.

"P ∟♁⨕∙ ⨅⌟◺⌝ |▷◺⌝.⊓ ⨕∙∟◸.⋥.ɛ |▷◺⌝.⊓'▯:⋊|, ɛ♁∆∙◸.!" As Junior's guttural, otherworldly words reverberated through the arena. Translating... |What do you think you’re doing here, Kami!

There was a flicker of irritation in Junior's eyes, met with a smirk of amusement from Hero. The two exchanged their strange language, harsh and alien, until Hero responded with something that left both warriors glaring at each other in silence.

The announcer's voice cut through the uncomfortable quiet, attempting to engage the crowd and make sense of the situation, chimed in, "Both Junior and Hero are speaking in a language we've never heard before! But the meaning is clear in any tongue—these two warriors are out to get one another. I think..."

Uncertainty colored the announcer's tone, mirroring my feelings. My brows furrowed as I tried to decipher their conversation. Did they share a history? My thoughts were interrupted by Junior's laughter—loud, proud, and ominous. It sent a shiver down my spine, the unease creeping into my skin, reminiscent of King Piccolo.

"|▷◺⌝.⊓'▯:⋊| ▯⊐:.⊓☉☉◸.⋥.Ə|! ⨕∙ ∟⋊|▯:⋊| ◸.⨉⨉ ⋥.◺⌝⨕∙ ∟◸.⋥.Ə| |▷◺⌝.⊓ ⩞♁⋥. ⨅⌟◺⌝ ⨕∙◺⌝ ⨉⨉⨕∙◺⌝⨿⁚ ∆∙⋊|!" Translating… |You're bluffing! There is nothing you can do to stop me!

Junior's tone shifted from bitterness to cockiness as he continued in his native tongue. Hero's smirk faltered briefly before he responded, chuckling in amusement. Whatever Hero said made Junior's eyes widen in disbelief and panic, his posture stiffening with a rare vulnerability.

Yamcha's voice broke the tension, his tone laced with concern and curiosity. "Whatever they are saying, Junior doesn't seem happy about it." The others nodded, sharing similar thoughts as Hero and Junior continued their cryptic exchange.

Suddenly, Hero reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small bottle that sparked a fresh wave of questions in my mind. He unplugged the cap and carefully placed it on the ground.

"Hero has revealed a bottle and placed it on the ground; it doesn't register as a weapon. So... the match will continue. It might be some sort of magic charm," the announcer speculated, sounding more uncertain than authoritative.

I glanced at the bottle, noticing red writing on it. Realization struck me, sending my heart racing with perplexity and desperate hope.

"No! Not that!" Junior's voice cut through, his fear was noticeable as his eyes widened in terror. At that moment, a sadistic glee flickered in my eyes.

Hero leaped back, calculating and precise. His hands outstretched, a surge of energy illuminated his form as he shouted with sheer determination, "Evil Containment Wave!"

The words sent a thrill through my entire being, and the world around me fell into a tense silence. My heart thumped with ecstatic anticipation; I watched with bated breath as Hero unleashed a torrent of energy, creating a blinding light and roaring wind. Squinting against the brightness, I savored every moment. A smile crept onto my lips behind my facemask, uncontrollable and raw with hope. The light enveloped Junior, the containment nearly complete.

This was it.

As the attack neared Junior, a spark of light flickered within the blast, causing me to flutter my eyes, adjusting to the blinding intensity, but nothing could prepare me for what came next.

The energy of the Evil Containment Wave is twisted and reversed, the light bouncing back, redirected by Junior toward Hero. In a flash, the tide turned against Hero. He was tangled within the very technique meant for Junior. Everything seemed to slow down; moments stretched into an agonizing eternity.

Hero was trapped in the wave, struggling to break free, but Junior's control was absolute. With deft precision, Junior aimed the concentrated light toward the open bottle, seizing the opportunity to ensnare Hero permanently. But then, something happened. Something came out of his body and it looked like Junior. Someone had used Hero, a human, to disguise themselves, and they were trapped within the wave, leaving Hero behind.

Junior continued to guide the light, aiming it at the opened bottle, trapping the being within. He sprinted towards it, plugging the cap back inside.

Silence settled around me, a stark contrast to the disarray flaring. My mind reeled, thoughts racing yet frozen in dread as I stared at the unconscious Hero left laying face on the ground after—whatever was possessing him—departure from his human body and my stomach twisted in a knot. My heart throbbed, almost as if it stopped beating. I stopped breathing—no, I felt suffocated as the implications settled upon me.

Junior had managed to reverse the entrapment.

And that only meant one thing.

Was this the way he was going to get his revenge? His father's revenge?

The weight of the moment pressed down on me, a suffocating realization that history might repeat itself — that I could be the next one trapped, tortured in isolation for eternity. 

It was a fitting revenge for the one who had betrayed King Piccolo and entrapped him for centuries.

Fear gripped me, a primal terror clawing at my insides. Images of past torment flashed through my mind; memories I had fought so hard to bury. Memories of my previous entrapment flooded back, the endless darkness, the crushing solitude, the unending torment of repeating death.

Sweat trickled down my forehead. Panic surged through me, threatening to overwhelm what little composure I clung to. Junior's smug smirk cut through the haze of my terror. He could see the fear in my eyes as they shifted from sadistic glee to panic.

It was his turn to relish and savor my reaction.

In that moment of paralyzing fear, I saw the abyss staring back at me. Junior's eyes bore into mine, mocking my vulnerability. While holding the bottle in his hands, a reminder there was someone inside the bottle, it was almost satire that he may have known I might consider using that technique on him.

Clearly, that wasn't going to work.

A cruel glint sparkled in Junior's eyes as he observed my terror-stricken expression. He was reveling in my dread, enjoying the power he wielded in that moment. My breath hitched, my vision narrowed, and my heart pounded so violently that it felt like it might burst. Every fiber of my being screamed in protest, unwilling to face the fate Junior had planned.

Trapped forever. Alone. Tortured.

I couldn't go back to that. I couldn't survive it again.

I barely came out of that with a fragment of my sanity.

My mind spiraled, thoughts racing, crashing into each other in a chaotic whirlwind. The world around me blurred further, Junior's smirk was a haunting beacon in the turmoil. My legs felt weak, threatening to give way beneath me. The thought of being sealed away, of losing my sanity, gnawed at my very soul.

"Hey, are you okay?" Tenshinhan's voice cut through the haze, a lifeline in my panic. I hardly registered his presence, my mind locked in a battle with my own demons.

"I..." My voice sounded ragged, my throat dry. The words died on my lips as I struggled to compose myself. Tenshinhan could see the raw panic in my eyes, a deep-seated fear that seemed to grip me with a vice-like grip. He stepped closer, his expression concerned, as he tried to reach me.

"Breathe," he said firmly. "You need to breathe."

I attempted to follow Tenshinhan's advice, but each inhale felt inadequate, my focus consumed by Junior and the haunting resemblance he bore to his father, King Piccolo. Backing away, I was lost in a tumult of memories, the terror of past captivity threatening to overwhelm me. Desperation clawed at my chest, urging flight from the imminent threat. I couldn't afford to be trapped again. Not like this. Not by Junior.

Tenshinhan reached out, his hand gently gripping my arm to steady me. "Hey, calm down," he repeated, his voice a blend of firmness and reassurance. "Focus on me. Take a slow breath through your nose, then exhale through your mouth."

Yamcha observed, his eyes flicking between me and Tenshinhan, while Krillin kept a respectful distance, worry etched on his face as he watched my distress. But they knew Tenshinhan could handle the situation. He was the most level-headed among them.

Meanwhile, the announcer's countdown for Hero's unconscious form underscored the tension in the arena.

"Look at me," Tenshinhan instructed firmly, his eyes locking with mine, blocking the view of Junior. "Breathe in slowly. Inhale. Hold it for a moment. And exhale. Slowly. You need to calm down. You're going to hyperventilate."

But Something inside me snapped.

The panic, the fear, the memories — they all funneled into a single, blazing point of desperation. I focused intently on Tenshinhan's guidance, breathing deeply and methodically. Inhaling through my nose, holding briefly, and exhaling through my mouth, I felt my racing heart begin to slow.

Soon my vision cleared, and my breath steadied. My panic began to subside, replaced by a steely focus. I straightened up, my breathing still ragged but controlled. There was only one thought that remained, burning with clarity and purpose: I couldn't let Junior win.

Tenshinhan observed the shift in my demeanor, his grip on my arm easing as he saw the quiet strength returning to my gaze. Goku, on the other hand, took glances at both my state and Junior, his eyes filled with anger — a silent communication that suggested a deeper history between him and Junior.

Yamcha broke the silence, his voice a welcome relief. "You okay now?"

I nodded. Anger burned away the fear, a fire fueled by desperation for survival. I couldn't be weak. I couldn't afford to be weak. Not now. My eyes glanced at Tenshinhan's hand gripping my arm; it was awkward since I was a stranger to them, yet for a moment, there was an odd sentiment that someone had helped me.

But I pushed the thought away, focusing on the situation at hand.

Tenshinhan released his grip on my arm with a pat that felt almost brotherly, satisfied that I had regained my composure. The familiar noise of the crowd's cheers and the booming voice of the announcer reverberated through the arena, snapping me back into the present moment.

"Junior wins the match by knockout and will now advance to the championship round against Anonymous!"

The name rang in my ears: 'Anonymous.' Throughout this tournament, I had avoided facing Piccolo Jr., but now, as I stood there, all hesitation dissipated. I didn't care anymore.

Taking a few steps forward to gain a better view of the arena, I observed the announcer knelt beside Hero, attempting to rouse him from unconsciousness. Slowly, Hero stirred, groggy and disoriented, aided to his feet by the announcer. The audience flared in applause for Hero's valiant effort to reach the semi-finals.

But my attention swiftly returned to Junior, who stood there with the bottle clenched tightly in his hand, his smirk unwavering. His eyes met mine, and he saw it—my resolve, my determination not to back down despite my earlier panic attack.

We locked eyes, a silent battle of wills. Anger surged within me, mingled with a deep-seated fear and a desperate resolve. One thought consumed me: I will kill Junior. It was the only way to ensure my safety, to prevent the horrifying fate he intended for me. This was no longer just a tournament.

It was about survival — my survival.

As my gaze bore into Junior's, my determination burned fiercely. But instead of faltering under my intense stare, Junior's smirk widened. He seemed to relish the intensity of my resolve. To him, it signaled fear, a delicious confirmation of his power over me.

A gong struck, a deep, resonant boom filling the air, starting as a sharp metallic clang before expanding into a rolling wave of sound that echoed through the arena. It momentarily broke my focus, drawing the attention of the crowd and the other fighters.

"Next up is the final round as Anonymous and Junior battle for the championship! Get ready for the most spectacular match of the day!!!" The announcer's voice excited the crowd, their excitement masking the true nature of the confrontation about to unfold.

"The fight will begin following a ten-minute intermission."

The ten-minute break stretched out like an eternity. It was a cruel pause, offering too much time for my thoughts to spiral, for my fears and doubts to metastasize. It was as if the universe was taunting me, prolonging the inevitable confrontation with Junior.

With a scowl, I turned away from Junior and returned to the tournament building. The gaze of the others followed me, but I ignored it, pushing forward with a single-minded focus, seeking a moment of solitude.

Inside the building, I found a wooden bench and sat down heavily, my thoughts spiraling out of control. The weight of those dreadful events pressed down on me, threatening to unhinge my already fragile sanity. My breaths came in shallow gasps again, my hands quivering as I clutched at my knees.

I couldn't shake the relentless urge to butcher Junior, to eradicate the threat he posed. Thoughts of consequences — of exposing my identity, of causing collateral damage, of risking capture — faded into the background. All that mattered was the singular goal of ending Junior's life.

The wooden bench beneath me creaked as I shifted, trying to steady my racing thoughts. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the coolness of the air around me. The noises of the bustling tournament outside seemed distant, muffled by the commotion inside my skull.

The wait was excruciating, my mind playing out every possible scenario. My heart pounded against my chest, a relentless drumbeat of fear and determination. I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself and focus on the task ahead.

I didn't know how long I was waiting until a sudden chuckle shattered the silence, jolting me out of my thoughts. Tension coiled within me like a spring, my muscles tightening as I braced myself. Opening my eyes, I met Junior's gaze—smug, lethal, towering over me. He stood with casual arrogance, one hand resting on his hip while the other idly played with a fragment of his cape.

"Well, well, look at the state you're in. Afraid? Oh, you should be," he taunted, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. Anger surged within me, a blazing fire igniting in the depths of my chest, momentarily overpowering the despair that threatened to consume me.

I focused on controlling my breathing, forcing myself to maintain my calm facade. I remained silent, meeting Junior's gaze with defiance and apprehension, torn between the urge to lash out and the instinct to retreat. In the end, I just sat there, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing my turmoil.

Junior's dark eyes flickered over me, drinking in the sight of my tense form. He seemed unperturbed by my festering rage, relishing the tremor that ran through me and the subtle betrayals of my tightly clenched lips. His next words were laced with danger, delivered in a low, menacing tone.

"All that waffling, all that scheming, all for naught. You've done well, [First Name]. You've survived this long."

His right hand shot forward, his long fingers enclosing my throat with swift brutality, the impact snapped, splintering, and crumpling the wooden bench beneath us, its splinters poked and stung my body. His grip tightened mercilessly, the pressure was instantaneous and suffocating, his thumbs digging into my windpipe, his sharp nails dug into my throat, causing small rivulets of blood that escape my neck.

I could barely breathe or speak; a scream lodged deep in my constricted throat. My eyes widened in panic, every nerve in my body tensing as I clawed desperately at his hand with renewed strength, fighting to loosen the vice-like grip on my windpipe.

The searing pain radiates through my neck, the blood rushing to my temples, my vision dimming on the periphery. My calloused hands, hardened by years of battles, found no purchase against his implacable hold. My attempts to break free only made him greedier for my pain.

Junior leaned into me, his face contorting into a mocking expression, and showed his fangs with a grin. "We both know, even if you can't die, I can make you wish for it." he hissed, his grip squeezing tighter, ready to crush my trachea.

He was right.

Even if I can not permanently die, I could still feel the pain. But if I die right here.

I would come back to life.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: JULY 4, 2024 Happy (early/late) 4th of July! — theunkn0wn-0

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 005 | 𝑪𝑨𝑻𝑨𝑳𝒀𝑺𝑻 NEXT CHAPTER: 007 | 𝑼𝑵𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 004 | 𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝒀 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE, BLOOD, SCARIFICATION!!! Mentions of SWEARING!

005 | Catalyst

❝Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

"You poor soul, you must leave."

Startled, I whipped around, expecting to see someone standing there, but the hallway was empty. The eerie whisper echoed in my mind, and confusion crept in as I scanned my surroundings. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a shiver coursing through me, wondering if my mind was playing tricks on me. The voices in my head had a habit of whispering and yelling at the most inconvenient times, clouding my thoughts with their incessant chatter.

Perhaps it was those annoying voices.

I shook my head, trying to dismiss the eerie encounter. I needed to stay focused. Recalling the intricate steps of the Evil Containment Wave was crucial. I could not afford to let my mind play tricks on me now. With a deep breath, I pushed the unsettling experience to the recesses of my mind and continued walking.

The sounds of distant cheers reverberated through the halls, a stark reminder of the stakes at play. I found a quiet corner, a small alcove where I had stashed the bottle of water. Sitting down, I closed my eyes, forcing myself to center my thoughts.

Memories of my training with King Piccolo surfaced, the rigorous drills, the grueling lessons. I could still feel his cold, unyielding grip around my throat, his voice a cruel whisper in my ear. My body remembered the pain, the sensations of damage inflicted without mercy.

A bitter scoff escaped my lips as I leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to push those memories aside.

Instead, I focused on the teachings of Master Mutaito. With his calm demeanor, and his wise counsel, he was a good teacher, the one who kept me—somewhat—sane during my time as King Piccolo's weapon. I recalled the simple moments and remembered the Evil Containment Wave that Master Mutaito used against King Piccolo.

I could see his steady hands demonstrating the precise motions, and feel the immense energy it demanded. It was a technique of last resort, a desperate gamble, but one I might have to use against Junior.

As I sat there, the weight of my mission settled heavily on my shoulders. The room around me seemed to fade, the sounds of the arena distant and muffled. My thoughts were a whirlwind of strategies and what-ifs.

. ୭ ˚○◦˚★˚◦○˚ ୧ .

Time seemed to warp as I delved deeper into the technique, each repetition bringing me closer to mastery. But even as my movements grew more fluid, doubt still lingered in the recesses of my mind. I could only hope I might manage to trap Junior without any fatal mishaps. The blaring speakers cut through the silence, jolting me back to reality. Match 4 had come to an end, and the winner was announced with a flourish—a man named Hero.

"With the first round of intense fighting over, the best four have been decided! It's time to welcome our top four athletes to the semi-finals: Tenshinhan, Anonymous, Junior, and Hero!"

As the announcer's voice reverberated through the arena, my heart quickened its pace. The semi-finals were about to begin, and I was among the chosen few. My gaze drifted towards the entrance of the arena. The sunlight spilled in the cold, dark interior.

"Attention, semifinalists, and spectators! The first match of the semi-finals is about to commence. Tenshinhan versus Anonymous!"

I sighed softly at the mention of my alias, "Anonymous." I hoped this next competitor would be more challenging than Goku, or at least that someone else would deal with Junior before I had to. Stepping into the light of the arena entrance, the scent of sizzling food from nearby vendors mingled with the earthy tang of sweat and soil, assaulting my senses.

The crowd grew louder with each step, a cacophony of excitement and anticipation. The sky above was a canvas of vibrant hues—blue, purplish-pink, and gold—heralding the approach of sunset.

As I walked past Junior, our eyes locked for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange laden with unspoken threats. I could feel his gaze boring into my back, a reminder of the danger he posed. My focus shifted to Krillin and Goku, both defeated, and I exchanged glances with them before approaching the ring.

There, my eyes met Tenshinhan's intense, three-eyed gaze. He stood tall and confident, muscles coiled and ready for combat. I took a deep breath, centering myself. I needed to test his strength and skill. The announcer's voice boomed, "Let the first match of the semi-finals begin!"

Tenshinhan moved first, his speed astonishing. He closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, his fist aimed squarely at my face. For a moment, I was frozen in bewilderment, not expecting such impressive speed from a regular human.

Instinct took over. I leaped back, my shoes scraping the cement floor as I landed, stopping myself from tumbling out of the ring. My hand reflexively reached for my belt, patting to realize my gun wasn't there—old habits from survival situations die hard.

This is a tournament, idiot! Not a war! I'm not even in danger, not yet.

I scolded myself inwardly, berating my paranoia in the heat of the moment. With renewed focus, I pushed aside my doubts and focused on the task at hand. Tenshinhan's attacks came in waves, but I held my ground, meeting each blow with steely determination. His attacks were relentless, a barrage of strikes that kept me on the defensive. I countered with a swift kick to his midsection, but he blocked it effortlessly, retaliating with a powerful elbow strike.

The force of his blow sent me skidding backward, my feet digging into the ground to maintain balance, stopping mere centimeters from the ring's edge. Tenshinhan followed up with a right hook. I evaded the attack by leaping off the ground and swinging my leg toward his face, delivering a solid blow to his left cheek.

The impact reverberated up my leg, causing him to stagger, but he quickly regained his footing. Landing gracefully, I closed the gap between us with a swift dash. His eyes narrowed, anticipating my next move, scanning for an opening.

My immortality granted me an edge, but I couldn't rely on it. Not here. Not now.

I brought my fist to my chest, feinting a jab, then swiftly dropped to the ground, sliding towards Tenshinhan. Caught off guard, he stumbled, unable to react as I swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor with a resounding thud.

I always had a knack for faking maneuvers and playing dirty.

As Tenshinhan sprang back to his feet, I watched closely, testing his intellect. He wasted no time, delivering a swift kick to my midsection that knocked the breath from my lungs. I rolled away, clutching my stomach, the pain coursing through me.

This is good.

I welcomed it—it was all part of the plan, a calculated risk to make Junior underestimate me. And besides, a little pain was nothing compared to what I had endured.

The crowd's cheers filled the air, but I tuned them out, focusing on my opponent. With each passing moment, my body recovered. I stood up, my breathing steady, my expression unreadable. Tenshinhan and I locked eyes, and without a word, we charged at each other once more. Our movements were fluid, a seamless blend of offense and defense. Each strike he landed was met with a counter from me, each block calculated to perfection.

The arena around us seemed to fade away, the only sounds that mattered were the rhythm of our breathing and the thunderous thud of our footsteps. Tenshinhan was relentless, his attacks coming faster and fiercer with each passing moment. As he unleashed a flurry of kicks and punches; I blocked and dodged with precision, my mind racing with strategy.

Does this man want to push me further? Fine, I can keep up.

My energy surged as I matched his pace and power. I blocked and dodged, feeling the strain in my muscles. We clashed again, Tenshinhan's firm, warm, and sweaty hand pressed against mine. His brow furrowed in concentration, teeth gritted with resolve and frustration as he sought to overpower me with sheer strength. But I held my ground, pushing back with equal force.

It was a brutal test of strength, a relentless tug-of-war that seemed to stretch on endlessly. The broadcaster's voice cut through the tension, their exclamations echoing in the arena. "Whoa, the two have finished their lightning-speed battle, but Tenshinhan and Anonymous are practically at each other's throats!"

Every muscle in my body tensed every sense heightened as I focused on the fight at hand. Despite Tenshinhan's strength, I sensed a flicker of doubt in his eyes, a momentary lapse in his resolve, noticing I wasn't tired. Centuries of experience had made me somewhat immune to the face of exhaustion.

"Come on, Tien! Take 'em down, hurry!"

The shout seemed to bolster his resolve. Seizing the opportunity, I brought my knees to my chest and thrust my legs forward, my feet connecting under his chin with a powerful blow. The impact forced Tenshinhan to release his grip, sending him soaring off the bounds of the arena.

But he disappeared before he could make contact with the ground.

Sensing his energy building behind me, I reacted on instinct, executing a flawless backflip to evade his strike. Time seemed to slow as I watched him miss his mark, his surprise evident in the widening of his eyes, our gazes locking as I flipped through the air.

With a graceful landing, I kept my hood securely, concealing my identity from prying eyes. I caught his arm and twisted, using his momentum to slam him into the ground. The impact reverberated through the arena, leaving him winded but far from defeated. After a moment, he pushed himself up, a mixture of determination and respect shining in his gaze as he met my eyes.

"You're good," he rasped, his voice rough with exertion, wiping a trickle of blood from his lips.

"I could say the same," I replied, my tone measured despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The truth was, I didn't tire easily. Centuries of life had honed my stamina, from traversing into the wilderness, and learning how to swim, to scaling towering peaks. I had embraced the physical challenges that came with my immortal existence.

The announcer's voice reverberated through the arena, "It doesn't get more exciting than this, folks! Anonymous and Tenshinhan standing toe to toe in intense combat! The way it looks now, the match could go either way. Let's hope they won't disappear again!" The crowd's cheers and shouts created a din that seemed to fuel our resolve, the palpable energy in the air amplifying every heartbeat.

Tenshinhan advanced once more, his movements calculated and precise. I scrutinized his approach, recognizing the subtle shifts in his stance. He launched a barrage of rapid punches, each aimed to pierce my defenses. I parried and dodged, feeling the rush of air from each narrowly avoided strike. Taking a deep breath, I decided to change tactics.

I lunged forward, feinting to the left before swiftly pivoting and delivering a decisive kick to his right side. Tenshinhan groaned, stumbling back but quickly regaining his footing. "Impressive," he said, his voice tinged with respect and irritation. "But this isn't over."

We circled each other, both assessing and recalibrating our strategies. My eyes lingered on his form—well-defined, slightly battered, but far from beaten. His extraordinary ability to stand toe-to-toe with me, a regular human exhibiting unparalleled swiftness, power, and energy, was awe inspiring and deeply unsettling.

What if there was a possibility he was an agent sent to apprehend me? What if there were more like him, capable of pushing themselves to extreme limits?

The thought gnawed at my paranoia. I couldn't afford to make errors. The real question was: how skillful and powerful is he in utilizing ki energy? As if in response to my silent query, Tenshinhan halted his circling and adopted a new stance, forcing me to pause.

He emitted a series of grunts, a battle cry tearing from his throat as his energy levels spiked. Before my eyes, he formed a copy of himself, which appeared beside him. My eyes widened in bewilderment, a chill of trepidation running down my spine.

Can he make more copies himself endlessly?

The idea of facing an army of Tenshinhans filled me with dread. Detecting the crack in my facade, he smirked smugly, chuckling at my reaction. "If you think that's it, wait till you see what's next." With another cry, he materialized two more clones.

I dropped into a defensive stance, my heart pounding and my muscles tensing with anxiety. The four clones moved into offensive positions, and though Tenshinhan spoke, his words were lost to me. My ears rang, my heart thumped in my eardrums, and my hands quivered as my breathing became erratic.

Surrounded by Tenshinhan's clones, I felt a surge of adrenaline course through me, my instincts kicking into overdrive. With a sharp intake of breath, I extended my hands, channeling my ki into a focused assault. The clones closed in, in a split-second decision, I unleashed a beam of energy aimed directly at the chest of one of the clones.

Eyes squeezed shut against the blinding brilliance, I braced myself, arms forming a protective barrier fueled by my own ki. The explosion that followed was deafening, a symphony of chaos that reverberated through the arena, I held my ground, my barrier of ki offering some protection against the shockwave and heat. For a moment, all was chaos—a symphony of destruction that drowned out the distant roar of the crowd.

As the light began to dim, I cautiously opened my eyes, squinting through the lingering haze of smoke and debris. Dust swirled around me in lazy spirals, obscuring my vision until the silhouettes of Tien's clones began to fade into the dissipating fog.

Heart pounding, I steadied my breathing, mind racing with possibilities. Could Tien be the one to defeat Junior? The thought flickered in the recesses of my mind, a fragile hope in the uncertainty. But as the smoke cleared, reality came crashing upon me like a ton of bricks. Tien lay before me, battered, and bruised, parts of his skin scorched, but resolute.

Yet, he was outside the bounds of the arena—a grave miscalculation that sealed his fate.

"Tenshinhan is out of bounds, ending in an impressive battle! Anonymous wins the first match of the semi-finals and now advances to the championship round where the 23rd Martial Arts Champion will be determined!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, their jubilation echoing around me. My barrier dissipated, the tension in my body easing as the round came to an abrupt end. I stood there, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.

What the fuck just happened?

Those words echoed in my mind, realizing I could have accidentally killed a man in front of thousands due to a survival instinct I tried so hard to suppress. The panic surged through me; the silence hung heavily in the air after my victory, broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing.

The shock of ending Tenshinhan's match so quickly left a bitter taste in my mouth, and the cheerful crowd seemed distant and out of place in this surreal moment. Tenshinhan lay on the ground, his body battered and slightly burned, struggling to regain his bearings.

I could have killed him if I hadn't controlled my instincts.

I felt Junior's eyes lingering on me. Looking up, I saw Junior's sharp gaze fixed on me from atop the tournament building roof. His mind was undoubtedly filled with an array of thoughts, analyzing my strengths and capabilities, and silently forming opinions based on what he witnessed.

Dismissing Junior's stare, I forced myself to regain my composure and turned my attention back to Tenshinhan, who seemed to be slowly gaining his bearings. My expression was firm and mingled with frustration, attempting to maintain my calm facade as I watched Tenshinhan gather the remnants of his strength to stand up.

Gradually, with a groan of pain, Tenshinhan stood up, his body still reeling from the aftermath of our battle. He faced me, his dark eyes meeting mine, his expression a combination of pain, determination, and something more—respect.

"Damn it," he managed to mutter, his voice crackling with pain, as Tenshinhan climbed back into the arena. "You're one hell of a fighter..."

The crowd seemed to hold its breath, the suspense electrifying the air as they waited for my response or next move. I could feel the weight of their stares, their curiosity, their expectations. But I paid them no mind, my focus only on Tenshinhan. I was silent, attempting to push aside my emotions as I spoke, my voice controlled and firm.

"Likewise, at least you're not dead."

Fuck, I'm awful at socializing.

A flicker of pain and frustration still lingered in Tenshinhan's eyes, but there was also a hint of admiration beneath it. Hearing my response, he chuckled softly, a mix of humor and acceptance in his tone.

"Yeah, I guess I should be grateful I'm still breathing," he responded, wincing as he gingerly touched his injured ribs. "You sure know how to throw a punch... or a blast, I should say."

The crowd's applause died down, and the spectators were still in awe of my seemingly effortless victory over Tenshinhan. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline, the sounds of murmured conversations and footsteps on the arena floor blending into a low hum. I could feel the texture of the stone floor beneath my feet, grounding me in reality.

Tenshinhan coughed slightly, drawing my attention back to him. He stood before me, his body still bearing the signs of our previous battle, yet his eyes fixed on mine with a blend of respect and curiosity.

"I never caught your name," Tenshinhan said, breaking the silence. "I didn't expect such strength from you," he admitted, his tone tinged with genuine surprise.

"Anonymous, that's all," I replied, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. The sun cast a golden glow over the arena, highlighting the dust particles still floating in the aftermath of our battle. My heart pounded, not from exhaustion but from the adrenaline and the fear of what lay ahead.

Before he could respond, I turned on my heel and walked away, my mind racing. If Junior won the next match of the semifinals, I would be forced to confront him—the very outcome I had been desperately trying to avoid. Attempting to quell the rising tide of panic, I reminded myself of the Evil Containment Wave, my last resort. There was no need to panic—not now.

Tenshinhan watched me walk away, his eyes following my figure, seemingly wanting to say something but hesitating. There was a mixture of anticipation and confusion among the onlookers, and I could feel their gaze on me as I made my way back toward the tournament building.

In my mind, I could almost hear Junior's voice, his presence lingering in the air as if he was silently waiting for the next round to begin. As I entered the tournament building, the sudden silence enveloped me. After the roaring cheers and applause outside, the contrast was stark and left me with a few moments of solitude to catch my breath and regroup. Before I could walk further, the blaring speakers announced the next round.

"This next match is an important one. It will determine who will fight Anonymous in the final battle for the title. The outcome is unpredictable, but one thing is certain: this battle is one you wouldn't want to miss. So, get a good view and welcome the mysterious Junior and his unpredictable opponent, Hero!"

I inhaled deeply, trying to quell the rising tension within me. All thoughts of the previous battle quickly vanished, replaced by the mounting dread growing in the pit of my stomach. Junior is next. The thought echoed in my mind, the realization bringing a wave of unease. I stood there, my mind racing with thoughts and emotions. A part of me wanted to run to escape this confrontation.

However, I knew deep down that running wouldn't solve anything. I decided to watch the match to analyze and get more information about Junior's skills and power again. I took a step back, retreating to the arena as I sought out a vantage point. Among the familiar faces of Goku, Krillin, and Tenshinhan, stood another man.

The man stood tall with a light tan complexion that spoke of countless hours spent under the sun. His medium-length black hair, perpetually wild and spiky, framed a face marked by a single diagonal scar running across his left cheek, underscored by a subtle smirk that danced across his lips. His eyes, sharp and confident, betrayed a hint of mischief beneath his steely gaze. Clad in an orange gi similar to Goku and Krillin.

As I approached, Goku greeted me with a warm smile, his usual cheerful demeanor cutting through the tension like a ray of sunshine. Krillin's gaze held a mix of curiosity and caution, while Tenshinhan remained stoic, his expression unreadable.

"Hey, you're back," Goku said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. I fell into step beside him, nodding in response. "That was an impressive match you had," Krillin chimed in, his gaze probing, seeking to unravel the enigma that was me. I acknowledged his comment with a nod, though guilt gnawed at me beneath the surface. Tenshinhan remained silent, his gaze piercing yet inscrutable.

Goku chuckled lightly, oblivious to the weight of my internal turmoil. "You really gave Tien a run for his money," he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. Tenshinhan shot him a glare, though there was a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

"How are you holding up?" I inquired, betraying no hint of emotion as I met Tenshinhan's gaze. Tenshinhan shifted slightly, his ribs still tender from our encounter with the burn marks. His response was laced with a hint of wry humor, masking the pain he undoubtedly felt.

"I'll live," Tenshinhan replied, his smirk belying the pain he endured. "You certainly don't hold back, do you?"

If only you knew.

I thought, keeping my thoughts carefully guarded behind my stoic facade. "Yeah," I said simply, evading his gaze as I wrestled with the guilt that threatened to consume me. Tenshinhan nodded, a silent acknowledgement passing between us. He understood my reticence, recognizing that words were not my forte. Despite the pain he endured, there was no animosity towards me; the intensity of battle often yielded unexpected camaraderie.

Goku and Krillin observed our brief interaction. "You're not much for conversation, huh?" Krillin remarked, studying me with a hint of confusion. He seemed puzzled by my concise responses.

"Not everyone is as chatty as you," Goku chimed in, a playful grin on his face as he rested his hands behind his head. Krillin shot Goku a playful glare, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Goku chuckled, "Justat you tend to talk a lot, that's all." Krillin rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, "And you? You can ramble on about food for hours."

Goku laughed, "Well, food is important. I can't help it if I appreciate good grub." Krillin shook his head, "Always with the food talk."

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I tuned out their banter, my focus fixed on Piccolo Junior, awaiting his challenger. Suddenly, Goku excused himself and disappeared into the tournament building, leaving Tenshinhan, Krillin, and an unfamiliar man in his wake. With Goku's departure, an awkward silence descended upon us.

The unfamiliar man cast curious glances my way, his eyes a mix of intrigue and caution. Krillin appeared lost in thought; his brows furrowed as he oscillated between me and the tournament building. The absence of Goku's jovial presence amplified the uneasy atmosphere.

The man, breaking the silence, directed his cautious inquiry towards me. "So, who are you?"

"I'm someone. And you?" I replied, deflecting with a touch of sarcasm. The man raised an eyebrow at my cryptic response, realizing he wouldn't elicit any straightforward answers. He shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Just a martial artist trying to make my mark," he quipped, a hint of bravado in his voice.

Tenshinhan, still recuperating, rolled his eyes at the man's boastful demeanor. "Try not to let your ego overshadow your skills, Yamcha," he cautioned, wincing slightly as he adjusted his stance.

Yamcha.

His name echoed in my mind as I took note of him. Krillin, finding the situation amusing, chuckled softly. He knew Yamcha's penchant for boasting. "Hey, it's not ego, it's confidence," Yamcha countered, the smirk still evident. "And trust me, I've got the skills to back it up."

Krillin interjected with a playful jab, "Yeah, like the time you lost to a clumsy opponent?" My interest was piqued for a moment, recalling the fourth match from the quarterfinals where Yamcha faced Hero, understanding Krillin's implication.

Yamcha's smirk faltered at the reminder of his defeat. He muttered under his breath, his pride stung. "That guy just got lucky," he grumbled, crossing his arms defensively. Ignoring their banter, my focus remained on Junior. I studied him intently, trying to discern his intentions and how he planned to confront me in the arena.

Sensing my intense gaze, Junior turned his head towards me, his eyes locking onto mine from the arena where he stood. Despite the distance between us, his scrutiny felt palpable, as though he were dissecting my very essence. I braced myself, feeling the weight of his stare. The tension in the air thickened as our eyes met. 

Junior's gaze held a sinister gleam, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if he was sizing me up, searching for any chink in my armor. Behind my facemask, I concealed the whirlwind of emotions raging within me. Fear, uncertainty, and simmering anger bubbled beneath the surface, but I refused to let them show.

Tenshinhan, Krillin, and Yamcha sensing the brewing confrontation, exchanged uneasy glances but wisely chose to remain silent, not wanting to escalate the tension further.

Despite the fear gnawing at my insides, a surge of anger pulsed through me, fueled by the confidence that I could seal him if it came down to it.

With a nonchalant flick of my middle finger, I delivered a silent message of defiance, telling him to back off. Junior's smirk faltered momentarily, taken aback by my audacity. He regarded me with a mixture of surprise and amusement before letting out a scoff, his smirk returning with a hint of excitement dancing in his eyes.

Krillin, Tenshinhan, and Yamcha exchanged incredulous glances, their expressions a mix of shock and apprehension. Whispering under my breath, mindful of Junior's acute hearing that could catch even the faintest of sounds just like King Piccolo.

"Suck my—"

•◉◒☆◒◉•

FINISHED: JUNE 10, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 004 | 𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝒀 NEXT CHAPTER: 006 | 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑲𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 003 | 𝑭𝑨𝑻𝑬'𝑺 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑩𝑳𝑬 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE!!! Mentions of light SWEARING, and BLOOD!

004 | Epiphany

❝The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

I launched myself forward, fists poised to strike, closing the distance between us; my movements were fluid and deliberate. A barrage of punches and jabs rained down upon him, each blow fueled by a mixture of desperation and resolve. Goku remained on the defensive, his movements a blur of speed and agility as he deftly evaded my attacks.

Undeterred, I pressed on, relentless in my pursuit of victory. Jab, hook, rear hook—I threw everything I had at him, testing the limits of his defenses. And then, I seized the opportunity to change tactics. With a swift pivot, I transformed my rear hook into an uppercut, channeling a portion of my strength into the blow. Goku barely managed to dodge, his surprise evident in the flicker of his expression.

He was quick to recover, his resilience a testament to his skill and strength. Goku surged forward with an offensive attitude, delivering a two-handed strike aimed at my chest, striving to turn the tide of the battle in his favor. Yet, in a display of agility and flexibility borne of millennia of training. I gracefully evaded his strike; I dropped to the ground.

With a quick maneuver, I arched my back, planting my hands firmly on the arena floor as I brought my legs to my chest. I unleashed a brisk counterattack; my legs were blurred as they shot upward, sending Goku reeling backward. The crowd burst into cheers, their excitement echoing through the arena as I delivered the first blow of the match. With a deft kick-up, I regained my footing, and my muscles coiled like a spring as I took a defensive stance.

Despite the thrill of battle, a fleeting moment of introspection invaded my mind, a reminder to temper my strength. My survival instincts are screaming for me to go all out and end this swiftly, but that would destroy the purpose of determining my opponent's power, along with trying to hide my true potential from my enemy who is watching me.

I have to restrain myself as much as I despise it; going to my full power now would be unfair. He needs to make a move—

A sharp blow landed squarely in my gut, knocking the wind from my lungs and jolting me out of my reverie. Goku closed the distance between us and reminded me of the consequences of hesitation in battle. I stumbled backward, my hand instinctively clutching at the source of pain.

Never mind. Fuck...

My body would recover, my senses on high alert as Goku unleashed a relentless barrage of strikes. Each punch and kick came with lightning precision, leaving little room for evasion or defense. Despite the onslaught, I managed to avoid his attacks, albeit with effort. Yet, I couldn't help but let a few blows land, a deliberate decision to show vulnerability that would cause Junior to underestimate me.

With each hit, I gritted my teeth, suppressing the urge to retaliate with full force. Despite my efforts to conceal my true strength, Goku sensed something was wrong. His brow furrowed in confusion as he realized I was holding back, and he struggled to keep pace with my elusive maneuvers. As Goku pressed on, his attacks growing more ferocious with each passing moment, I dodged his punches, and my hand caught one of his fists with effortless ease, guiding it harmlessly past me.

At the same time, my left leg subtly positioned itself behind Goku's, ready to execute the next move. With a fluid and swift motion, I pivoted his body, using the leverage of my grounded stance to exert force through my right arm, throwing a blow of strength to guide his momentum, using his force against him to throw him off balance.

Goku stumbled, his body crashing to the ground with a resounding thud. Wasting no time, I launched into a follow-up attack, my clenched fist aimed squarely at his defenseless face. Despite his best efforts to block, the force of my blow landed with brutal accuracy, sending him slamming to the ground once more, the force of the blow driving the wind from his lungs.

Even with the restraint I exercised, the pain was palpable, etched across his features as he struggled to regain his footing; I took a step back, allowing Goku a moment to recover. The crowd erupted into cheers as they watched the intense exchange unfold.

"Come on, show me what you got," I urged, my voice carrying a hint of nonchalance, a silent invitation to continue the battle. With a grunt of effort, Goku rose to his feet, his gaze locked on mine with a steely determination. I knew he was holding back, just as I was, each of us biding our time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

His movements were measured as he studied me with a keen eye; I could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his mind dissecting my every move with precision. I seized the moment, launching myself forward with a fierce resolve, my fist prepared to strike.

But before my fist could connect, an unseen force collided with my face, sending shockwaves of pain reverberating through my skull. Confusion mingled with pain as I realized Goku had struck me from a distance, his arm outstretched in a display of unseen power as he stood at the same spot.

What the hell was that? How had he managed to strike me from this distance? That move…

The shock of his counterattack reverberated through my senses; before I could unravel the mystery, Goku charged at me with renewed vigor. Instinct kicked in, my body moving on autopilot as we clashed in a flurry of blows. Our arms locked in a fierce struggle, the air thick with the sound of grunts and the clash of fists.

In a split second, my feet lashed out, connecting with his chin, his chin snapping upward as he stumbled backward. Then, a memory struck me, a fragment of my training with King Piccolo resurfacing from the depths of my subconscious.

Drawing upon that reservoir of knowledge, I unleashed a wave of energy, propelling it towards Goku with all the force I could muster. His chest buckled under the onslaught, a testament to the raw power of my attack. But amidst the chaos of battle, a nagging question lingered.

How did he know that shockwave technique? That technique was from King Piccolo… Is there a connection between him and King Piccolo? Is that why Junior mentioned him getting in his way?

As we continued to trade blows, the answers eluded me, shrouded in the haze of uncertainty. Hours felt like mere moments as we danced on the precipice of combat with our fists and kicks, neither of us willing to yield an inch.

With a final clash, we both leaped back, a temporary ceasefire in our relentless battle. Goku's smile, tinged with respect and amazement, his eyes sparkled with a glint of admiration. His words, though unexpected, carried a weight of sincerity that caught me off guard.

"Have you been holding back this much? I'm impressed," he remarked, his tone genuine. "Can we put this on timeout for a sec?"

His sudden request for a timeout raised an eyebrow of confusion, but I remained vigilant, unsure of what he had in store. And then, with a seemingly innocuous remark, he proceeded to strip off his top garments and the shirt underneath his Gi top.

The sight of Goku struggling to remove his shirt as his garments fell to the ground with a heavy thud, revealing his sculpted muscles and toned physique, a wave of confusion washed over me. But it was the weight of his discarded attire that caught my attention. Each piece, from his shirt to his wristbands, bore a substantial heft, hinting it wasn't normal clothes.

Confusion gnawed at me as I observed a group of fighters approach him, their familiarity with Goku evident in their companionship, offering assistance in setting aside his cumbersome attire. Their conversation drifted to the peculiar weight of his clothing; the garment weighed an extraordinary amount of 250 pounds.

I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer strength and endurance required to carry such a load into battle. A newfound respect bloomed within me for the man standing before me. To carry such a load in combat spoke volumes of Goku's dedication and determination. However, I pushed aside any semblance of sentiment, bracing myself for the battle and the revelation of even more surprises lurking beneath his seemingly carefree exterior.

As Goku's comrades retreated, leaving him to don his Gi top once more, I seized the opportunity to press the attack. With lightning-fast reflexes, I launched myself forward, intent on landing a decisive blow. But in a sudden twist of strategy, I dropped to the floor, sweeping his legs out from under him with calculated precision.

Goku's surprise was palpable as he crashed to the ground, his balance shattered. But before he could recover, I was already on my feet, unleashing a barrage of attacks aimed at his chest. Despite his agility, he managed to evade my strikes, rolling away with practiced ease.

In the heat of battle, I found myself consumed by the thrill of combat, momentarily forgetting my purpose. But as the fight raged on, a realization dawned upon me: I was here to gauge Goku's strength, to test his limits. His speed was unparalleled, his movements fluid and unpredictable.

Landing a hit seemed like an impossible feat as he effortlessly dodged and weaved through my attacks. With each evasive maneuver, I was expending more of my ki energy, straining to keep pace with his relentless assault.

But just as I began to falter, Goku seized the opportunity to strike. Catching my punch, his movements mirrored the tactic I had used against him. With precision and finesse, he manipulated my body, leveraging his grounded stance to redirect my momentum against me.

I crashed to the ground with a jolt, the impact reverberating through my bones. But even as pain flared through my limbs, instinct propelled me into action, executing an Imanari Roll, a technique ingrained in muscle memory from centuries of training. My body rolled as I latched onto Goku's leg, my legs entwined around his as I brought him crashing down to the ground beside me.

A collective roar erupted from the crowd, their cheers reverberating through the arena like thunder. But even as I regained the offensive, Goku seized hold of my leg, and with his strength, he hurled me skyward, the ground receding beneath me in a dizzying blur, my body soaring high above the battlefield.

As I hung suspended in the air, a sense of awe washed over me at the sight of Goku harnessing his ki energy, a bright orb forming between his cupped hands and bringing it to his side; the brilliance of his ki radiated with an intensity that left me breathless.

He can use ki manipulation?

Time seemed to slow as I grappled with the realization that I was facing not just a skilled fighter, but a person who could utilize ki energy. The implications sent a shiver down my spine, a surge of anxiety mixing with the awe that gripped my mind. If Goku had such capabilities, it meant that others could as well in this continent.

The government with its resources and relentless pursuit to capture me could easily enlist others with similar abilities to track me down. They would be stronger, verve, and faster to keep up with me, and with the Somnus drug, they could inject me if I let down my guard or slip up. Just the thought of facing adversaries with similar powers by those who sought to exploit my immortality caused that thrill of this battle to vanish, replaced by sheer dread.

I hovered in the air; the wind whipped around me, carrying the scent of ozone and tension. Before I could react, Goku appeared behind me with a mighty yell, accompanied by a blinding beam of light hurtling toward me.

"...me–HA!"

His voice sent a jolt of fear coursing through my veins as I braced myself for the onslaught. Instinct took over as I reached out, my hand connecting with the searing energy of the attack. Memories of King Piccolo's training flooded my mind, guiding my movements with a sense of urgency born from fear, a survival mechanism honed through years of misfortune.

With a steady hand, I redirected the beam, guiding it with precision back toward Goku. A look of bewilderment crossed Goku's face, his eyes wide with disbelief as his own attack barreled towards him. In a loud blast, he was sent hurtling back toward the ground, the force of his impact sending shockwaves rippling through the arena.

As the dust settled, I glanced down at my hand, which was trembling, the faint remnants of burn marks fading away as if they had never been; I struggled to steady my racing heart. With a shaky breath, I lowered myself to the ground, but before I could hit the earth, I instinctively levitated, hovering just above the ground before landing with a soft thud.

My eyes darted to Goku's prone form, his body battered and bruised, evidence of the blast of his attack and fall; fear gnawed at my insides, the possibility of having taken a life when I had reminded myself not to kill during this tournament.

"ONE!" The announcer's voice pierced through the haze of my thoughts, signaling the countdown to victory; however, my attention was fixated on Goku, his body broken yet miraculously still breathing.

"TWO!" Beads of sweat gathered on my brow, mingling with the remnants of dust and smoke that lingered in the air, my hands still trembling with the weight of what could have been.

At least he was alive and breathing.

"THREE!" The countdown continued, the sound of the crowd's cheers blending into a cacophony of noise that reverberated through the arena and in my ears.

"FOUR!" The realization that someone like Goku, skilled in ki manipulation, posed a threat that transcended mere physical prowess. With each passing moment, the fear threatened to overwhelm me, a suffocating weight upon my chest.

"FIVE!" I wouldn't be safe anymore if the government discovered these types of people, who could be on the same level as me, capturing me more easily than before I had learned ki energy.

"SIX!" Goku lay motionless on the ground, his body twitching with the effort to rouse himself from the brink of unconsciousness. For a fleeting moment, my thoughts drifted to the mission at hand. To assess his strength and skill, to determine if he could defeat Junior.

"SEVEN!" But as the count continued, my focus narrowed, my attention zeroing in on the fallen fighter before me. He needed to get up. I couldn't afford to face Junior, not yet.

“EIGHT!”

Get up…

“NINE!”

Get up!

“TEN!”

And with that final count, the round drew to a close, declaring me the victor of Match 2. A surge of conflicting emotions washed over me, a mixture of defeat and dissatisfaction. While any regular person would revel in the glory of victory, I couldn't shake the sense of defeat that lingered in the air, a bitter taste of resignation.

A battle won, yet another step closer to the inevitable conflict with Junior. Goku wasn't the one I had been seeking who could end the reign of terror that would take over us all. But there were others; other fighters who might possess the power to tip the scales in my favor.

With a disdainful scoff, I turned away, the sound of rushing footsteps and Goku's comrades converging around him in a flurry of concern. He was no longer my concern. If he still drew breath, it mattered little whether bones were broken or wounds inflicted.

As I walked away, my gaze drifted upwards, drawn to the towering figure of Junior, perched upon the roof of the tournament building. His smug smirk taunted me from afar, igniting fury within my chest. Oh, how I longed to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face. Turning my attention elsewhere, I passed by a figure that gave me pause.

It was a tall and very muscular bald man; having a large scar on the right side of his chest that crossed his collarbone and ran down to his abdomen. His outfit consists of a green baggy toga-like top. A pair of baggy green pants, red-and-green wristbands, black boots with yellow covers, and a red sash.

But the third eye on his forehead caught my attention, its piercing gaze boring into my soul. But before either of us could speak, a voice shattered the stillness, pulling me back to the present, and turned around. It was Goku; who stood behind me, his smile genuine despite the strain evident in his voice.

"You put up quite a fight back there. That move you pulled, caught me by surprise. Looking forward to a rematch, and this time, let's go all out!"

His eagerness was palpable, infectious even, but I couldn't help but smirk behind my facemask, amused by his obliviousness to my true identity and the depths of my power; I highly doubted he ever would find out about me.

"Sure, if you can find me," I replied, my tone laced with a hint of cockiness that went unnoticed by Goku. His grin widened, his eyes alight with excitement like a child promised a reward for good behavior.

But as the announcer's voice boomed through the arena, heralding the start of the next match, my focus shifted to the upcoming fight between Krillin and Junior. I chose to remain rooted in place, a silent observer to study Junior's skills and abilities. Despite my outward calm, a sense of worry gnawed at the edges of my consciousness.

What if Junior was worse than King Piccolo?

I felt compelled to warn Krillin of the threat that he would face. But before I could intercede, Goku stepped forward, his demeanor shifting from jovial to solemn in an instant. He approached the short, noseless man clad in an orange gi, his black eyes brimming with curiosity.

"Krillin, your opponent for the next match is no ordinary warrior," Goku cautioned, his voice tinged with a gravity that belied his usual cheerfulness.

Krillin arched an eyebrow, intrigued by his friend's cryptic warning. "How so?" he inquired, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

"Trust me, keep your guard up," Goku replied. As their conversation unfolded, my suspicions grew. Goku's words hinted at a deeper connection between him, Junior, and perhaps even King Piccolo. It was a puzzle I couldn't solve, each piece adding to the mystery of his character.

With a silent nod of acknowledgment, Krillin walked away from us, his resolve determined despite the ominous energy emanating from Junior. Standing alongside Goku, I maintained my stoic facade, arms crossed as the two fighters entered the ring.

Their exchange of words was lost in the roar of the crowd, but the tension hung heavy in the air. As Krillin assumed a defensive stance and Junior stood motionless, his energy, thick with malice, enveloped the arena like a suffocating shroud.

A sudden tug at my core drew my attention to Krillin, his ki energy surging with unexpected power. Disbelief flickered across my features as I realized he, too, possessed the ability to harness his inner power. The realization was both intriguing and unsettling.

How many people know about ki? First Goku, then this guy?! This brethren of the seven dwarfs', noseless, bald guy!? Damn, I haven't been keeping up with society, and I guess this is normal to people nowadays, or maybe at least in this continent.

Even Junior, his smug grin fading, seemed to recognize the gravity of Krillin's energy. With a burst of light, Krillin unleashed a torrent of ki energy, two beams of light hurtling toward his opponent with a fierce shout. Yet, Junior remained unfazed, effortlessly evading the assault by soaring into the air.

But Krillin was not deterred. With a quick shift in strategy, Krillin redirected his beams, following Junior's movements. Junior retaliated with his own eye beams, shattering Krillin's attack, the resulting explosions sending shockwaves rippling through the air.

To my astonishment, Krillin closed the distance with lightning speed, his fist connecting squarely with Junior's face, sending Junior hurtling backward in a whirlwind of motion. Goku's exclamation of awe echoed through the air, a sentiment I couldn't help but share.

As the fight continued, Krillin landed on the ground, his movements fluid and controlled. Junior—undeterred by the blow, landed on the ground and faced his opponent. My focus remained as Krillin surged forward; Junior dodged and parried his flurry of punches, bringing them perilously close to the edge of the ring.

With a leap, they soared into the air, the arena below shrinking to a mere speck beneath them. Junior's powerful kick sent Krillin hurtling toward the ground, eliciting cries of concern from Goku.

My heart raced as I watched, my mind torn between fear for Krillin's safety and admiration for his resilience. But just as it seemed he would meet his end in a bone-crushing fall, Krillin halted mid-air, defying the laws of physics that left me in awe.

Regardless, it was more alarming that these fighters possessed abilities far beyond the realm of human comprehension. If the government were to harness such power, capturing me would be child's play.

Krillin hovered and landed in the center of the arena, wiping blood from his lips; a hush fell over the crowd.

"I think I speak for the entire audience how unbelievable that was. Just amazing!" The announcer's voice cut through the silence like a knife, his words a reverent homage to the spectacle that had unfolded before us. Through the members of the crowd, I strained to catch the exchange between Krillin and Junior.

"I must admit you surprised me. Your moves and techniques are adequate for such a limited mind. I congratulate you. Forgive my bias, I see now that I can afford to show you a little of my real power."

Junior's smug grin spoke volumes, his words dripping with arrogance and disdain. I could taste the bitterness of his ego as Krillin met his gaze with a steely resolve.

"Real power? Okay, let's see it," Krillin challenged him with a chuckle. Yet, deep down, I knew the danger from Junior's facade. His cunning, like that of a sly fox, that Junior's display of power would be nothing short of catastrophic.

My gaze narrowed, a feeling of apprehension coursing through me as Junior's ki energy surged, his form expanding. His aura, once a mere echo of his father's malice, now swelled with a power that sent ripples of unease and irritation cascading through my being.

His energy is different from King Piccolo's centuries ago. This is not good.

The crowd erupted into cheers once more, the tension thick enough to slice through with a blade. With a menacing grin, Junior extended his arm, his limb elongated, catching everyone off guard, including Krillin. He ensnared Krillin in his grasp before delivering a devastating blow that sent the fighter hurtling toward the unforgiving walls of the arena.

Yet, in a display of resilience, Krillin rebounded with astonishing speed, launching himself back into the fray. Caught off guard, Junior found himself on the defensive, gracefully evading Krillin's onslaught before striking back with a vicious kick. His foot connected with Krillin's torso with bone-crushing force, sending the hapless warrior soaring into the heavens once more.

As the battle raged on, I strained to keep up with the flurry of movements, my senses tingling with anticipation. But Krillin unleashed a surprise attack, a burst of ki energy illuminating the sky. As Krillin unleashed a blinding burst of ki energy, I dared to hope for a turning point in the fight. But my sanguinity was short-lived, shattered by Goku's frantic warning.

"Behind you, Krillin! It's a trap!"

Junior's trap was set, his hands clasped together as he unleashed a devastating blow from above. Krillin plummeted to the earth below, the impact shattering the arena floor with a sickening thud. I could almost feel the repercussions of his bones shattering.

The arena fell into a hushed silence, the once raucous crowd now eerily muted as all eyes turned to the fallen figure of Krillin. Despite the stillness that enveloped the arena, I could sense the faint pulse of his energy, a fragile thread that tethered him to consciousness.

As Junior descended to the ground, his malevolent chuckle resonated through the air. Behind the mask that obscured my face, I clenched my teeth in frustration, my gaze locked on the scene unfolding before me.

A flicker of movement caught my eye.

A twitch, barely perceptible, signaled Krillin's gradual return to consciousness. And then, with a low groan of anguish, he stirred, defying the odds stacked against him, his resilience catching Junior and myself by surprise. Slowly, laboriously, Krillin rose to his feet. Junior's facade of superiority momentarily shattered by the unexpected turn of events.

"Krillin is back on his feet, brace yourselves for this fight is not over yet," the announcer's voice boomed, punctuated by the roar of the crowd. Despite his valiant effort, Krillin's strength waned, his body betraying the toll of the battle.

I watched as Krillin decided to stand down, his body battered and bruised, but his spirit unbroken. In a display of sportsmanship and respect, the decision to concede the match was made, with the announcer declaring Junior the victor.

I felt a rush of wind as Goku raced to Krillin's side, a silent gesture of solidarity and support. As I stood amidst the jubilant throng, my gaze shifted to Junior; his frustration oozed in the air. I watched in silent contemplation as he retreated from the arena, his aura crackling with untamed energy. It was clear that he wouldn't rest until his thirst for power was quenched, and the world trembled beneath his feet.

With the announcement of the upcoming match ringing in my ears, I decided to depart; I made my way toward the tournament building. It was time to strategize. With Junior's formidable power fresh in my mind, I knew I had to remember the containment wave technique. Lost in thought, I was suddenly jolted back to reality by a voice behind me.

"You poor soul, you must leave."

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: May 12, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 003 | 𝑭𝑨𝑻𝑬'𝑺 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑩𝑳𝑬 NEXT CHAPTER: 005 | 𝑪𝑨𝑻𝑨𝑳𝒀𝑺𝑻

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 002 | 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑨𝑳𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑾𝑨𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

WARNINGS: Mentions of SWEARING!!!

003 | Fate's Gamble

❝Faith is a gamble, and against the odds, I'll bet on hope every time.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

In the suffocating silence, with only the looming presence of Junior at my back. It took every ounce of willpower to break free from the paralysis of fear and turn on my heel, determined to escape the suffocating weight of his gaze. My path was abruptly blocked by Junior. I refused to meet his eyes, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of my fear. His voice, deep and rough-hewn, resonated through the building.

"Where do you think you're going?" His words cut through the silence like a knife, dripping with amusement. I clenched my jaw, refusing to dignify his question with a response; I remained silent, my lips pressed into a thin line of defiance against his taunts, but he persisted.

"Are you planning to run?" His voice danced with a twisted sense of pleasure, laced with bitterness, relishing in my discomfort. "I know how much you value these fragile humans. It won't be long before I snuff out their pathetic lives, for your sake. Or..." His voice trailed off; I met his gaze, a flicker of dread igniting within me. And then, the final blow, the revelation that sent a chill down my spine.

"Would you like me to reveal your secret to the world?"

My heart is pounding with a mixture of fear and fury. "You wouldn't dare," I retorted, my voice barely above a whisper, as I dared him to cross that line. Junior's smirk widened, a grotesque display of his power and arrogance.

"Oh, but I will," he ridiculed, a reminder of the chains that bound me to him, forged in the fires of past traumas and shared histories; he may be King Piccolo's son, but he was still him. I stood my ground, refusing to back down and let him see the cracks in my facade.

"Get to the point," I demanded. "What are you even here for, and what do you want from me?" His response was simple. "Revenge," he declared, his words dripping with harshness.

"But there's more. Son Goku is an obstacle in my path, and you... you are simply collateral damage. And perhaps a bit of sport. What's more entertaining than watching your enemies fall at your feet?"

His black eyes bore into mine; I listened, my brow furrowing in contemplation, as he outlined his reasons. As Junior mentioned Goku, a spark of intrigue ignited within me. If Goku stood in his way, then perhaps he was the key to defeating this tyrant permanently.

I could use that to my advantage.

I could glean valuable insight into his strengths and weaknesses. It was a risky gambit, but one—I was willing to take for my survival. I kept my expression neutral, refusing to betray any hint of amusement.

"I see you're still the same King Piccolo the last time we met," I spoke, my voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within me. "Still chasing after the same old dreams of world domination?"

"I am the reincarnation of him, of course, I'm him. And this time, you or that bastard Goku and his allies won't stop me." His reply dripped with arrogance; each word was a reminder of his insatiable thirst for power.

Reincarnation? Is... King Piccolo dead?

The revelation of his reincarnation sent a jolt of disbelief through me, quickly overshadowed by the grim realization of the threat he posed. If anything, Junior would be much stronger than the old demon himself centuries ago. But I couldn't dwell on the implications as Junior's presence here, in this tournament, indicated a more profound purpose. I probed, my tone measured.

"You're here to assess the fighters, aren't you? To see if they are a threat or not. Correct?"

A brief twitch of irritation crossed Junior's features, confirming my suspicions. But he quickly regained his demeanor, his tone laced with thinly veiled disdain. "You're smart enough to figure that out, always been quick on the uptake, for a mere human. But don't think for a moment that you can fool me."

I squared my shoulders. "So, how do you intend to defeat me then? You know well enough how difficult it is for me to stay down..."

My words were a challenge, a subtle ploy to glean information from him. I needed to know his strategy, to understand his next move, even if it meant playing into his ego. Junior maintained his smug demeanor, a smirk playing at his lips as he let out a derisive snort.

"As if I'd divulge my plans to you," he scoffed, his arrogance palpable.

"Unless, of course, you have no plan at all," I countered, hoping to exploit his overconfidence. But Junior remained resolute, refusing to yield to my manipulation, unlike King Piccolo, who had fallen into that tactic.

"Don't try to play games with me. Let's not forget, traitor or not, I own you. You're my weapon I have created to be."

Suppressing the rising ripple of emotion, I maintained my calm facade, pushing back against his words that struck a nerve; I swallowed hard, forcing the lump in my throat down. It fueled my determination to stand my ground.

"Very well," I replied coolly. "I'll take a stroll if you don't mind. Just exploring the surroundings, nothing more."

Junior's smirk faltered, replaced by a frown as he crossed his arms. "Is that so? I don't believe you. I'll keep watch. So you won't pull any tricks," he warned, stepping aside to let me pass. I hesitated, wary of the potential trap, but the need for space outweighed my caution. With a silent prayer for luck, I strode past him.

I wanted to be alone and think.

The sun enveloped me like a comforting embrace with its warmness as I emerged into the open air. The gentle breeze carried with it the faint scent of blooming flowers. I allowed myself to meander through the festival grounds, taking in the vibrant sights and sounds.

Laughter and chatter mingled with the melodic strains of music with the tantalizing aroma of street food. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling of Junior's watchful gaze burning into my back. Paranoia gnawed at the edges of my mind, urging me to remain vigilant.

Think, [First Name].

My thoughts raced, a whirlwind of doubt and uncertainty swirling within me. Goku, Junior's supposed enemy, offered hope, a potential pawn in my desperate game of survival. My mind raced with possibilities.

What if my plan backfired? What if I somehow ended in the finals? What if I can't find anyone to match Junior's strength?

I weighed the risks and consequences, grappling with the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The mere thought of facing Junior that he may have found a way to defeat me filled me with a primal fear, a gnawing dread that threatened to consume me.

I wrestled with the dilemma, torn between the desire for self-preservation and the fear of facing Junior, not knowing what he planned to end me. As I settled my options, I couldn't afford to make a wrong move.

To kill Junior would be to condemn myself to a life of infamy, branded a murderer by society and begin hunted down by authorities and the issue with the government along BioThera Corporation.

To emerge victorious in the tournament would only invite unwanted attention, drawing the government's watch ever closer.

And to feign defeat, to hold back in the face of Junior's onslaught—no doubt he would kill me for fun—would risk exposing the truth of my immortality, branding me a monster in the eyes of the world.

There has to be a way. Something, anything!

I knew I couldn't afford to let my emotions cloud my judgment. I needed clarity. I passed by food stalls, the laughter of children ringing in my ears, each moment a fleeting distraction from the weight of my burdens. I forced myself to let go of my worries if only for a moment, to bask in the simple joys of the present.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans in store for me.

As I turned a corner, my path collided with that of a familiar face. The woman from the Preliminary Rounds, her black hair cascading in a neat ponytail, and her vibrant blue cheongsam. Our eyes met, a silent exchange of recognition.

Before I could utter an apology, her voice sliced through the air, sharp and accusatory, laced with pent-up anger. "It's you! You," she exclaimed, her finger jabbing in my direction with pointed accusation. My brow furrowed in confusion as she unleashed her frustration upon me; I cocked my head, struggling to comprehend the source of her ire.

"Me?"

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be preparing to face Goku instead of wandering around like an idiot? I should have been the one facing him, not you!" She spat, her words dripping with resentment.

Ah, so that was it.

It was evident the woman harbored a grudge against Goku, and our encounter in the Preliminary Rounds had only fueled her ire. I sighed inwardly as I gently deflected her pointed finger, attempting to diffuse the escalating confrontation.

"And what of it, ma'am? I'm just trying to clear my head before the match," I spoke bluntly, but my words only seemed to stoke the flames of her anger, igniting a fierce blaze in her eyes, yet a glimmer of vulnerability shone through.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this moment? I just want to make him pay after what he did to me!" she yelled, her voice cracking with emotion and her fists clenched at her sides.

"Revenge, is it?" I replied, my words tinged with bitter understanding. Her expression softened briefly, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features.

"I just want to knock some sense into him! After everything he's done to me, after the promise he made... He didn't even recognize me when he saw me. I just want to make him see, to make him understand the pain he's caused."

Her words struck a chord deep within me, stirring memories buried beneath the weight of my struggles. Promises. The word echoed in the recesses of my mind, dredging up memories of vows made and broken, of obligations unfulfilled. As she poured out her anguish, I couldn't help but wonder if she, like me, sought solace in the echoes of past grievances.

The longing for closure, for retribution, resonated within her words. But I pushed aside the swell of emotions, adopting a facade of indifference to shield myself from my emotions and feelings raging within. With a dismissive scoff, I attempted to offer solace in my detached manner.

"Look, I get where you're coming from, but this isn't my issue. Holding onto that anger won't do you any favors and will only consume you. Dwelling on the past won't change a thing. You have to straighten up, take a deep breath, and clear that head of yours."

My words came out cool and detached, a stark reflection of the emotional walls I had erected over years of solitude. It had been ages since I engaged in anything resembling a normal conversation, yet here I was, dispensing advice like some reluctant sage.

"If you're hell-bent on confronting Goku, then talk to him. Maybe there's a reason he didn't recognize you. Not everyone has a memory like an elephant, you know. People forget stuff all the time; it's human nature. Promises are often broken, whether intentionally or not. Sometimes shit happens, people forget, or they mess up. It's life."

Despite my usual aloof or stoic demeanor, I couldn't help but intervene, offering what morsels of advice I could muster.

"Just... try to think things through before you go charging in. A brawl ain't always the answer. I want you to take a step back, assess the situation, and approach him like a rational human being. Have a damn conversation."

The woman bristled at my blunt words, her fiery glare softened, replaced by a flicker of pain and understanding at my harsh words. She stumbled over her response, caught between indignation and begrudging acceptance of the truth.

But to my surprise, she took a deep breath, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled, a newfound calm settling over her. Her voice, once sharp with fury, softened into something more measured, tinged with uncertainty.

"Yeah, you're... right," she finally conceded. "Maybe talking to Goku wouldn't be such a bad idea."

As she spoke, a small sense of relief washed over me. Maybe she'd heed my advice and avoid unnecessary trouble. With a nod of approval, I sidestepped her, eager to distance myself from her turmoil and collect my thoughts.

But before I could make my escape, a tap on my shoulder brought me to a halt. I turned to find the woman, her expression softened, guilt evident in her eyes.

"Hey, I'm sorry for dragging you into my mess. But at least stick around while I apologize!"

Her tone held a hint of irritation, though she quickly composed herself. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, silently accepting her apology. "No worries," I muttered, my tone gruff and steady but not unkind.

"Thanks for the advice. I'm Chi-chi, by the way. And you?"

I made a mental note of her name, though I doubted I'd remember it for long. After all, I was just a passing stranger in her world. When she asked for my name in return, I hesitated for a moment.

"Just... [First Name]."

I replied, a tinge of resignation coloring my words. It had been a long time since anyone had bothered to ask my name, and I knew it was unlikely she would remember it for long. After all this, the tournament, I would retreat to the solitude of my hidden base in the woods, fading into obscurity once more.

For me, anonymity was a comfort, a shield against the world; I wanted to be forgotten, to be left alone, so no one would even hurt me or even find me. No longer being hunted down, maybe if I lived in a world without fear, I would no longer hear those voices in my mind.

Although, that was a mere fantasy. I had to accept my harsh reality, whether I like it or not.

"Well, I should probably head out now," I muttered as I edged away; she didn't pursue me, which was a relief. After all, who in their right mind would chase down a stranger? But her brief distraction did wonders for easing the weight on my mind.

With renewed determination, I set about formulating a plan, a contingency for the worst-case scenario if things took a turn for the worse with Junior. As I mulled over options, a memory sparked to life in the pits of my mind.

The Containment Wave!

But as quickly as joy bloomed, a shadow of doubt crept in. I lacked the necessary components for the technique, and my recollection of it was hazy at best. I had no vessel for containment and no ink for the marking.

Still, I refused to be deterred.

With Junior's watchful gaze lingering on me, I scanned the festival grounds, searching for a solution, drifting towards a nearby food stand where colorful drinks were displayed.

Perhaps a bottle could serve as the vessel.

I mused to myself, my mind racing with possibilities. It was a gamble, but one worth taking. But I couldn't afford to raise Junior's suspicions. So, I decided to indulge my craving for food as well, opting for a bite to eat. It was a calculated move, just buying a snack and drink; it was nothing more.

As I approached the bustling food stands, a figure caught my eye. An average-height man that was quite overweight with his black hair disheveled cascading around his face, stood in line. His attire was a sleeveless yukata adorned with black stripes, a black obi, and black wristbands.

“Darn it…” His grumble cut through the chatter of the crowd; his voice was rough, scratchy, and tinged with a tone of frustration and fatigue. His hands fumbled in his pockets, searching for a few measly money to pay for his meal. But it seemed luck was not on his side today.

I paid him little heed as I focused on the dishes displayed before me. It had been too long since I indulged in a proper meal, my diet restricted to the bare essentials of sustenance.

"Damn... I don't think I have any money left." His words were a testament to his hunger and desperation. Despite my reserved demeanor, a pang of empathy stirred within me. Beneath the veneer of detachment, I was still human.

Stepping forward, I placed my order, selecting a dish that promised to delight my senses along with a drink that was suitable to be the vessel and another named Takoyaki. With a nod to the worker, I paid for the order; it was a small gesture.

Perhaps, in this sea of competition and rivalry, I could afford to extend a helping hand to remind myself of the humanity that is hanging by a thread within me. I stepped aside, waiting patiently for the meal to be prepared.

When my meal was ready, I accepted it with gratitude, exchanging a nod of thanks with the worker before turning to face the man beside me. I offered him a container of his dish, my voice betraying a hint of monotony despite my best efforts.

"Here, I thought you might enjoy this dish. I recommend it."

He looked up, surprised, painting his chubby features. His beady, black eyes widened with curiosity and skepticism as he accepted the offering with cautious gratitude. "Why... Why did you give this to me?" His voice, rough around the edges, betrayed his confusion as he searched for an explanation behind my gesture.

"Just wanted to help. No need for anything in return. Enjoy the dish," I replied with a calm demeanor; my words tinged with sincerity. He then took the dish of Takoyaki out of its container as he examined the food; his curiosity was piqued.

It was a dish made by deep-frying dough-like slices of octopus into small balls, which were then sprinkled with a sweet and savory sauce. The savory aroma teased his senses, drawing him in. With a hesitant glance in my direction, he took the first bite, savoring the burst of flavors that danced upon his palate.

I watched silently, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips behind my facemask as he savored the dish. With a small, imperceptible sigh, I turned to leave, knowing he enjoyed the food I had ordered for him. As I walked away, the weight of his gaze lingered on my back, but I decided to ignore it.

Making my way behind a nearby building, I retrieved the food container from my bag; my fingers lifted the lid of the food container. I removed my facemask, relishing the cool caress of the breeze against my skin as the captivating aroma of the dish enveloped me.

It was a moment of simple pleasure taking the first bite; I savored the familiar taste, finding solace in the familiar flavors. But my moment of comfort was short-lived, shattered by the booming announcement that echoed across the festival grounds.

“Tien emerges victorious and advances to the semi-finals! Next up, we have an exciting match between Goku, who nearly won the last championship, and a mysterious warrior known only as Anonymous!”

So much for enjoying my meal.

I hastily swallowed the last bite of my meal, the urgency of the upcoming match propelling me forward, overriding my desire for relaxation. With a quick adjustment of my face mask and hood, I hurried towards the arena, my steps quickening with each passing moment.

Junior's presence weighed heavily on my mind as I strategized. Holding back my true strength would be crucial, keeping Junior in the dark about my full potential while measuring Goku's abilities. It was a delicate balance, a tightrope walk between restraint and assertion. 

As I strode into the auditorium, anticipation rippled through my veins, mixing with the steady thrum of being agitated. I felt the weight of the moment bearing down upon me and my resolve unwavering in the face of uncertainty of the outcome of this match would be.

I squared my shoulders, my chin held high, and my footsteps echoed against the polished floor as I made my way to the entrance. The sun greeted me with its warm embrace as I stepped into the arena, the sky a vast expanse of azure splendor.

The atmosphere crackled with excitement, a symphony of eager murmurs, roars, and restless shuffling from the audience. As I entered the ring, the ground beneath my feet felt solid and sure, anchoring me to the present moment.

My gaze swept over the audience, a sea of expectant faces blurred by the haze of trepidation that clouded my vision. Despite the multitude of eyes fixed upon me, I found reassurance no cameras were recording this live on TV.

Across the expanse of the arena, Goku stood, his gaze locked with mine, his eyes shimmered with purity and excitement, a stark contrast to the storm raging within my own heart. The traditional tenor drums, their rhythmic beats echoing through the arena, added to the tension that coiled in the pit of my stomach. Each thump resonated with the pounding of my heart.

In that silent exchange, I glimpsed the raw power of his spirit. The referee's voice announced the commencement of the match, a gong chimed, its metallic echoed, signaling us to begin. As the crowd erupted into a frenzy of excitement, Goku and I stood there, our minds focused and our bodies primed for action.

With every fiber of my being, I remained alert, searching for any sign of weakness in my opponent's stance. But Goku kept his defenses tight. For moments that stretched into eternity, we remained locked in a silent standoff, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

During our silent standoff, I felt Junior's presence looming in the shadows, a silent observer of our impending clash, feeling the weight of Junior and Goku's gaze, I couldn't afford to hesitate. I needed to determine Goku's power and find a weakness to exploit.

I had to treat this battle fairly as much as I could.

Let’s get this over with.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: April 03, 2024

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[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 001 | 𝑯𝑶𝑷𝑬 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

CONTENT WARNINGS: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE & FIGHTING Mentions of light SWEARING!!!

002 |Betrayals Reawakening

❝The past is just the past. There's no inherent value in getting over it or catching up to it.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

"Damn it, shit—I'm cutting it close," I muttered to myself, my heart pounding in sync with each stride. The pavement blurred beneath my feet, racing toward the tournament grounds. As I drew closer, the air crackled with the distant sounds of fireworks, their colorful explosions painting the sky above into a canvas of vibrant hues against the azure backdrop.

Slowing my pace as I arrived, I paused to take in the scene before me. Laughter mingled with the hiss of rockets, the joyful cries of children adding to the festive atmosphere. Amidst the sea of faces, fighters and spectators intermingled, their voices weaving a tapestry of excitement.

For a moment, I allowed myself to bask in the serenity of the moment, a rare breather from the chaos of my thoughts. But just as quickly, a sharp voice shattered the tranquility, jolting me back to reality, my muscles tensing.

"The preliminary round is about to commence. All contestants, please proceed to the fighting arena immediately."

Just in time.

Stepping inside, the din of conversation and exertion enveloped me. I scanned the room, taking note of the diverse array of fighters, each with their unique presence. Some engaged in rigorous warm-ups, while others exchanged banter with fellow competitors. I kept my head low, pulling my hood tighter to shield my face from prying eyes, and focused on the plan I had set.

The plan was simple yet layered with complexities. I had taken precautions, preparing a disguise to veil my identity in obscurity against those who might recognize me. I assumed the tournament would be recorded on live camera.

First, to obscure my identity, ensuring that neither the government nor remnants of BioThera could trace me here. 

Second, to strategically bow out if I found myself advancing to the final rounds, avoiding the spotlight that winning would only draw unwanted attention, being on social media, whereas losing would allow me to slip away unnoticed, a mere footnote in the tournament's history.

Third, in the aftermath, I would return to my base and hide, allowing time to blur the memory of my presence here. No autographs, no accolades, just a silent retreat back into the shadows. It was simple; however, not so simple when it came for me to reclaim a sense of my pride back, how to enjoy a tournament.

A yearning to rediscover the joy of combat, stripped of the primal instincts that had driven me for so long. I craved the thrill of battle, the rush of adrenaline untainted by fear or survival.

Those shit loads of hunters.

With each step, I pushed back the memories that threatened to engulf me, focusing instead on the rhythm of my breath and the steady beat of my heart. I would fight, not out of necessity, but out of choice. Though the instinct to survive still whispered in the recesses of my mind, I vowed to temper it with restraint.

To fight not with the intent to maim or kill but to reclaim a sense of happiness long forgotten. Memories of Jiro, my lost love and companion, stirred within me, a reminder of the joy we once shared in the heat of battle.

Just like in the old days I have fought. Even just a speck of that feeling is enough for me to be satisfied.

As I took a step forward, my gut twisted in knots, a leaden weight settling upon my chest, constricting my breath, halting my movements like an invisible forcefield. A strange energy, dense and palpable, suffocating me with its intensity. It was an energy beyond mere human capabilities, tinged with an unsettling familiarity that sent chills down my spine.

What sort of energy is this?

The powerful energy permeated the air around me, tinged with a hint of danger that pricked my senses, setting them on edge. Frozen in place, I struggled to comprehend the source of this ominous presence. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a caged beast, beads of sweat forming on my brow, a lump lodging itself in my throat.

With each passing moment, I felt compelled to reduce my own ki as if instinctively seeking refuge from whatever was behind me. But anxiety held me rooted to the spot.

Move, damn it! Move!

My mind screamed, urging me to break free from the paralysis that gripped me. A chill swept down my spine, sensing being watched, boring into the back of my skull. Summoning every ounce of willpower, I forced myself to turn, casting a wary glance over my shoulder. Among the crowd of contenders, one figure stood out in the crowd, like a sore thumb.

Tall and imposing, with skin the color of emerald adorned with patches of light pink and delicate black lines going across them on his arms. His attire was wearing a white turban with a dark purplish-blue Gi, and a white cape that billowed behind him. He had pointy orange shoes and a red Obi belt. 

My eyes scanned his solid facial structure, pronounced cheekbones, a rounder chin, and a straight nose, noticing his long, pointy, green ears. But it was his gaze, those piercing black eyes that bore into mine with unsettling intensity, that stirred a long-buried memory within me.

He seems... familiar.

Memories of a bygone era flooded my mind, accompanied by the chilling echo of a voice that was all too familiar.

|My weapon must be strong, and able to take a fatal hit and walk it off as if it were nothing. If you ever disobey me or allow any of my plans to fail...you will experience a fate worse than any death you have ever encountered. You will wish you were never immortal.|

King Piccolo's words reverberated through my consciousness, and with dawning horror, I realized the truth of the being that stood before me. A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm me as I grappled with the reality of facing the demon.

King Piccolo?

But before I could succumb to the suffocating fear, a booming announcement jolted me back to the present. "Attention, participants! Sorry to keep you waiting, but we will now begin the preliminary round. Please gather around the center of the room."

With a sharp intake of breath, I tore my gaze away from the demon king, a facade of composure masking the emotions and feelings raging within. As the crowd of fighters converged at the center of the room, I would follow suit, my senses alert to every movement and chatter around me. An elderly man took his place on a raised platform, his voice resonating through the air with a clarity that belied his age.

"I thank you all for your support of the martial arts society," he began, his words a prelude to the imminent competition. My attention wavered, thoughts swirling like a storm in my mind, drowning out the elder's speech. My thoughts were consumed by the unexpected presence of King Piccolo, questions swirled within me, each one a dagger of uncertainty.

He looks so different, fairly younger, and short from his immense height when I last saw him, but that doesn't matter. How had he escaped his prison? Did some idiot free him? And why, of all places, did he come here? Has he come for me? For revenge for my betrayal?

The thought gnawed at me, festering in the depths of my mind. Yet, even as I pondered his motives, a deeper fear took root. One question loomed: Did he recognize me even with my disguise? 

The very idea sent a jolt of fear coursing through my veins, my heart pounding in rhythm with my rising anxiety. In the chaos of my thoughts, I felt his gaze upon me, an unseen weight that threatened to crush me beneath its scrutiny.

Calm down, [First Name]. Calm down, think about this.

I reminded myself, forcing a facade of calm, but beneath the veneer of control, a squall raged, a maelstrom of fear and panic soon enough with anger and frustration. A combustible concoction of emotions threatening to spill over.

I could end this now.

I entertained the notion of striking him down then and there, but reason prevailed, and the risks in hand. I would reveal myself and cause collateral damage, inviting unwanted attention, such as the government or authorities.

So, I bided my time, keeping my ki level low in a desperate bid to evade detection. As I grappled with my options, a sense of resignation settled over me. Escape seemed tempting, but the specter of King Piccolo's wrath was a grim reminder of the consequences.

If I left, there was a possibility he would kill everyone here. This only added to more guilt than I already had and toiled my emotional state.

I am in a fucked up situation here.

My plan, once so simple, now lay in ruins at my feet as the weight of my predicament bore down upon me; I could only curse the cruel irony of fate, mocking me at every turn, not getting my aspirations.

"It is time for the lottery! Participants will be paired. According to the numbers drawn!"

A hush fell over the crowd, broken only by the shuffling of feet as a man stepped forward, clutching a small box, his movements deliberate as he made his way toward us. As the participants formed a line, I joined them, I cursed under my breath, my fists clenched in frustration.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? How long has he been out there? Has he been training? He could be stronger, and smarter, and I'm just walking into this blind!

I got to the front of the line, and my hand reached into the box, fingers trembling as I fumbled for a card. With bated breath, I withdrew the slip of paper, my heart pounding in my chest. I unfolded the paper, revealing the number sixty-two.

Eyes scanning the board, I located my spot in Block Four of the second half; my gaze lingered, wondering what King Piccolo's number would be. I could almost feel his eyes on me, a silent threat hanging in the air.

Would he recognize me? Or is he suspicious of me? Maybe he already knows it's me. Is that why I can feel him staring at me?

The announcer's voice pierced the silence once more, announcing the commencement of the preliminaries. I exhaled a quiet sigh, deciding to bide my time; I settled into the sidelines, eyes flickering across the arena, content to watch the battles unfold before my turn arrived.

Observing the podium, my gaze fell upon the two contenders standing tall. One, a towering figure with a rich, dark complexion, exuded strength and determination. While the other, with a lighter, pale skin tone, well-built physique, and spiky black hair, emanated an aura of focused tranquility.

A hush fell over the arena as they exchanged words along with a bow, a customary gesture of respect. With a call from the referee, the duel commenced. The first fighter assumed his stance; the other remained motionless.

It was then that I noticed it, a subtle yet undeniable aura emanating from the second combatant. A palpable sense of power, tempered by an eerie calmness. Curiosity gripped me as I watched, my mind spinning with possibilities. 

Maybe... maybe I can find someone to defeat King Piccolo?

Before I could delve deeper into the notion, a sudden flurry of action shattered the stillness. The second contestant, swift as a phantom, caught his adversary off guard. Panic gripped the first fighter, his frantic search for his unseen assailant ending in a devastating blow that sent him crashing to the ground, consciousness slipping away.

"Number One has fainted... Number Two is the winner!"

The crowd erupted into a chorus of cheers and murmurs, their excitement mirroring my astonishment at the victor's prowess. His speed was unparalleled, defying human limits, leaving me awestruck, and igniting a glimmer of hope within me. My eyes flitted to the tournament board. Only eight would advance to the next stage, and among them, perhaps lay the key to my salvation.

I resolved to scrutinize each contender, searching for the one whose strength and skill might rival that of King Piccolo. It was a gamble, a desperate bid to get out of my situation. But as the cheers of the crowd washed over me, I dared to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, I could get what I wanted.

Just a way out.

Time seemed to blur as I faced one opponent after another, each presenting a unique challenge. They tested my restraint as I held back my strength. I found myself momentarily immersed in the thrill of battle, only to be abruptly reminded of King Piccolo's looming presence.

I sensed his gaze upon me, analyzing my every move, probing for weaknesses. And in turn, I found myself studying him, gauging the depth of his power and the extent of his skills. He was still brutal as ever.

As the rounds progressed, the arena thinned, each defeat marking the departure of yet another competitor. With a call from the referee, it was my turn to take the stage once more. The final bout to determine who would ascend to the ranks of the top eight fighters.

"Number Fifty-nine and Sixty-two, step forward!"

With measured steps, I approached the center of the arena, locking eyes with my opponent. It was a light-skinned woman, she was a vision of strength and grace, her slender frame exuding an air of confidence.

Her long black hair flowed behind her, tied in a neat ponytail, framing her striking features. Clad in a vibrant blue cheongsam, she stood poised and ready, her black eyes focused and unwavering.

As the referee signaled the start of the match, I lunged forward, fists clenched in anticipation. My strikes met with swift blocks and dodge, her movements fluid and calculated. But I was determined, pressing on with a relentless barrage of attacks.

With an estimated maneuver, I aimed a sidekick at her abdomen, eliciting a sharp grunt of pain. As I followed up with a roundhouse kick, she caught my leg, refusing to yield an inch.

Thinking on my feet, I shifted my weight, wrapping my other leg around her neck. With a twist of my body, I sent us both hurtling towards the edge of the ring. Gravity became my ally as we tumbled, my hands finding purchase on the arena floor just as I executed a perfect flip, using my momentum to launch her out of bounds.

As she crashed to the ground outside the ring, I landed gracefully on my hands and knees, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

As the referee's booming voice echoed through the arena, announcing my victory, a chorus of cheers erupted from the remaining fighters. I made my way down from the podium and I approached the woman I had just faced, rubbing her head with a grimace.

She could have cracked her skull, and even worse, she would have snapped her neck if she landed wrong.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry if I caused any damage to you," I offered, my words laced with genuine concern. The possibility of killing someone in this tournament if I didn't fix my survival instincts weighed heavily on my mind. The woman, still rubbing her head, waved off my concern with a dismissive gesture, though I could sense her frustration lingering beneath the surface.

"No–No, it's okay. I'm fine, uh..."

She muttered, her tone a mixture of annoyance and pain. I watched as she stormed away, her clenched fists betraying her frustration. Her abrupt departure left me standing there, grappling with the aftermath of the match.

At least she's not dead.

"You're still the same human as before," a deep voice interrupted my thoughts, drawing my attention to King Piccolo himself. His voice was laden with authority and a hint of amusement. 

My heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, a reminder of a past I had long tried to forget. Ignoring the weight of his words, I maintained a facade of indifference, refusing to acknowledge the connection between us. I was silent, but his words cut through the air like a knife.

"Your kindness will be your downfall in the future, [First Name]," he warned, his tone dripping with disdain. The mention of my name sent a jolt of fear coursing through me.

He knew it was me, that bastard. Fuck, why did I believe that he couldn't recognize me with my disguise. He's smart enough to figure it out.

"And your arrogance led to your downfall when I joined you," I retorted, my voice steady despite the emotions raging within me, but his next words caught me off guard.

"I still haven't forgotten about what you did to my father," he declared, his tone tinged with bitterness. The revelation left me speechless, my mind racing to piece together the dilemma.

"Father...?" I murmured, but before I could press further, a new voice echoed through the arena, drawing our attention to the next round of fighters. As King Piccolo retreated towards the arena entrance, leaving me to grapple with the revelation.

Did King Piccolo have a child?! When—how?— who?—what?

With a sense of unease gnawing at my gut, I followed the small group toward the entrance, keeping a wary eye on King Piccolo—or perhaps, his son. I joined the group of quarter-finalists, and I couldn't shake the nagging sense of dread that gnawed at my insides.

My gaze settled on the announcer, a striking figure with blonde hair, a distinguished mustache, and sunglasses perched atop his nose. His attire, a sharp navy-blue/black business suit wearing a pink shirt and a vibrant red necktie, he cleared his throat, adjusting his shades.

"Once again, we shall draw lots to determine the pairings for the next round," his voice reverberated through the auditorium, crisp and definitive. "Only two participants per match, no more. And a friendly reminder: check your costumes before entering the ring."

The mention of attire struck a nerve within me, a silent irritation at the thought of the notion of King Piccolo's presence being reduced to a mere costume rankled me, though I kept my emotions veiled.

How oblivious can people be? Unless this tournament had some peculiar individuals who wore costumes as normal.

I pondered silently as the blonde announcer produced a modest brown box, urging us to draw our lots. I lingered until the end of the line, drawing my lot to reveal the number.

"Four," I muttered under my breath, taking note of the number etched on the card before the names were jotted down. Scanning the roster for the upcoming quarterfinals, my curiosity was piqued by the peculiar matchups.

Match 1: Mercenary Tao vs. Tien Match 2: Goku vs. Anonymous (a name I had chosen to conceal my identity) Match 3: Junior vs. Krillin Match 4: Hero vs. Yamcha.

My brow furrowed as I read the name 'Junior.' "Pardon me, but who is Junior?" queried a bald man, his confusion mirroring my own. The announcer's gesture toward King Piccolo's son revealed the depth of his ignorance, igniting a spark of empathy within me for those who remained oblivious to the true nature of this formidable being.

But who names themselves Junior? What? Did King Piccolo not care? Of course, he doesn't care; that's how he is. Why am I even acting surprised?

"Then whose Anonymous?"

The voice, a melodic blend of curiosity and youth, cut through the air. I turned my gaze towards the speaker, a competitor from the first round of Block One.

He stood tall and imposing, his skin aglow with a sun-kissed hue that seemed to dance in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the entrance and with spiky black hair framing his features.

He was Goku, my next opponent for the Second Match of the tournament.

"They would be the one named Anonymous," the announcer's words echoed through the hall, drawing attention to my masked figure. I felt the weight of the man's gaze upon me, his black eyes alight with a spark of excitement, perhaps virtue. A pang of unease rippled through me, urging me to avert my eyes, to shield myself from his scrutiny.

As the anticipation built for the commencement of the first match, the other competitors filtered out to the arena. Yet, Junior, King Piccolo's son, remained behind. I could sense his gaze burning into my back, a silent threat creeping under the surface of my composed facade.

Beneath the exterior of my composure, anxiety, and irritation simmered a volatile blend of fear and anger. Fear that this monstrous legacy had found its way here, but his son I did not know King Piccolo had. Anger at myself for daring to hope, for venturing out of hiding only to be stuck in a situation, and faith mocking me.

Why do I always have false hope?

The bitter taste of disappointment lingered on my tongue, a harsh reminder of the folly of false hope. In the tense silence that hung between us, my heart hammered against my ribs, with each beat echoing the uncertainty of what comes next.

I braced myself, waiting for an attack, for a confrontation, but none came. Every nerve screamed for escape, for release from the suffocating grip of fear. But as seconds stretched into eternity, Junior remained motionless, a silent sentinel watching from the sidelines.

Will there be anyone to actually end him without doing it myself?

Risk of getting attention from authorities, alerting the government? Or letting my hands dribble by the blood of innocents that he may kill, knowing I could have stopped him?

But I was simply a selfish and cold-hearted person, just wanting to survive.

Or was I?

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: March 22, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 001 | 𝑯𝑶𝑷𝑬 NEXT CHAPTER: 003 | 𝑭𝑨𝑻𝑬'𝑺 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑩𝑳𝑬

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑯𝑼𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑻𝒀 | 5 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF HEAVY SELF-HARM, MENTAL ILLNESS, DISORDERS, & HEAVY ANGST!!! Mentions of MURDER, BLOOD, DEATH/DYING & PROFANITY!!!

001 | Hope

❝Do you ever get a little bit tired of life? Like you're not really happy but you don't want to die. Like you're hanging by a thread, but you gotta survive.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

YEAR: 2351 ⌋ 275 YEARS LATER | AGE: + 1 MILLION YEARS OLD

        The alleyway was shrouded in darkness, the only illumination coming from flickering streetlights and the moonlight casting long, eerie shadows. My nimble fingers closed around the cold metal of the assault rifle; a weapon recovered from the lifeless grip of a government-hired assassin.

I had been ambushed not moments before; I had just succeeded in dismantling a human trafficking ring as a mission in the city I was in, but I was attacked by those hunters from the government.

They never stopped hunting me. Nor did I stop from helping people even just a bit.

Now, with the assassin's body at my feet, with haste, I rummaged through the assailant's garb, seeking any trace of surveillance or tracking devices. In the dim light, my hand darted into pockets and bags. I took out a small syringe from one of the pockets, its amber, fiery hue catching the glow of distant streetlamps.

It was a drug named Somnus. It is an amber liquid that is injected via a syringe and has the effect of rendering the victim unconscious for long periods of time which are days through a week. It can cause the person to regain consciousness at certain points, but their body is not awake. They are trapped within a prison of immobility, but can hear, smell, and feel everything that is being done to them. When the effects finally wear off, the body remains paralyzed for hours before finally recovering fully.

It bore the insignia of BioThera, a chilling reminder of the power they held over me and those horrible experiments.

They never forgot about me. And I never forgot about them.

With a decisive toss, I sent the syringe colliding against the wall, its fragile vessel shattering into a kaleidoscope of shards, its contents spilling onto the pavement. The acrid scent of its contents mingled with the blood and the lingering stench of the alley, assaulting my senses. The threat was neutralized, I turned my attention to the fallen assailant. No tracking device was found, yet paranoia gnawed at the edges of my mind.

I chose to demolish the entire body.

With resolve, my hand outstretched, I summoned a surge of energy, channeling it into a glowing orb that crackled with power. Its incandescent glow illuminated the dark alleyway; I unleashed its wrath upon the fallen assassin, the resulting explosion sending shockwaves reverberating through the narrow passage.

The force of the blast pushed me back, but I stood firm, adrenaline coursing through my veins, heightening my senses to the looming hazard, and the scent of burning flesh reached my senses. I couldn't linger, not with the authorities surely on their way drawn by the commotion; I propelled myself into motion.

Each footfall echoed against the cobblestones as I sprinted, my muscles coiling with tension as I prepared to take flight; I propelled myself forward. As I ascended into the night sky, the rush of wind whipped against my face, chilling me to the bone.

High above the city, I soared, every heartbeat thundered in my ears as I clutched the rifle tightly, scanning the horizon for any sign of pursuit. Questions gnawed at my mind; doubts clawed at my resolve.

If an assassin managed to find me, how many of them are there in the city? No. This country I was in.

The uncertainty fueled my determination to vanish into the night, to move into another country or continent for another base far from those hunters. Once again.

I was dead wrong to think they would just let me be.

It's been a relentless pursuit, stretching over two and a half centuries. Two hundred and seventy-five years of living like prey, always looking over my shoulder, always on the run.

Since the sealing a way of King Piccolo, the world had moved on, rebuilt itself, and advanced in technology. But for me, it only meant more sophisticated means for them to track me down, leaving me in an endless state of paranoia.

It's nearly impossible to disappear in the world I live in today.

In the aftermath of King Piccolo's destruction, BioThera, the company that once held traces of my DNA and the secrets of my abilities, was reduced to rubble. Yet, somehow, I believed Ethan Kane managed to preserve fragments of my existence, likely preserving some record of me, ensuring my perpetual pursuit enough to tip off the government.

Ethan and Victor Arrenberg were long gone, but their legacy persisted, each generation passing down the knowledge of an immortal being, a freak of nature. Each successor was eager to claim the prize of capturing me. But I eluded them all. I have bases across the globe, like breadcrumbs leading away from the hunter's trap.

Yet, even in my bases, peace was a fleeting illusion and dream.

The night had melted into a luminous blue canvas, stretched endlessly across the horizon. Hours melded into one another, the sun ascending its throne in the sky, casting its radiant warmth upon my weary frame.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't sleep.

I pressed onward, cradling the assault rifle in my clenched fist. With each passing moment, my eyes scanned the landscape below, vigilant against any prying eyes or tracking devices.

My gaze roamed the terrain below, a patchwork of verdant fields, undulating plains, dense forests, and rugged mountains. Islands dotted the coastline, their presence a cunning ruse to confound my pursuers.

Among its verdant landscapes and untamed wilderness, I hoped to find respite, if only for a fleeting moment in this continent I arrived. Into the heavens, I soared, ascending into the wispy embrace of clouds that veiled my movements from prying eyes.

Approaching Mount Paozu, my heart quickened with anticipation; I skirted past the bustling metropolis of East Capital City. Streets below bustled with activity, a symphony of hovercraft and flying cars zipping through the air with effortless grace.

Amidst the towering structures, holographic billboards flicker to life, casting displays of colors onto the polished surfaces. Though the cityscape dazzled with its technological marvels, I remained wary; I knew the risks all too well. Technology was already vastly improving too much for me to completely avoid cities like these. 

With a surge of energy, I propelled myself forward, the rush of wind whipping against my skin as I accelerated toward my destination. Time became a blur, a fleeting whisper in the endless expanse of the sky, as I soared past startled birds, their frantic cries echoing in my wake. Yet, onward, I pressed, driven by a primal instinct to survive.

As I approached my destination, soaring past majestic mountains, their peaks kissed by wisps of cloud while sprawling plains stretched out like an endless tapestry below. I glided through the lush valleys and verdant meadows, the landscape unfurling beneath me like a vibrant tapestry.

I descended into the embrace of a lush forest, the verdant canopy stretching above like a protective cloak. Navigating the dense foliage with practiced ease, I deftly through the dense foliage, weaving between towering trees and elusive wildlife, my senses attuned to the subtlest of movements.

I weaved between the colossal trunks of old trees, their sprawling branches casting intricate patterns of shadow upon the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of earth and greenery, a heady concoction with a sense of peace as the forest grew denser with each passing moment, stretching into eternity.

The path ahead vanished into a labyrinth of boulders and tangled undergrowth, each step fraught with the risk of stumbling into unseen pitfalls. I skirted past moss-covered boulders and treacherous cliffs, my senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the landscape.

Yet, amidst the encroaching darkness, a beacon of light beckoned me forward. I parted the clinging vines that obscured my path, emerging into a sun-dappled clearing, and a sense of familiarity washed over me. 

Here, nestled in the embrace of nature, stood my base: a humble cabin, weathered and worn with a riot of greenery and blossoms. Nature had reclaimed the structure as its own, vines and flowers weaving around its timeworn walls, camouflaged by the lush vegetation that surrounded it.

Adjacent to the cabin lay a neglected garden, its once-tidy rows now overrun with wild growth. Fruit trees bowed beneath the weight of their harvest, while wildflowers danced in the gentle breeze. Wild animals frolicked the overgrown foliage. Birds flitted among the branches, their pleasant songs filling the air with a symphony of sound.

Here, in Mount Paozu, I found comfort in the simplicity of life, a fleeting reminder of days long past. Memories flooded my mind, a bittersweet reminder of a time before I discovered my immortality and being hunted down by the government, weighed heavy on my shoulders.

With a heavy heart, I acknowledged the truth that had long haunted me: I was truly alone in this world, a solitary figure adrift amidst the currents of time. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest floor, I couldn't help but wonder if true comfort would ever be within my grasp.

"Kill yourself! It's the only way..." "End this torment [First Name]!" "It would be nice to see our loved ones on the other side."

"End it," the voices whispered and screamed in a relentless chorus that echoed within the depths of my mind, a constant reminder of the torment that plagued me. Yet, I resisted, knowing that death offered no solace in a life bound by immortality.

My mind, a battlefield strewn with the remnants of sanity, with each whispered taunt, I steeled myself against the onslaught, clinging to the fragile threads of sanity that bound me to this world.

My main focus was to survive and keep my sanity intact as long as possible.

Landing before the weathered door of my long-abandoned cabin, retrieving the key from its hiding place, I unlocked the door while lowering my ki energy. With a click, the wooden door creaked open, welcoming me into the shadows of my sanctuary.

A sharp crack shattered the stillness of the forest, a bullet whistling past my ear with deadly intent. I recoiled instinctively, arching my back, my senses on high alert as the acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air.

Fuck. I had forgotten about the trap I had set.

I realized with a grim sense of irony, as the trap I had set to deter unwelcome intruders. Regaining my composure, I retrieved the shotgun nestled within the confines of my cabin.

Gripping the shotgun in one hand and the assault rifle in the other, I stepped cautiously into the dimly lit interior of my cabin, the echoes of my footsteps reverberating off the walls, the floorboards creaking beneath my weight. 

Weeds and wildflowers sprouted through the cracks in the wooden floor, while plastic-shrouded furniture lay dormant, preserved against the ravages of time. Pots of verdant life dotted the room, their fragrant blooms filling the air with a sweet mix of scents.

A soft chirp broke the silence, a lone bird nestled on the rafters, its presence a welcome distraction from the solitude that enveloped me as I made my way to the kitchen.

I might as well pass out from exhaustion for staying up awake for days. But...

Sleep remained a distant dream, a luxury beyond my grasp, as the fear of being attacked and captured loomed large in my mind. Nightmares, cruel and unforgiving, haunted the recesses of my subconscious, each one a harrowing reminder of the horrors I had endured.

I dreaded closing my eyes, surrendering to a world of fear and uncertainty. I dreaded the thought of waking up to find it all had been a dream, that I was still trapped in that sterile lab, subjected to endless experiments and torment.

With a heavy sigh, I set my guns on the dusty dining table, the corners of my old cabin cloaked in cobwebs, making a mental note to clean my base later.

Summoning a flicker of a small sphere of my ki energy within my fingertips, I ignited the lanterns scattered throughout my kitchen, their warm glow casting long shadows upon the worn wooden floors.

Crouching before the hearth, I kindled a modest fire, its crackling flames a beacon of warmth in the chill of the night. With the fire ablaze, I set about preparing my evening meal, getting a pot from my cabin to fill up with water.

As I ventured outside to gather fruits or vegetables from my garden, a sense of unease lingered in the periphery of my thoughts. Loneliness was my constant companion, yet paradoxically, I was never truly alone.

The paranoia that hung heavy on my shoulders, the constant state of fear and alertness of my surroundings, and the raging emotions of my trauma engulfed me inside, the desperation, the longing for peace.

The outside world hunted me while my mind tormented me within the confines of my hideouts. No one could understand the weight of my burden, the tumult of emotions I carried, and the suffocating isolation of being hunted both inside and out.

Still, I fought. 

Pausing by a small pond, I filled my pot with water, though paranoia continued to linger at the edges of my consciousness. Returning to the confines of my cabin, I brewed myself a pot of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air. The pot of water steamed over the flames, its gentle bubbling a soothing melody amidst the quiet solitude.

I clung to what shreds of sanity remained, knowing that to lose them would be to forfeit my humanity. The fear of losing myself entirely, of becoming the monster people perceived me to be, drove me to keep fighting. I refused to become the monster they painted me to be, a creature devoid of humanity, a mere tool to be wielded at their whim.

Gazing out the window, night descended in earnest; I watched as the moon cast its silvery glow upon the forest canopy, a silent sentinel in the night sky. I settled at the dining table, brushing off the dust. I took a sip of my coffee, took a bite of the carrot that I had grabbed from my garden, and cleaned it.

The bitter tang of coffee mixed with the sweetness of the vegetable upon my tongue was an odd combination to eat, yet it didn't matter. It was something to eat to satisfy my thirst and hunger, my eyes lingering on the empty chair opposite me, a silent reminder of the loneliness that plagued my existence.

I cast a glance at my guns as I lifted the cup of coffee to my lips. The world around me seemed to fade into silence, save for the soft rhythm of my breathing. Even the chirping of the lone bird that had taken refuge within my cabin had fallen silent, its gentle snores a lullaby in the stillness of the night.

All I yearned for was not only joy but to be recognized as a human being, to reclaim the dignity that had been stripped away from the day I was captured.

I am human.

Flawed, yes.

Broken, perhaps.

But human, nonetheless.

And as long as that flicker of humanity remained, I would continue to fight. For my freedom. For my sanity. For the right to be seen, not as a monster, a freak, a thing, a tool but as a human. I would continue to save people, to prove them wrong I am not a monster, not a tool even if the government or anyone does not see it or deny it.

"But you're growing tired, aren't you? Why don't you take a rest... forever." "It would be nice to see Lascell and Jiro again." "Your mother, your friends you made along the way," "End this torment! END IT!" "So why don't you end it forever?"

The voices echoed a cacophony of whispers and hollers that tore at the edges of my sanity, each word a dagger to my already fractured mind.

My head throbbed with the weight of their indictments, their relentless onslaught pushing me to the brink of despair. They spoke of death as a release, of surrendering to the void in search of peace.

Yet I was too stubborn enough to not listen to them for a moment. The voices would taunt, their words laced with venom and malice.

"Come on, you know better than death itself is mercy than living." "You will lose everything if you keep doing this, what will you become now?" "A monster."

They hissed, the word echoing in the caverns of my mind. With a frustrated snarl, I gripped my cup of coffee tightly, the ceramic warming my trembling hands.

My gaze fixed upon the guns strewn across the table before me. The voices taunted and jeered, their words a cacophony of self-loathing and doubt.

"Let yourself go and give us peace—"

"I know but are you fucking stup—" I caught myself mid-sentence, the absurdity of arguing with voices that existed only in my mind momentarily grounding me in reality. "Who am I even talking to? There's no one here!" I spat, the sound of my voice ringing hollow in the empty cabin.

The voices grew louder, their cries piercing the fragile veil of my sanity. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the ceaseless racket that threatened to engulf me.

Yet, there was truth behind their words. Emotions long suppressed surged to the surface, a tempest of rage, frustration, and despair threatening to consume me whole.

I seized one of the guns, bringing the cold barrel and pressed it against my temple. My heartbeat thundering in my ears, and my grip tightened on the gun, as my finger hovered over the trigger.

"Shut up!"

With a sudden surge of desperation to get rid of or silence the voices, I pulled the trigger.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

YEAR: 2351⌋ ONE WEEK LATER - MAY 8 ⌊ Papaya Island

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

        With a cautious sip of my drink, I walked out of the market, my features concealed beneath a disguise I wore. The sun beat down upon me, its rays diffused by the tinted lenses of my sunglasses. It had been a tumultuous week since my last breakdown.

Venturing into the heart of a small town, I stride cautiously along the bustling streets. My goal was simple for coming into this town on Papaya Island: get the necessities I needed and vanish without a trace; the last thing I wanted was to draw unwanted attention upon myself.

I needed some items and food for a short time until I fixed my garden and grew more edibles for the long run, as well as purchasing some drinks in my favor, knowing I had been only consuming water from a fresh lake or pond.

It was a very rare circumstance when I ventured into town, a necessity born of survival rather than choice. The prospect of starvation or succumbing to dehydration loomed ever-present, I understood I would go even more insane if I kept killing myself and suffered more.

Just like that incident during those damned Witch Trials. Locked up and dying over and over again.

Navigating through the streets, I wanted to find a secluded corner where I could make my departure unnoticed, my mind racing with the urgency to get out of this island and go back to my base in Mount Paozu.

As I traversed the bustling thoroughfare, the rhythmic hum of passing cars mingled with the cacophony of voices that filled the air. Anxiety gnawed at my insides, yet I maintained a façade of calm not wanting to draw attention as my heart pounded within my chest.

Ahead, a gathering crowd caught my attention, their voices rising in excited chatter. Initially intent on avoiding the commotion, curiosity soon got the better of me as I drew closer, a voice cut through the clamor.

"Come join us for the 23rd World's Martial Arts Tournament! here you get the chance to fight the world's best fighters!"

The very mention of it sent a thrill coursing through my veins, igniting a spark of excitement within me. I paused in my tracks, my gaze drawn towards the source of the commotion; my senses heightened as I surveyed the diverse array of individuals before me.

Memories of battles long past flickered in the recesses of my mind, a primal yearning for the thrill of combat, not just for survival, but for the sheer joy of it, the chance to push me beyond my limits, to reclaim a sense of pride and purpose that had long eluded me.

After all, I have been, beyond, disrespected, tortured, and ripped away from my dignity.

I found myself drawn to the opportunity to fight in the tournament, a glimmer of hope and joy kindling within me; I could not only find some happiness that I longed to have after being hunted down and fighting for survival out of fear.

But an escape from my cruel reality, a fleeting moment. A distraction. A break from the constant struggle for survival, a chance to recover a portion of sanity and find a sense of normalcy, even if just for a moment.

Yet, beneath the surface of my excitement, a gnawing sense of apprehension ground at my resolve, casting doubt upon my decision to partake in the tournament.

What if the government would find me here? What if they had dispatched hunters in this tournament?

"All fighters who wish to enter the tournament must register today! Please be aware that if you fail to register today, you will be unable to participate in tomorrow's qualifying rounds!"

As the announcement echoed through the crowd, I pushed aside the tendrils of fear, clinging instead to the hint of hope that danced just out of reach. It had been a week since I had relocated to a distant continent, to hide and run away from the government and BioThera. There was still time; time to formulate a plan, to take this brief moment of freedom and escape.

Just a moment of rest without fear. Just having a moment of joy, a sense of being a human.

With a deep breath, I joined the queue, my heart pounding in my chest as I wrestled with conflicting emotions. As I inched closer and closer to the registration desk, my mind whirled with possibilities, a maelstrom of hope and dread swirling within me.

Nothing will go wrong, once I have a plan and execute it, and leave.

This is a chance to... escape, a moment of a break, no longer hearing those voices, just forgetting about the fear for a moment, maybe having a portion of peace.

Everything will be fine; nothing will go out of the window.

Right?

•◉◒☆◒◉•

NOTE: THIS TAKES PLACE DURING DRAGON BALL (first series) IN THE Piccolo Jr. Saga.

Finished: March 09, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑯𝑼𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑻𝒀 | 5 NEXT CHAPTER: 002 | 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑨𝑳𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑾𝑨𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑨𝑳 | 4 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, MURDER & ABUSE!!! Mentions of DEATH/DYING & SWEARING!!!

Prologue - HUMANITY | 5

❝Sympathy, affection, fear—feelings can be very powerful weapons of persuasion.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

        It has been a few years since I had thought of my plan; specifically, it has been five years, nearly a decade communicating with Lascell, and the experiments were less severe, only testing out chemicals or medicine to see the symptoms I would show. It wasn't too much since my immortality; I would recover from anything poisonous or that would damage my body, although I was immune to sickness or diseases.

To be frank, as much as I despised being a lab rat, I would instead be tested for chemicals or medicine than the ones I had been to test out the limitations of my immortality.

"[First Name], you're spacing out again."

Lascell's voice resonated through the room, pulling me from my reverie. My eyes, drawn to Lascell's magenta eyes, I couldn't help but admire the depths hidden behind those irises, even as I struggled to suppress the unsettling emotions that clawed at the edges of my consciousness.

"Sorry, lost in thought. Did you say something?"

I replied. The room hummed with the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead, and the antiseptic scent of the laboratory mingled with the faint traces of chemicals.

"Yes, I asked what the best time of your life was?"

Lascell's questions had evolved from casual banter to delve into my memories. I tread carefully, revealing fragments while guarding the secrets of my age and experiences. His question hung in the air, a bridge to deeper conversations. Memories, ancient and vivid, flickered in my mind like candle flames, casting shadows of long-forgotten companionship.

"It's a difficult one... but I believe it is when I had a group of friends, and we had our first drink together."

I began, a wistful smile tugging at my lips. Lascell's eyes gleamed with curiosity, pulling me deeper into the past with every passing word. "It was a fun night, wild," I reminisced, meeting Lascell's warm smile. His presence ignited an unfamiliar warmth within me, a sentiment I tried to suppress.

"I bet it was," he responded, his voice a soothing melody that resonated with the unspoken connection we were forging. "Now it's my turn to ask a question. What do you like most about yourself?"

Lascell's smug grin surfaced, and a chuckle escaped his lips. "So many things, such as being intelligent and how handsome I am."

His pride was palpable, and a smirk played on my lips as I rolled my eyes in mock exasperation; however, I let out a snicker. "Of course, you would say that."

For a moment, the tension between us dissipated, replaced by a shared understanding laced with humor. Lascell's confidence hid layers of complexity—cunning, intelligence, dare I admit it to myself, captivating, and his kindness.

However, the word that echoed in my mind—kind—veered my thoughts in uncharted directions. Before I could delve deeper into the labyrinth of my conflicted emotions, Lascell's voice broke the silence, becoming stern.

"Listen to me, [First Name]. I know we have been talking for a long time, but..."

Lascell's gaze bore into mine, his voice a gentle breeze that brushed against the barrier of the bulletproof glass. "I want to help you. To escape here." My eyes widened, and my heart leaped in my chest, a mixture of hope and disbelief swirling in the depths of my soul.

This was not the outcome I was expecting.

Thoughts clamored for attention in my mind, and fear and uncertainty gripped me, rendering me speechless as Lascell continued, his voice tinged with sincerity.

"I may be a scientist, working under Agent Ethan Kane's employ to earn a living. But I am not a monster, can't you see? I do what I can to delay the experiments, to lessen the brutality Victor wants to test out."

His words struck a chord within me, igniting a spark of hope amidst the darkness of my confinement. I was on the verge of protesting, of pointing out the flaws in his reasoning, but Lascell preempted me.

“If I were to halt the experiments altogether, it would only enrage Victor. You know how obsessed he is with you. And Ethan craves results, not setbacks. He'd resort to any means necessary to extract the answers he seeks."

The truth in his words resonated deep within me. Victor's obsession and feelings were a force to be reckoned with, fueled by unchecked ambition and boundless desire. Ethan, on the other hand, was a slave to logic and pragmatism, his pursuit of knowledge blinding him to the human cost.

“Do you trust me?” Lascell's question sent me recoiling instinctively, my skepticism boiling to the surface that lay bare in the furrow of my brow and the curl of my lip.

“How can I trust you? How do I know you wouldn’t be like one of them? You want to use me.”

My words dripped with suspicion, each syllable a testament to the walls I had erected around my heart. Lascell's sigh was almost imperceptible, and his magenta eyes softened with understanding.

“I understand, but [First Name], please, allow me to help you, trust me, allow me the chance to prove myself to you," he implored, his voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of my doubt.

“I've seen the results of your blood tests, and nothing has worked for the answers he seeks. I'm warning you, Ethan won't hesitate to explore other avenues and will stop at nothing to extract the answers he seeks from you, even if it means...”

His voice trailed off, as I swallowed hard, the reality of my situation settling like a lead weight in my stomach. “As a breeding stock... for immortal beings,” I finished, the words tasting bitter on my tongue—a chilling reminder of the fate that awaited me if I remained trapped within the confines of BioThera.

My breath came in shallow gasps, my pulse thundering in my ears like a war drum. I clutched the soft fabric of the blanket Lascell had provided me, a tangible reminder of his small acts of kindness amidst the disarray.

"Take deep breaths, [First Name]."

Lascell's voice cut through the turmoil, a beacon of calm amidst the storm raging within me. I followed his guidance, the rhythm of my breath gradually steadying as his calming presence enveloped me like a shield against the encroaching darkness. But even as my panic subsided, the seed of doubt remained.

"Will you ever trust me? If you stay, there... you know what happens."

His words cut through the silence like a knife, exposing the raw vulnerability that lay beneath the surface. I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. But Lascell pressed on, his voice laced with determination.

"I'll do everything in my power to earn your trust, [First Name]. I understand that trust is earned, not given freely. I'll buy you as much time as I can until you're ready to take that leap of faith. I will wait, [First Name]. As long as it takes."

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As the days bled into weeks and the weeks melted into months, with each passing moment, I found myself drawn to him, drawn to the possibility of escape that he offered. 

Perhaps it was his unwavering determination or the kindness that lingered in the curve of his smile. Maybe it was the way he listened, truly listened, to the echoes of my fears and hopes, or the quiet strength that emanated from him like a beacon in the darkness. Or maybe it was simply the desperate longing for salvation, the yearning for a glimmer of hope in the suffocating depths of despair.

Which is why I trusted him enough to allow him to help me.

Lascell was risking everything for me – his career, his integrity, even his life. He laid the groundwork for my escape long before I had even entertained the notion. He knew the security codes, the patrol routes, and the blind spots where I could slip through unnoticed.

But it wasn't just my freedom he was fighting for. Lascell needed to disappear, to vanish into the wilderness where government surveillance couldn't reach. He was moving his own home, preparing for the inevitable backlash that would come once I was gone.

And yet, despite the gravity of our situation, I couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered at the edges of my consciousness; I found myself torn between gratitude and suspicion.

What if this was all a trick? What if Lascell was leading me into a trap, using me as a tool?

The thought twisted my stomach into a knot and gnawed at the edges of my sanity, a relentless whisper that refused to be silenced. And yet, amidst the cacophony of doubts and fears, a quiet voice of reason urged me to take a leap of faith, to trust in the flickering flame of hope that burned within me.

But despite my doubts, despite the whispering voice of paranoia that echoed in the depths of my mind, I couldn't deny the strange warmth that blossomed within me whenever Lascell was nearby.

And so, with each passing day, we worked in secret, laying the groundwork for my escape. Months passed in a blur of whispered conversations and stolen moments, each step bringing me closer to freedom and yet further into the shadowy depths of uncertainty.

But as the final pieces of our plan fell into place, I knew that there was no turning back. For better or for worse, Lascell held the key to my salvation – and I could only pray that he wouldn't be the one to betray me in the end.

Nearly a year had passed since I entrusted Lascell with my hopes of escape, and with each passing day, his presence became an anchor in the tumultuous sea of my existence.

He was more than a scientist; he was the flicker of humanity in an otherwise cold and clinical world. He was the calming force that quelled the storm raging within me, his words a soothing balm for the wounds of my past.

With each delay of the experiments, he offered me a respite, a fleeting glimpse of freedom amidst the suffocating grip of captivity. In his presence, I found a semblance of home, a sanctuary where I could shed the shackles of my past and embrace the fragile hope that blossomed within me.

He became my reason to hope.

But when Lascell failed to visit as usual, the air in my cell grew heavy with a sense of foreboding, gnawing anxiety clawed its way into my heart. Each moment without him stretched into an eternity, leaving me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. The blanket draped over my shoulders offered little warmth against the chill that permeated my soul.

The absence of his presence left a void—a hollow ache that echoed in the depths of my being. Without him, the walls of my cell closed in, suffocating me in a blanket of silence. I longed for the sound of his voice, the way his magenta eyes gazed at me, anything to dispel the emptiness that engulfed me.

It was then, in the midst of my despair, that I confronted the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. Was it love that tethered me to Lascell's side, or merely the desperate longing for companionship in a world devoid of kindness? The answer eluded me, lost in the labyrinth of my own doubts and insecurities.

But it was more than just his absence that unsettled me; it was the gnawing fear that gripped my heart.

What if Ethan had uncovered our plan? What if Lascell got caught and was fired? Or worse... he was punished for his actions.

The possibilities loomed before me like specters in the night, haunting my every thought. With each passing moment, the tendrils of worry tightened their grip around my heart, threatening to suffocate me in their embrace. 

With each passing moment, my mind conjured nightmares of betrayal and punishment, each more vivid than the last. I feared for Lascell, and for myself. And then, like a beacon of hope in the darkness, Lascell returned. His presence was a balm to my fractured soul, a ray of light piercing through the shadows of despair that had threatened to consume me.

The sight of him, standing before me behind the bulletproof glass wall with his familiar warmth and gentle smile, washed over me like a wave of relief. In that moment, the weight of my fears lifted, replaced by the overwhelming flood of gratitude and joy.

"Now where have you been? Leaving me here without a warning?” I quipped through the relief of seeing Lascell's return softened my tone. His smirk hinted at his awareness of my desperation for his presence as he approached the bulletproof glass, mirroring my steps.

“I’m sorry,” his voice, laced with sincerity, tugged at the strings of my heart. His eyes, once alight with mischief, now bore the weight of the world, and my smile faltered. “But I had to address some issues concerning the government and Victor.”

With each step, the sound of his shoes on the linoleum floor echoed in my cell, merging with the mechanical beeps of the keypad. With a hiss, the door slid open, marking the first time he stepped inside my confinement. Lascell's presence inside my cell sent a jolt of anxiety coursing through me, the weight of the risks he bore for my sake pressing down on my chest.

“The government is onto you now. Ethan is growing impatient with my lack of information, and Victor is becoming increasingly agitated by the delay in his experiments.”

As he spoke, his voice threaded with concern; I couldn't help but feel the gravity of the situation sinking in. The government's awareness of my existence spelled danger, not only for me but for Lascell as well.

Victor and Ethan were monsters, devoid of humanity, driven only by their insatiable greed for knowledge and power. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a means to an end. And now, with the government's scrutiny added to the mix, the stakes had never been higher.

They know my immortality... would they use me? Fuck!

“Cell—” I began, my voice catching as I stumbled over my words. The nickname slipped out involuntarily, a remnant of our shred time and company. But as I steadied myself and closed the distance between us, resolve blossomed within me, fueled by the emotions I had long suppressed.

“Lascell, what about the plan? We still have one thing left to do, we can figure this out later,” I insisted, desperation tinged with determination lacing my words.

“No, we can’t—”

“Yes, we can!” I interrupted before he could protest further, desperation fueling my words. 

“Please, just... let them continue! I can stall for time, providing Ethan with the information he seeks without raising suspicion. I'll tell Ethan everything he wants to know about me, about my immortality, and my experiences. Let Victor continue the experiments so he wouldn’t do anything drastic. Just... let me help you.”

I blurted out, my voice edged with urgency as I grasped at Lascell's lab coat, my fingers trembling with desperation. Lascell's expression flickered with disbelief, his eyes widening in shock as he absorbed the weight of my proposal. His voice, tinged with a hint of frustration, cut through the air like a blade.

"Are you hearing yourself?"

"Yes, I am," I replied, my voice trembling with emotion. “I know what I am saying. Just please do it. I said before I would buy you as much time as you did for me. I… I just… I don't want you to get hurt.”

Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I confessed my fears, my vulnerabilities laid bare before him. The thought of returning to Victor's experiments filled me with dread, but the idea of Lascell suffering because of me was unbearable.

"[First Name]..." Lascell's voice softened, his features softened with a mixture of concern and affection.

"No, no, just please do it. And get it over with. We're close, we need time, and I can give it to you. Please, let me help you like you have helped me—"

Suddenly, his arms enveloped me, pulling me into a tight embrace that stole the breath from my lungs, his arms enveloped me in a comforting embrace, his warmth seeping into my bones like a soothing balm. His hand found its way to my head, gently patting me, his reassurance washed over me like a gentle tide, erasing the doubts and fears that had plagued my mind.

"No," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "I won't allow that. You're not going back."

At that moment, I realized the depth of his care for me.

“Don’t worry about me,” he continued his voice, a soothing melody that echoed in the recesses of my mind. “I don’t have the heart to allow you to do those experiments. Your mind is fragile, I have seen how your emotional state was, you're not going back. I have seen how insane you were when we met. Your body may heal your wounds, but not the wounds of your soul.”

His words washed over me, soothing the turmoil within. Slowly, tentatively, I returned his embrace, the unfamiliar sensation of human touch grounding me in reality, a sense of warmth and belonging washed over me, filling the void that had gnawed at my soul for so long.

"I promise you that you’ll always be safe in my arms. I’ll get you out of here… tomorrow we will execute the plan, I have everything ready."

His sincerity was palpable, his commitment unwavering. And as he spoke, a warmth spread through my chest, filling me with a sense of belonging I had never known. I knew that I was not alone.

“I… want to go with you,” he confessed. “We’ll both escape from here; would you believe it if I told you I loved you? I could live alongside you; you don’t have to be alone when you’re free.”

In his declaration of love, I found the courage to believe in a future where we could be together. And as I gazed into his magenta eyes, I knew that I was truly in love with that man.

And the next day we escaped together.

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We found refuge in an abandoned house nestled behind forgotten train tracks, their steel is now rusted and overgrown with weeds. As Lascell pushed open the door, its hinges groaned in protest, releasing a musty scent mingled with the earthy aroma of moss and vegetation.

The interior revealed itself as dimly lit, the feeble glow of moonlight filtering through cracked windows casting eerie shadows across the worn floorboards.

My eyes swept across the dimly lit interior, taking in the worn walls and creaking floorboards, signs of age and neglect softened by Lascell's efforts to make it habitable for our escape.

“It’s not much, but this is as far as I could prepare for us,” Lascell's voice broke the silence, tinged with an undercurrent of uncertainty. I offered a reassuring nod, acknowledging his efforts. Despite its dilapidated state, it held the promise of safety and freedom, a sanctuary away from BioThera, away from the government.

As night descended upon us, we found solace in each other's company, our voices mingling in the darkness as we shared tales of our pasts. My words spilled forth, recounting tales of lifetimes past, while Lascell listened intently, my life being immortal who has lived in the Paleolithic Age, according to Lascell’s hypothesis.

With each tale I recounted, the friends and comrades I have lost, Lascell offered solace amidst the echoes of my sorrow. In a moment of vulnerability, I reached out for him, seeking comfort in his embrace, only to be shattered by the deafening roar of gunfire, ripping through the air like a thunderclap.

Before I could react and comprehend the horror unfolding before my eyes, Lascell had been shot in the head; his head burst as a balloon that popped, blood splattered onto my face and attire, bits of pieces of his brain splattered on my hair and face. Lascell's lifeless body slumped against me, a grotesque tableau of violence and despair.

The jarring scent of blood mingled with the acrid scent of gunpowder, staining my skin and clothing in a macabre tableau of death, feeling the warm thick liquid of blood seeping from his head that dripped onto my body, mingling with the rancid sound of my own ragged breaths.

Shock and horror held me in their icy grip as I struggled to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before me. Before I could comprehend the enormity of the tragedy unfolding before me, another gunshot pierced the silence, sending searing pain lancing through my skull.

Darkness descended, enveloping me in its cold embrace and swallowing me whole as I plummeted into the abyss of unconsciousness. But even in death, there was no respite, no escape from the torment.

With a gasp, I awoke to a world bathed in shadows, my vision clouded with a haze of confusion, and my body wracked with agony as life surged back into my veins. Before me stood a cadre of armed men, their weapons trained on my trembling form.

With a surge of primal fury, I unleashed hell upon them, my hands stained with their blood as I fought for my revenge upon those who had dared to take Lascell from me. Their screams pierced the air, mingling with the staccato rhythm of gunfire. But amidst the chaos, a nagging realization came.

My hands closed around a syringe, its familiar label a grim reminder of the horrors that awaited me. Dread coiled in the pit of my stomach, mingling with the swirling maelstrom of emotions that threatened to destroy me.

This is from BioThera... they... found us.

Yet, amidst the carnage, a realization dawned upon me, a chilling revelation that sent shivers down my spine. I battled with pure rage, my emotions would blind me and my actions, these syringes are capable of making me unconscious for hours.

Who knew what would happen if I wasn’t careful? I could have been captured. I need to get the fuck out of here.

I can destroy and defeat an entire army without a sweat; however, an army that knows something can defeat me, but in a way, I would be apprehended instead of leaving me alone on the battlefield. This was different…

I was fighting for survival.

For my freedom, and my life from being exploited and tormented again. I fought not just for my own survival but for the memory of the man who had sacrificed everything for me, who loved me, who treated me as a human being, my safe place.

For Lascell.

Why did they have to kill him? Why take him? Why is my life like this?

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

YEAR: 2074 2 YEARS LATER | AGE: + 1 MILLION YEARS OLD

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        Lascell's sudden departure left me adrift in a sea of grief and unanswered questions. Why was he taken from me? Why was he killed? The weight of uncertainty pressed down on my shoulders, threatening to drown me in despair.

I could only speculate that BioThera and Ethan had discovered his involvement in my escape, branding him a traitor for aiding their "experiment" in breaking free. Perhaps Lascell knew too much, a dangerous liability that had to be eliminated to protect their secrets.

So, in the end... he was killed.

Yet, even as I grieved, I could not afford the luxury of peace. The government, relentless in their pursuit of power, hunted me down with a fervor born of fear and desperation. Their knowledge of my existence, fueled by Ethan's machinations and Victor's twisted ambitions, turned me into a target—a weapon to be controlled and used.

In the depths of the night, I walked alone, my senses on high alert, every shadow a potential threat, every sound a harbinger of danger. Paranoia clung to me like a second skin, a constant reminder that nowhere was safe.

But just when I thought I had reached the limits of despair, the world spiraled further into chaos. Outbreaks of monstrous beings ravaged cities, leaving a trail of destruction and death in their wake. The governments of different countries and their military futile attempts to stem the tide of terror only served to fuel the flames of panic and despair in people.

The once bustling streets became battlegrounds, I found myself ensnared in the chaos, face-to-face with these creatures. Monstrous creatures, their green scales glistening in the moonlight, towered over me. With wings outstretched, they cast their ominous shadows upon the world below.

One of them descended upon me with a ferocity that stole the breath from my lungs. Instinct took over, my hand reaching for the cold steel of a pistol, and my finger pulled the trigger. But when the bullet struck, it merely bounced harmlessly off the creature's hardened skin, shattering my illusions of control in an instant.

Caught off guard and reeling from the revelation of their unparalleled durability, I grappled with the stark reality of my predicament. These creatures' existence defies logic and reason.

Claws like sharpened steel ensnared my face, the crushing pressure sending shockwaves of pain coursing through my body. The stench of gunpowder mingled with the acrid tang of smoke and the bitter bite of ashes, assaulting my senses as the world around me descended into chaos—buildings crumbling, explosions reverberating, the desperate cries of the wounded and screams piercing the night, and the staccato rhythm of firearms echoing in the distance.

With a brutal toss, I was hurled aside like a discarded plaything, my body colliding with the shattered remnants of a once-proud structure, the jagged edge of a pipe tearing through flesh with ruthless efficiency, impaling me.

Agony lanced through my body, every breath a struggle against the suffocating weight of pain. But a spark of determination flickered within me.

With gritted teeth and trembling limbs, I clung to the blood-slicked metal, each movement sending waves of nausea crashing over me. As I fought to pull myself from the wreckage, my mind raced with desperate questions.

How can I kill things that aren't even human? Whose durability is beyond that of an average human, not even bullets are helpful, or even anything?

Eventually, I managed to extricate myself from the wreckage, my body pulsing with the rhythmic cadence of my regeneration. As the city continued to crumble under the onslaught of the creatures, the realization stuck within me.

But maybe... maybe I can outsmart them. Exploit their weaknesses and turn their own powers against them.

As chaos reigned and monsters roamed the streets, I did what I could to save as many people as possible; each encounter was a dance with death, a fleeting moment of victory before I was struck down, only to rise again before ushering me back into the fray.

Soon I fled once I had no one to save, I observed the creatures; I learned more about them—their unearthly speed and ability to conjure orbs of light that seared through their hands. I figured out they were controlled or served by someone named King Piccolo.

I could tell he was no mindless destroyer, but a cunning strategist whose thirst for power knew no bounds. As I pieced together fragments of information, a grim realization settled in the pit of my stomach—King Piccolo's ambitions extended far beyond mere conquest. He sought dominion over the entire world.

The realization struck me like a thunderbolt: if King Piccolo discovered my existence, my immortality, I would be a tool to be wielded in his insatiable quest for power. The prospect of falling into his clutches filled me with a cold dread.

I refuse to be a plaything.

But the more I pondered ahead if King Piccolo succeeded in ruling the world, I would eventually be found. The last remaining person, and possibly be used by him once he found out about my immortality, maybe just a toy for entertainment to be killed and die over and over again for the rest of eternity, or until he dies.

If I could vanquish King Piccolo, I would not only ensure the safety of the world but also secure my own freedom. With the governments preoccupied with rebuilding in the wake of his devastation, I could slip into the shadows, a phantom of myth and legend.

It would be a gamble, a high-stakes game of survival, but the promise of freedom beckoned like a beacon in the dark.

It was as if the universe had heard my silent plea for a fresh start when I stumbled upon Mutaito, an old man on a solitary quest to vanquish King Piccolo. At first, Mutaito rebuffed my offer of assistance, claiming that he must reclaim his honor alone.

But I knew the futility of such solitary battles. I reasoned with him, knowing if we continue to stand idly by while innocent lives fell victim to the terror wrought by King Piccolo's tyranny. We would have only saved a few, maybe even by hundreds. Mutaito, once resolute in his solitude, relented to my persuasion.

And so, our unlikely partnership was born.

Under Mutaito's tutelage, I honed my skills, absorbing his teachings with a hunger born of necessity. His concern for my well-being was palpable, and his wisdom flowed like a river, shaping me into a warrior capable of facing King Piccolo's minions.

Though I harbored secrets of my own of my skills, I embraced the opportunity to learn from a master of his craft as I did from my other teachers over my life.

Through Mutaito's guidance, I discovered the untapped potential within myself—the power of ki, a life force energy that coursed through my veins. With each passing day, I delved deeper into its mysteries, determined to wield it as a weapon.

And then, the moment of reckoning arrived.

I ventured forth alone while Mutaito continued his preparations. Days blurred into nights as I scoured the land, my senses attuned to any sign of the demon's presence.

Finally, I stumbled upon his lair as I ventured into the heart of King Piccolo's domain, my senses heightened, every nerve tingling with anticipation. With practiced stealth, I slipped past his guards, my heart pounding in my chest.

Face-to-face with the creature, I refused to yield to fear. King Piccolo's malevolent gaze bore into mine, but I met his gaze with steely resolve, refusing to back down in the face of his power.

"You have the nerve to face The Demon King with such confidence? You must be delusional, you're no threat to me," he sneered, his voice a venomous hiss that echoed through the chamber.

"Who said I am a threat?" I retorted, my voice steady despite the rapid thud of my heart against my ribcage. A smirk twisted King Piccolo's lips, a mocking sneer that almost made me lash out, yet I held back. Despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I refused to let fear or anger dictate my actions.

"I am [First Name]."

With arms folded, King Piccolo closed the distance between us, each step reverberating through the cavernous lair like a death knell. Yet, I refused to flinch, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve.

"So tell me the truth. What is your motive behind invading my lair?" His voice cut through the silence like a blade, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that bordered on primal.

"I am aware you have subordinates, guards, or an army," I began, my words a calculated gambit to sow doubt in his mind.

"Though I managed to slip past them, it makes me wonder if your army is truly formidable enough to aid you in your conquest. You seek to rule the world, correct? But are you prepared for the possibility of a greater threat beyond this planet? In the vast expanse of the universe? What if there were a threat beyond our world, beyond even your comprehension? Would your army suffice then?"

A snarl twisted King Piccolo's lips, but beneath the facade of rage, I glimpsed a flicker of doubt. It was a delicate dance, a battle of wits and wills, and I refused to falter.

"There is no being who can defeat me," he finally spoke, his voice dripping with misplaced confidence. "Even if my army were to fall, I possess the strength and power to prevail."

"But what if there is?" I countered; my tone laced with a subtle hint of persuasion.

"What if there exists a force capable of demolishing empires and conquering entire galaxies? Would you still cling to the illusion of your own supremacy? The universe is vast and unpredictable. Who's to say there isn't a force out there capable of toppling even the mightiest of rulers?"

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint echo of our breathing. I held my breath, waiting for his response, knowing that I had struck a nerve. King Piccolo's gaze bore into mine.

His response was hesitant, his words tinged with doubt. "I have never considered such a possibility...to face a threat beyond the scope of my power... But it would be foolish of me to dismiss it outright."

Seizing the opportunity, I pressed forward. "You have the power to conquer a planet, yes. But what if there exists a being who seeks dominion over entire galaxies? Your rule over Earth would pale in comparison. And you, of all people, should be prepared for whatever may come."

King Piccolo's gaze bore into mine, searching for any hint of deception. "Why are you telling me this? What do you hope to gain?" His voice held a note of suspicion, but I met his gaze with a calm resolve.

"I want to help you," I declared; my words echoing with sincerity. King Piccolo's incredulous scoff echoed through the chamber, a testament to his disbelief at my audacity.

"What could a mere human offer to a being such as myself? I doubt that you could provide me with any meaningful help." he sneered; his arrogance a shield against the possibility of vulnerability. I stood my ground; I knew that my plan was in motion.

"You can die, correct?" I continued to press on, my voice steady despite the tremors of uncertainty coursing through my veins. "You may have power, strength, skill, and speed... but you can be killed."

Silence hung heavy in the air as King Piccolo processed my words. Slowly, the mask of arrogance crumbled, replaced by a simmering rage at the mere suggestion of his mortality.

"What are you suggesting? That there might be someone out there that can kill...me?!" he growled, his fists clenched in barely restrained fury.

"I mean... you're not immortal, right?" I ventured cautiously, probing the chinks in his armor with a calculated risk. His admission confirmed my suspicions, laying bare the vulnerability that lurked beneath his prideful exterior.

And so, the seeds of doubt took root within his mind, paving the way for my ultimate gambit. "No... I'm not truly immortal. Technically, I can still die," he conceded, his admission a crack in the facade of invincibility he had constructed.

"What if you have a weapon?" I proposed; the tremors of fear and dread barely contained beneath the surface. "A weapon that can kill entire armies without breaking a sweat. A shield that will never falter. And you will use it if such an occasion arises."

The words spilled from my lips, laced with trepidation and resolve. Inside, fear gnawed at the edges of my mind, but I pushed it aside, focusing on the endgame that loomed on the horizon.

I was willing to be King Piccolo’s weapon... but the weapon that would destroy him.

As the conversation unfolded, I revealed the extent of my abilities and knowledge, each revelation drawing him further into my web of deceit. As the truth of my immortality unfolded before him, King Piccolo's demeanor shifted, a newfound curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

"You are quite the fascinating human," he mused, his gaze piercing through the layers of deceit to uncover the truth buried within. "So, tell me, what exactly do you hope to gain from me if I accept you as my weapon?"

"...Train. I would like to learn your abilities. Teach me the secrets of ki energy, and in return, I will serve as your weapon. I may be knowledgeable at warfare and have many ways to kill, but I'll be even more useful to you if I learn ki," I proposed, my words a carefully calculated gambit to glean information about his powers and weaknesses.

King Piccolo's smile was a testament to his approval, a silent acknowledgment of our newfound alliance. With a nod of assent, he agreed to my terms.

"You have presented to me a reasonable offer. I will teach you the secrets of using ki. You will learn how to create your own energy blasts, as well as how to fly and sense ki. Seems that we have come to an agreement," he remarked, his voice laden with newfound respect, belied the fact that he believed he held the upper hand; unknowingly, I was the one pulling the strings.

As I trained under his watchful gaze, I endured his ruthless tutelage, each lesson a grueling test of my endurance and resolve. As I delved deeper into the art of ki manipulation under his tutelage, I played the role of the dutiful student, ally, and tool, all the while weaving a web of deception that would ultimately lead to his downfall. Each lesson, each training session, brought me closer to my goal, yet further entrenched me in a world of brutality and abuse.

King Piccolo was ruthless in his methods, his training regimen designed to mold me into the perfect weapon. But beneath his watchful gaze, I bided my time, patiently awaiting the opportunity to strike back against the tyrant.

Amidst the whirlwind of training and abuse, I danced on the razor's edge, balancing between obedience and subversion. When tasked with missions of destruction, I subtly manipulated the circumstances, buying precious time for those in harm's way to flee to safety.

And when failure inevitably came knocking, I bore the brunt of his wrath, enduring punishment after punishment in silence, dying over and over again, my mind tortured by the extreme pain. Yet, with each blow, I gritted my teeth and endured, knowing that the pain was a small price to pay for the greater good and to get what I wanted.

A restart of my life.

For every wound inflicted, every blow, every time being killed, and coming back to life endured brought me one step closer to victory. With each passing day, I grew stronger, more resilient, and more prepared to face the ultimate showdown that awaited.

Mastering my ki was like unlocking a dormant power within me, each surge of energy coursing through my veins a testament to my growing strength. I felt myself transforming, not just on a spiritual level, but on a physical one as well. My muscles rippled with newfound power, and my reflexes honed to a razor's edge, and my endurance seemingly boundless.

I never thought I felt so... powerful.

Yet, beneath the veneer of power, my plan continued to unfold. My plan, carefully crafted and executed with precision, relied on a delicate balance of trust and deception.

As I fed Mautaio morsels of information about King Piccolo's impending attacks, abilities, and skills, I trod carefully, ensuring that I revealed only what was necessary to further our cause.

But the stakes were high, and the consequences of betrayal weighed heavily on my mind. If Mautaio were to discover my allegiance to King Piccolo, our fragile alliance would crumble, leaving me vulnerable to the demon king's wrath.

Over the months, I was careful with my actions, doling out morsels of information like breadcrumbs to lead Mautaio to the truth while keeping King Piccolo in the dark about my true intentions.

I continued to play my part, a pawn in a deadly game of chess played across multiple dimensions. With each move, I walked a fine line between loyalty and betrayal, my every action calculated to ensure the success of my mission.

I was basically playing chess in 4D at this point.

I walked a tightrope between two worlds, providing Mautaio with carefully curated information while feeding King Piccolo morsels of intelligence to earn his trust. It was a dangerous game, one where a single misstep could spell disaster.

After two long years of relentless scheming and clandestine maneuvering, Master Mutaito finally found a solution to defeat King Piccolo, thanks to the information I had provided. The fruits of my labor had borne fruit, yet the cost had been steep.

he physical abuse inflicted upon me by King Piccolo served as a grim reminder of the risks I had taken and the sacrifices I had made in pursuit of my goal.

Each punishment, each death, was a testament to the lengths I was willing to go to see my plan through to its bitter end. But as I stood on the precipice of uncertainty, the specter of doubt loomed large in my mind.

Was it worth it? Would I make a difference? Was this a waste?

The physical and emotional toll weighed heavily on me, but I knew that I had to see it through to the end. With a leap of faith, I plunged headfirst into the unknown, trusting that in the end, my actions would lead to justice and redemption.

Mutaito laid out our plan to defeat King Piccolo. But as he spoke of seeking aid from his former students, I nodded in agreement, knowing he wanted to make sure nothing went wrong in the end.

My mind is already racing with plans and strategies. Yet, before I could voice my intention to accompany him, King Piccolo's voice slithered into my thoughts like a venomous serpent, his telepathic message a reminder of my allegiance to King Piccolo and the consequences of defiance.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I grappled with the dilemma before me. On one hand, I desired to join Mutaito in his search for his students, to get away from King Piccolo, for a moment of rest, and to help him. But on the other hand, I couldn't afford to arouse suspicion by defying the demon king's orders.

With a heavy heart, I assured Mutaito of my commitment to continue my investigation, to serve as a distraction, and to buy us precious time.

He accepted my decision with a solemn nod before setting off on his own path, leaving me to face the daunting task ahead.

As he set off to rally his allies, I made my way to King Piccolo's side, my heart pounding with the weight of my deception. Weeks passed in a blur of servitude and fear as I continued to play my role as King Piccolo's unwitting pawn.

Each day brought fresh torment and anguish, the weight of my deception threatening to crush me beneath its suffocating grasp.

I felt like going insane if I kept this up...

But as Mutaito finally returned, hope flickered to life within me. By his side stood a young man, tall and formidable, with a bald head and a steely gaze. Mutaito introduced him as Roshi, the only student he had managed to find.

With everything in place and our plan set in motion, we embarked on our journey to confront King Piccolo. As we neared his lair, Mutaito instructed us to hide, and we obeyed without hesitation, ducking behind piles of rubble from the destroyed buildings, my heart pounding in my chest.

Quietly slipping away from my hiding spot, I crept towards a nearby vantage point, my senses alert for any sign of movement. From my new vantage point, I could see King Piccolo approaching outside. As he drew near, I prepared myself in case things went wrong, my resolve to protect Mutaito at all costs.

"Ceasefire and surrender, King Piccolo. Or face the consequences."

Mutaito's voice sliced through the tension like a blade, his words a defiant challenge to the demon king. With a flourish, he placed an object—a rice cooker—on the ground, standing tall and resolute.

In response, King Piccolo's laughter sliced through the tension, a cruel symphony of mockery that reverberated through the air. His grin, a twisted visage adorned with sharp fangs, spoke volumes of his disdain for Mutaito's ultimatum.

"Oh, I prefer to watch you dance," King Piccolo taunted. As tension crackled in the air, Mutaito's body tensed, a coiled spring ready to unleash its power.

With a fluid motion, he raised his arms, hands crackling with a radiant energy. The air hummed with anticipation as he began to channel his power, the luminous glow enveloping his form in a shimmering aura.

Meanwhile, King Piccolo's voice pierced the silence, a sinister command that resonated within the depths of my mind. His orders were clear—to eliminate a human and ensure their demise was wrought with agony. Which was Mutaito.

A surge of defiance surged within me, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. This was my moment to betray him, to turn the tables on the tyrant who sought to bend me to his will. A bitter smirk twisted my lips.

I emerged from the shadows behind King Piccolo, his attention consumed by the confrontation unfolding before him. With a swift motion, I unleashed a surge of energy, a ki blast hurtling toward King Piccolo with deadly precision.

Surprise flickered in his eyes as he turned to face the unexpected attack, his reflexes barely fast enough to deflect my attack, as he registered what was happening, looking in my direction. His fury was palpable, a tempest of rage that threatened to consume everything in its path.

"You little-!" King Piccolo's voice was a snarl of indignation, cut short by my retort.

"Oh, shut up," I spat, defiance fueling every word as I launched another volley of energy toward him. His movements were swift, evading my onslaught; his fury was noticeable, as he realized the extent of my betrayal. In that moment, I felt a rush of exhilaration—a twisted sense of satisfaction at the sight of King Piccolo's mounting frustration.

I played him like a fucking fiddle.

As Mutaito unleashed his special technique, the Evil Containment Wave, I watched with grim satisfaction as King Piccolo's screams pierced the night sky. I had played him, manipulating his every move to orchestrate his downfall. I watched as his form disappeared into the confines of the rice cooker, sealed away for eternity as Roshi closed the lid.

But victory came at a heavy cost, as Mutaito's strength waned with each passing moment until he collapsed into my arms; his final breaths were his farewells and his final wish to hide King Piccolo in the depths of the sea where no one would find or he would escape.

His life slipped away like grains of sand through an hourglass, and he died in my embrace—a teacher, a mentor, a friend. My heart ached with the weight of his loss, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the inevitability of death. His passing served as a stark reminder of my immortality, the weight of outliving those I held dear.

As Roshi cast the rice cooker into the depths of Isuri’s Lake, the final resting place of King Piccolo's lair, a sense of closure washed over me. The world was safe once more, free from the tyranny of a demonic threat.

I don't have to endure his punishments any longer...

The government would be preoccupied with rebuilding, allowing me the chance to have a new life, no more being hunted down... just known as a mere fairy tale and nothing more.

I had hoped for peace, but little did I know that my journey would lead me down a path of tragedy and despair—a road paved with false hope and shattered dreams.

For this is my reality I cannot escape.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

END OF PROLOGUE!!!

Finished: February 19, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑨𝑳 | 4 NEXT CHAPTER: 001 - 𝑯𝑶𝑷𝑬

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑬 | 3 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE, TORTURE, ABUSE & SCARIFICATION!!! Mentions of DEATH & SWEARING!!!

Prologue - BETRAYAL | 4

❝Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we are still alive.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

In the dimly lit confines of my prison, a place that felt more like a crypt than any semblance of humanity. I was trapped in a metal room, a prison. The cold walls pressed in around me, devoid of windows, depriving me of any connection with the outside world. The air, thick with the scent of sterile chemicals, clung to my senses like an unwelcome shroud.

Victor Arrenberg, the CEO of BioThera Corporation, his company is a monolith of scientists and doctors wanting to unravel the secrets of existence itself. A pursuit for the betterment of humankind now felt like a twisted ideal of dread.

Victor, a man of a lean stature, stood at an average height, his slender yet well-maintained physique. His once-ashen long, blonde hair had aged into a wispy cascade of silver hair that was pushed back, a stark contrast to his warm ivory skin and clean-shaven beard.

It was his eyes that sent a cold shiver down my spine. His chocolate brown eyes, containing an unsettling mix of hunger, curiosity, and astonishment, felt as if I were an anomaly, a specimen waiting to be studied, a puzzle to be solved. My first encounter with Victor dated back to his youth. Now, as the sands of time flowed, he stood in his fifties or sixties to the decades I'd lost within the cold, unforgiving walls of BioThera.

As I lay on the cold floor, tightly strapped, the metallic room echoing with the hum of machinery, my senses were deprived of the warmth of sunlight or the crisp embrace of fresh air. The last remnants outside the world that seemed distant and elusive.

My existence had become a tapestry of fear and sleepless nights. The restraints on my body anchored me, confining me to a reality trapped in this facility, workers aged around me, their changing faces the only calendar I had.

Three, perhaps four decades—it was a blur.

My sanity teetered on the edge as I fought the urge to close my eyes. Sleep was a gateway to their next round of experimentation, knowing they would move me when I was unconscious and weak. Staring at the ceiling of my metallic cell, I continued to battle the exhaustion threatening to pull me under.

My eyes were heavy with weariness and begged for rest, yet my body rebelled against my slumber. The memories of past experiments flickered in my mind – flashes of the pain, my insides were torn out, limbs cut out, killed countless times that made my body twitch involuntarily. Each session etched a permanent scar on my mind.

I was a prisoner of Victor's insatiable desire to unlock the secrets of my immortality. I was nothing more than a guinea pig. I was a living, breathing guinea pig in his relentless pursuit of knowledge along with the rest of the scientists. I clung to the last shreds of my humanity, hoping for an escape from this lab.

And, dear god, I don't know how much I can take.

Drifting into my slumber, my consciousness succumbed to the enveloping darkness. As my body went slack, surrendering to the embrace of sleep, it wasn't long before my eyes fluttered open, assaulted by a searing brightness that forced them shut. Slowly, I coaxed my eyes open, the room slowly coming into focus. I was met with a stark reality that sent a shiver down my spine. 

Panic seized me as my eyes darted around the sterile experimentation room, my naked body bound by unyielding straps to a clinical hospital bed, lying in a vulnerable position. I strained against the restraints, dread twisting in the pit of my stomach, my mind racing what experiment I would face today. A feminine voice sliced through the air with a cold tone, the words echoing in my mind.

"Test subject, 1008. Experiment, 1823: Water with electricity."

I refused to meet the eyes of the person, knowing all too well that she was one of Victor's workers. Desperation clawed at me as I struggled against the restraints, a futile attempt to escape the impending torment. The digits 1008 echoed in my mind as the woman continued, her words dripping with an unsettling, curious tone that only fueled the trepidation in my chest.

"Twelve minutes it took for you to die, the time of coming back to life was a minute and nineteen seconds, time of full recovery was forty-four seconds. Let's see how far you can last and do, Subject Number: 1008."

My defiance bubbled to the surface. "To hell with you," I spat, lips contorted into a snarl, my tone mixed with anger and desperation. A low hum responded, unamused by my protest. In an instant, cold water cascaded over my bare flesh, a shock that caught me off guard. I coughed as the liquid invaded my mouth, a bitter reminder of my helplessness.

"Timer starts now."

A surge of electricity coursed through my drenched body, a violent shock that twisted my limbs in involuntary spasms; no screams escaped my lips, only guttural grunts of anguish from my tortured frame. My body convulsed; each jolt felt like fire racing through my veins. The water amplified the agony; it felt as if my eyes were going to pop out. I arched my back, my brain sizzling as my regenerative abilities fought and healed my wounds.

Yet, I feel the pain.

I lost track of time as I lay there; my body, though limp, remained conscious, trapped in a persistent ache that accompanied the healing process. It felt like a vessel for pain, every cell throbbing with the aftermath of the experimentation.

As my senses gradually returned, the room came into focus. The harsh lights seemed to sear into my eyes, and the acrid scent of antiseptic filled the air. The nurse, a figure in white, engaged in conversation with another worker. My ears rang, and my breathing was ragged with distress.

"The government?"

I strained to hear, my senses slowly returning. "Yes, one of their special agents is here now. Hide the subject and clean this mess. We don't know how much the man knows, or doesn't, we should not take the risk."

"Of course."

The worker departed, leaving me alone with the nurse. The mention of government agents stirred a flicker of hope within me. Perhaps this was my chance at salvation. The nurse turned her attention back to me, a syringe in her gloved hand. With a swift motion, she injected it into my neck, the world succumbing to an inky abyss.

Save me.

My words echoed into the void, a plea for deliverance from the torment that awaited me each time the light seared through my eyelids. In the abyss of unconsciousness, time lost its grip on me. A respite from the anguish, a temporary escape until the light forced its way back into my eyes. Panic, dread, terror, anger, and despair—a storm of emotions awaited me each time I woke up.

Would the agent discover me? Would I ever escape from this fucking nightmare?

A sudden jolt pulled me from the depths of unconsciousness. Eyes wide, I grappled with the burning discomfort that coursed through me. Strapped to the hospital bed, my naked form had a fresh wound across my stomach, slowly knitting itself back together. The pain receded, leaving me in a state of uneasiness.

Then, a raspy and thunderous voice shattered the silence. "As you can see, here is my proof! Such a being does exist."

My head swiveled towards the source, my heart sinking at the sight of Victor. But beside him stood an unfamiliar figure – an average-tall man with soft honey-toned skin, cold gray-blue eyes, a man seemingly in his mid-thirties with medium champagne-shaded hair neatly parted at the side, dressed in a medium well-tailored suit.

Was that the agent?

Hope flickered within me, a small flame in the dimness of despair. Yet, as quickly as it ignited, it was extinguished. Confusion took its place, a bitter taste on my tongue as I remained bound to the cold hospital bed.

Why wasn't I free at the moment?

The supposed agent, with his cold gray-blue eyes, observed my naked form, a mixture of curiosity, wonder, and a hint of amusement coloring his gaze. Unsettledness crept over me, my mind racing to understand the situation as I pondered about why there had been a gash on my stomach a moment ago—

Then it clicked in my brain.

Did he know I was immortal? What did Victor do to me in my sleep?!

"Tell me, Dr. Arrenberg," the man's voice, deep and authoritative, resonated through the room, "are there any more beings who possess this power? Where did you find them?" His calculating gaze shifted from me to Victor, awaiting an answer.

Victor, a slight frown creasing his lips, responded, "Unfortunately, no, Mr. Kane. They are the only ones who have it. As for where I found them, it was an investigation one of my subordinates took an interest in. There was a legend or myth of a being with the power of immortality, supported by historical articles and pictures of them in the past."

My heart pounded as Victor's words triggered flashes of memories – tales, titles, and the weight of being something more than human. A myth. A legend. A being dismissed as mere fantasy. I didn't think much of it, assuming no one would believe I was immortal.

Yet here I am.

Victor's eyes sparkled with a twisted joy as he continued, unraveling the fragments of a portion of my past. "I don’t know much. All I know is they were a hitman or assassin when I met them. My team captured them, and here we are. In my possession."

A knot tightened in my stomach before I could say anything; Mr. Kane, however, interjected, capturing our attention. "I have a proposition to make," he declared, the weight of his words settling over us like a shroud.

"The evidence you have provided, and documents of the test results you have shown me what they are capable of. I would like to make them more beneficial for the country and for the government. I believe you understand what I am saying, Doctor."

Dread clung to my chest as the realization set in like a heavy blow. Mr. Kane didn't see me as a mere experiment, a lab rat for scientific pursuits. In his eyes, I wasn't just a being to be dissected and probed.

He saw me as a weapon.

“Or, if it is possible enough to utilize them to create an army of immortal soldiers by their blood. If it does not work, then I am afraid to say we will take immense measures.”

Mr. Kane's words hung in the air, a heavy cloud that cast a shadow over my already shattered world. The anxiety inside me swelled, and horror clawed at my senses. My body shuddered involuntarily, a silent plea for the man not to suggest what I feared.

Victor's surprise was fleeting, replaced by a curious gleam in his eyes as he processed the implications. "Agent Ethan Kane, are you saying what I believe you are saying?"

"Yes, using their body. Ever since World War Two wreaked havoc, and neighboring countries armed themselves with nuclear bombs, I consider them to be very beneficial to protect our country. We will never know if there will be another war outbreak or someone to threaten us."

Agent Ethan Kane, the supposed savior of my torment, instead brought me more misery. My heart pounded, echoing the misery and despair that filled the room. The discussion between them left me utterly broken, shocked, and slowly descending into madness.

"Now, now, Mr. Kane, I believe I had them first. I still have much more to study and further test out the medicines I have developed. This can change the world and save many lives. Don’t you see? This is the peak of science and medicine!"

“Dr. Arrenberg, I do appreciate and admire the ways you want to save people from diseases. I congratulate you on creating treatments that saved thousands from cancer. However, I need you to understand how they would be even more beneficial if they joined our military ranks.”

Their voices clashed in my mind, drowning me in a sea of despair as they argued. Victor insisted I stay in the lab, while Ethan wanted me to join the government. As they deliberated on how to come to an agreement, I stared at them in alarm, bound and strapped to the hospital bed, exposed and vulnerable.

They discussed their plans and ideals in front of me, stealing glances that sent shivers down my spine. Victor's assistant entered to report, but Victor dismissed him, and Ethan requested drinks.

My dignity and honor had been stripped away, leaving me feeling like a captive animal. They discussed using me as a weapon, a test subject, or a super soldier, all while completely ignoring my presence. The smell of coffee mixed with the acrid scent of alcohol, permeated the room as the employee served the two men.

My feelings didn’t matter; my existence was just for their benefit. They stood sipping while discussing their disagreement, I was simply a tool or an object to them, not even a human. They sipped their drinks, their eyes scanning my naked form as if I were a specimen on display.

The least they could do was carry their discussion elsewhere, but no, they revealed it in their discourse right in front of me, discussing my future as if it were a casual topic like the weather.

I was terrified, uncomfortable, and in despair. I had believed the agent would help me, but it all came crashing down. I was feeling so many emotions at once—shock, discomfort, despair. I couldn't find words to scream, protest, or say anything. I was at a loss for words.

In emotional distress, the agent made no effort to conceal his actions, which horrified me even more. I felt so utterly small and helpless. Ethan's voice, deep and authoritative, resonated within me as his cold gray-blue eyes bore into mine, finally acknowledging my existence.

"Tell me, what made you like this? How long have you lived? I know Victor theorized you can possibly live for thousands of years; however, I need you to give me an honest answer."

His questions pierced through the haze of my confusion, and my gaze darted away, unwilling to meet the intensity of his stare. Thoughts raced through my mind like a tempest, each one a potential storm threatening to worsen my already dangerous situation.

The realization hit me—the Stone Era, over a million years ago. Victor was unaware of my full history; he was far obsessed with unlocking my immortality. If Ethan discovered the vast expanse of my existence, the wars, battles, and centuries of warfare experience, the extent of my knowledge and wisdom, I would become an irresistible prize. 

I knew it would be the end for me if I say anything.

So, I clung to silence, wary of the consequences that lurked in the shadows. The silence stretched, an unspoken tension enveloping us until Ethan broke it. "Hmm… not going to respond? Dr. Arrenberg, I would like to propose a deal that would benefit us in the end."

Victor's amusement waned, replaced by a subtle flinch at Ethan's words. "Oh?" he responded cautiously, "What would you like to propose? I said already, I will not hand it to you."

"I have the documents, evidence, and reports. Enough to shut off this company and throw you in prison." Victor's eyes narrowed, a flicker of vulnerability surfacing as Ethan continued his ultimatum.

"I cannot stay here for long and babysit you. So, I will hire a man, and you will do everything that he says. If you show any signs of betrayal or fail to follow orders, he will report to me."

"And who is he?" Victor demanded, and Ethan's response hung in the air.

"Lascell Guerrier."

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

This man named Lascell Guerrier, hired by Ethan, a scientist and psychologist in his mid-twenties with fair ivory skin and a towering figure that loomed above six feet. Dark blue, straight hair cascaded below his shoulders, but it was his eyes that stole my attention—pinkish magenta. An oddity that I didn't let distract me, given the circumstances.

In the chilly lab room, I found myself perched in the corner of my cell, the cold metal walls and unforgiving bulletproof glass offering no solace. The chill in the air was palpable, and my unclothe form shivered in the frigid environment.

“So, you’re the subject?”

Lascell's voice resonated, a deep and composed tone echoing through the sterile atmosphere. Lascell observed me from behind the glass like a caged creature; his magenta eyes, cold and calculating, locked with mine. With Ethan's departure, Victor's reign over BioThera ended, being under the control of Lascell who is in charge of continuing my experiments.

"My name is Lascell Guerrier," he announced. His gaze lingered, probing my defiance. "And what is your name?" His question was a moment of odd vulnerability, my breath hitched, and my body tensed.

Did he genuinely ask for my name? Instead of calling me by that subject number?

A fleeting moment of humanity surfaced before I remembered his alliance with Ethan and Victor. My eyes narrowed in suspicion as I hesitantly answered, "[First Name]." Silence lingered as he waited for more, "And? Any last name?" Shaking my head, I had no last name, or it was lost to the relentless march of time.

"Dr. Arrenberg told me you have been an assassin once. Before you were captured, was that correct?"

A solemn nod was my reply, the futility of hiding my past evident when Victor held the damning records and documents of that incident. How did a mission to save lives lead to this horrifying life?

"When Mr. Kane told me the agenda and why I was hired, never have I thought to see an immortal being. Immortality does exist after I saw the footage of you coming back to life," Lascell admitted, a glint of curiosity and something resembling pity in his magenta eyes and moved closer to the bulletproof glass.

"Does it hurt? When you're killed and come back to life?"

His question caught me off guard, and there was a hint of sympathy in his tone or concern. I snapped, my frustration bubbling to the surface and a scowl etching my lips.

"You don't say? Of course, it does!"

My fists thudded against the bulletproof glass, a futile attempt to break free. His composure remains unshaken, leaving me to grapple with the complexities of being a living anomaly in the hands of a man who appeared more curious than malicious.

"I may be immortal, but that doesn't mean I am immortal both in mind and heart."

Silence filled in the room, the weight of my existence and the torment I endured echoing in the stillness, the insanity eating me inside. Lascell's magenta eyes held a glint of understanding or perhaps something more profound beneath the surface.

“How long have you been here?”

Lascell's voice cut through the sterile air, his calm tone carrying an unexpected softness that tugged at my frayed emotions. The emotions, long suppressed, churned within me, threatening to spill over. "What do you think?" I snapped, the distress evident in my trembling words.

"Didn't that bastard, Victor, tell you? I was stuck here for maybe three or four decades. I don’t know!?" Frustration clawed at my mind, and I found myself uncontrollably scraping my fingers against the glass wall as if trying to break free from the suffocating reality that imprisoned me.

Calm down, calm down. I’m going to say something that would expose my history even more if I am not careful.

Despite the internal plea, I was losing the battle against the storm within. My fists pounded against the bulletproof glass, my breathing erratic, my teeth gritted, and my heart thundering in my chest. Each strike was a release of pent-up frustration, a futile attempt to break free from the reality I was in.

“Calm down—”

“How can I?! When you are here trying to get information about me for Ethan Kane. I will never escape, will I?!”

I interrupted Lascell before he could complete his sentence, my outburst met with a momentary spark of pity in his eyes. I dismissed any hint of sympathy, convinced it was an act for his true intentions.

“Breathe, breathe in and out, follow me.”

Lascell's voice, a calm undercurrent, penetrated the chaos. I glared at him, skeptical, but obediently followed his lead, fingers still trembling. The metallic scent of the walls and the sterile air entered my nose with each inhale and dissipated with a slow exhale. The rhythm of my breathing synced with Lascell's breathing. I followed the steps, focusing on his voice behind the glass.

“Keep doing that, I want you to imagine a place you call home, a comforting place, a safe place.”

A safe place.

Do I even have a place to call home?

His words stirred a realization, a tidal wave that swept away anger and replaced it with despair and sorrow. The realization that I never had a place to call home, or a safe haven washed over me. Memories of Jiro Griffin, my deceased comrade and lover, surfaced—my only solace in a tumultuous world.

But that home was gone.

"Home is gone," I whispered, the weight of those words settling heavily on my shoulders, and I hadn’t realized tears streamed down my cheeks. The cave where I grew up, even with the memories of my mother, only brought loneliness after her passing and I never met my father.

“I don’t have one.”

The admission slipped out; a raw truth bared in the air. My goal in life, to find happiness and joy through saving lives and serving justice, had led me to this desolate lab, teetering on the edge of insanity.

Lascell's eyes softened, a fleeting pang of hurt crossing his features. He maintained his calm and composed facade, a professional demeanor masking any personal emotions. Despite the need to stay detached, the sight of my tears made him pause, a momentary crack in the armor of his professional exterior.

The abrupt slam of a door jolted me from my thoughts, a harsh sound reverberating through the cold confines of my cell. Instinctively, my feet stumbled backward, seeking refuge in the corner. Tension gripped my body, muscles coiling with a reflex born from the countless instances of fear and trauma.

"I apologize, Mr. Guerrier for interrupting," a male voice intruded upon the stillness, instantly recognizable as one of Victor's associates. "However, it's time for Subject 1008 to proceed to the next stage of testing. We hope that their blood would be able to produce immortal people—”

"No, that won’t be necessary." Lascell's authoritative and calm voice cut through the worker's words. Confusion laced the worker's response. "Pardon?"

"Set up a new schedule time for their testing. Move it to another day." Lascell's unexpected intervention left me in a state of disbelief.

Was he genuinely caring, or was this a manipulation to gain my trust and extract my secrets?

My mind raced with conflicting thoughts, each possibility unfolding like a twisted puzzle. Regardless, a wave of calmness washed over me; however brief, from the upcoming experimentation for the next day.

At least today... I can take a breather. But not yet, I’m still trapped. They were going to find a way to get information from me. One way or another, it would be extracted out of me.

Was there any hope left?

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Trapped in the never-ending cycle of experiments, I found a peculiar solace in the arrival of Lascell, the man who took over BioThera. Strangely, the torturous tests seemed to lessen under his watch, becoming less frequent and mercifully less lethal.

On those rare solitary days in my prison, Lascell would pay me a visit, attempting to initiate casual conversations that left me on edge. It was hard to discern whether his friendliness was genuine or a cunning ploy to break down my defenses.

The uncertainty played out in my mind, a relentless tug-of-war between the kindness he displayed and the distrust that simmered within me. Lascell's questions about my preferences and interests.

What's your favorite color? What food do you like? What animals do you think are cool? What's your taste in music? I answered, guarded but willing to engage in these mundane conversations. Decades of torment had left me unaccustomed to kindness I hadn't experienced for a long time.

As the days unfolded, I discovered the uniqueness of my blood that those scientists tested. It was a failed experiment to create immortal beings. Failed attempts to create immortal beings only intensified the dread. The fear of the thought of Ethan ordering Victor to use my body as a breeding stock intensified with each experiment's failure.

Time blurred into an indistinct haze, but with Lascell's visits, I managed to anchor myself in some semblance of reality. Forty-four years had passed since my imprisonment, four of which I'd spent with Lascell.

His friendship, or whatever it was, brought a cautious warmth to my otherwise desolate days. I lashed out in paranoia, unsure if his kindness was a guise for manipulation. Despite my wariness, I found a strange comfort in our interactions, a brief escape from the cold, clinical reality of my surroundings.

Whenever I snapped at him, a storm of emotions churned within, yet he persisted, offering moments of normalcy amid the chaos. The scientists treated me like an object, but with Lascell, I tasted the flicker of hope that I thought was extinguished.

Talking to him, even in trivial exchanges, offered a reprieve from the insanity of isolation and the dehumanizing experiments. Gradually, my outbursts subsided, and emotional turbulence found stability, Lascell helped me regain fragments of my sanity.

An idea sparked in my mind – If I continued these conversations, walking the tightrope of revealing nothing about my secrets or history while rebuilding my composure and sanity, perhaps a sliver of hope remained. A hope, a possibility of escape. I would just pretend to trust him and use him for my benefit.

That was the plan.

But not the plan to grow attached to him.

That was not the fucking plan.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: February 3, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑬 | 3 NEXT CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑯𝑼𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑻𝒀 | 5

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑽𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 | 2 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, DEATH!!! Mentions of WARFARE, KIDNAPPING, SLAVERY!!!

Prologue - PROMISE| 3

People with good intentions make promises.People with good character keep them.

•◉◓☆◓◉•

        "Jiro, I understand it is a lot to take in, however, believe me, I'm not being absurd," I asserted, my tone firm, attempting to anchor my words in the certainty of my validity. His eyes widened, freezing in place like a statue. The revelation hung heavy between us, the suspense thickening with every heartbeat. My heart quickened, anxiety bubbling as the silence lingered, but I allowed him the time he needed. His mind seemed to grapple with a whirlwind of thoughts.

The night air, crisp and cold, caressed my face as I let out a slow exhale. Jiro blinked several times, finally breaking his silence. "Elaborate," he demanded, his voice maintaining its monotone stoicism and carrying an undertone of curiosity. His strong mentality and Jiro's willingness to engage and to take the time to understand rather than dismiss me outright impressed me.

"I cannot die, age, or get ill," I explained, meeting his gaze with sincerity. "Are you truly immortal? You cannot die or be injured?" Jiro questioned, skepticism creasing his features.

"I can be injured; however, I can heal my wounds."

Jiro's disbelief morphed into a slightly irritated skepticism. "Heal? Recover from injuries? That sounds unbelievable," he stated, his doubt etched in the furrow of his brows. I felt a twinge of irritation, but I kept my composure, understanding his reaction was typical for people to react to this. "I'll show you," I declared, narrowing my eyes.

My hand reached for the hilt of my sword, moonlight dancing off the glistening blade. I drew the sword and brought it to my arm, taking a deep breath before slashing it. A sharp grunt escaped me as blood flowed from the deep wound, painting a stark contrast against the night.

Jiro flinched, taking a step forward in concern. His movement halted as he watched my injured arm knit itself back together, the deep wound on my arm mended, the skin sealing seamlessly, leaving no trace of the injury. No scars remained, and the blood on my arm dried up. It was my concrete proof, a display of my immortality.

"You're immortal, and I've seen things, but your arm... it's like you've never been injured." Jiro's words hung in the air, his eyes tracing my arm—no scars, no sign of infection. Curiosity and astonishment danced across his features as he tentatively asked, "How... I apologize, Major, for asking this... How old are you?"

"Around a million years old by now," I answered truthfully. His eyes widened in disbelief as the revelation sat heavy between us; Jiro, sensing the authenticity in my response, delved deeper into his inquiries. The questions flowed, and I was grateful for his lack of negative reaction, thankful that he sought to understand my history and experiences.

Once, we were merely soldiers—distant, unspoken. Now, as a commander and a soldier, we had progressed from one-word sentences to bearing our deepest secrets, truths, and histories. Our bond, forged in the crucible of shared vulnerability, grew with each passing day.

My feelings for him lingered, unspoken but palpable. Amidst the chaos of war, our souls resonated. Jiro, a special presence in my heart, left me questioning the nature of my feelings—companion, ally, friend, or something more?

"I've sworn to protect you; I forever stick to my word. You can trust me," Jiro's words broke through the silence, a sense of the loyalty he held for me. His stoic exterior crumbled, revealing a devotion that warmed my immortal heart.

Days rolled on, reshaping our understanding of each other. We were no longer the cold, calm, and emotionless combatants. Instead, it was two souls bound by shared brokenness, finding solace in shared pain. My growing feelings for Jiro became undeniable, pushing me to make another promise of my own.

I would bring him home alive.

The day of confession arrived. Tomorrow, my squad and I would be thrust onto the front lines. The weight of the impending battle hung in the air as I confessed my feelings to Jiro, my heart thudding with anticipation.

"Major, or let me correct myself... [First Name], I love you too. You've captured my heart in ways I never expected," Jiro admitted, his usually stern voice softening, a new vulnerability emerging. We were no longer concealing ourselves in the shadows, an immortal Major and my Second Lieutenant soon-to-be lovers once the war concluded.

Or so I thought.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

        The acrid scent of gunpowder stung my nostrils, blending with the cacophony of explosions, screams, and gunfire that reverberated across the battlefield. Our march towards the impending clash was accompanied by the rhythmic thud of hooves against the grassy terrain.

My steed, sensing the tension, emitted a soft, throaty nicker, prompting my hand to soothe its anxiety with gentle pats on its muscular neck. Tension hummed in the air as we approached the frontline, the first squad already unleashing a storm of bullets ahead of us. We were the second squad, poised and waiting for the signal.

"Major."

Jiro's voice, a steady anchor in the cacophony, drew me back from the brink of my thoughts. His steed paced alongside mine, and as our eyes met, looking deeply into his black eyes. I responded calmly, "Yes?" Our gazes briefly connected before he shifted his attention to the troops on the horizon.

"Let's end this war."

Jiro's words resonated, and a prideful smirk played on my lips. "Right with you, Second Lieutenant Griffin," I affirmed. A surge of yells and screams erupted, cutting through our conversation. I surveyed the battlefield, the charge of the enemy signaling the commencement of the battle; my smirk transformed into a wild grin as I drew my sword with a metallic scrape, and I raised my voice with a tone of authority.

"My men, we will end this war—for justice, for freedom, for righteousness, for our people! Give them a bloody war! Charge!"

As my rallying unleashed their war cries, I flicked the reins, urging my horse forward into the fray, the blade in my hand poised and aimed at the oncoming enemy, charging into the tumult alongside Jiro with the thunderous hooves of our charging horses.

Adrenaline surged, my heart pounding in tandem with the excitement of destruction. The chaos brought an odd satisfaction, a joy that swallowed sorrows and fears. I swung my sword with ruthless precision, severing heads, my horse galloping with a rhythm matching the chaos of war. 

Blood sprayed the grass and soil as I galloped across the battlefield, thrusting my sword into another foe, impaling them, and dragging them alongside me as my horse galloped across the battlefield. I pulled their rifle from their grasp. The sword returned to its sheath as I lined up the rifle.

I steadied my body, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The world blurred as I aimed and pulled the trigger again, the deafening sounds of firearms, explosions, and screams merging into a discordant symphony of war.

Suddenly, a bullet pierced through my ribcage, sending me plummeting from my horse to the hard ground below. My steed bolted away, startled by the sudden blast. A soft moan escaped my lips as my hand clutched the searing wound.

Immortality or not, the pain was real.

Despite the pain, I could feel the odd sensation of my skin knit itself back together; the bullet spewed out as the pain faded away. With a gritted jaw, I pushed myself off the ground, rolling onto my belly and gathering my strength. I steadied myself, fingers tightening around my own rifle.

I squeezed the trigger; the crisp click and the thunderous bang echoed in my ears as I fired at the enemies. I reloaded and a shout came behind me, snapping my head around. An enemy swung his sword toward my neck, reacting on instinct with a swift roll; I blocked the blow with my gun, a clash of metal meeting metal.

With a surge of strength, I pushed him away and ended him with a lethal shot. My grin widened as my eyes scanned the battleground; the advantage was in our favor, but a gut-wrenching shout of my name interrupted my thrill. I turned to see Jiro, meeting his desperate gaze, his hand reaching out in warning.

"Out of the way—"

His words were swallowed by an explosion that erupted before us, sending a shockwave that flung me through the air like a ragdoll, pain reverberating through my body as I collided with the ground. Groans and grunts escaped me; my ears rang, my vision blurred, and my body fought to regain composure.

I scanned the carnage, the scent of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood lingering in the air. A glance down revealed my leg missing, but the pain was temporary. It regenerated, leaving me barefoot. Standing up, the ache on my face disappeared, replaced by a realization that sent my heart plummeting.

Where is Jiro?

My eyes darted frantically, the aftermath of destruction and death staining the landscape. Panic clawed at my throat, my heartbeat thundering. My voice trembled as I called out Jiro's name, but my voice caught in my throat as my eyes found him.

Jiro's lower body was gone, his upper half mutilated, desperately clinging to life, blood spewing, organs exposed. His attempts at silence only yielded small whimpers, grunts, groans, and moans of anguish. My feet carried me toward him, knees sliding across the blood-soaked ground and beside his battered form.

"Jiro!"

My voice, loud and desperate, hitched in my throat. My eyes widened at the nightmarish scene before me. The joy of destruction is replaced by a tidal wave of terror, fury, despair, and shock. My hands trembled as I touched his face, tears clouding my vision. Blinking them away, I tried to focus on the horror before me, the warmth of my tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Jiro, Jiro, don't close your eyes. Please. Don't. Leave me!"

My plea echoed through the chaos of the battlefield; desperation etched into the tremor of my voice. A maelstrom of thoughts whirled in my mind of possibilities on how to ease his pain, how to save him. Jiro coughed, blood escaping from his lips, tracing a crimson path down his chin. His once vibrant, stoic black eyes, now clouded with fatigue and anguish, met mine.

I closed the distance between us, hovering inches from his face, feeling the warmth of his fading breath. Each labored exhale pulled at my heartstrings, a harsh reminder of his fragile life. He was still a mortal.

"[First Name]..."

Jiro uttered my name, his voice a mix of groans, weakening with every passing moment. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, landing on his face and mingling with the dirt and blood. "Jiro, it's going to be okay. We— I—" My words choked, my ability to speak faltered, his feeble hand finding its way to my cheek. A faint smile, a rarity that carried the weight of emotions and purity, graced his lips.

"I love you..."

His final words hung in the air, and with them, the light in his eyes dimmed, his body becoming limp in my hands. The battlefield's clamor faded into a muffled backdrop—gunfire, explosions, and distant screams were drowned out by the pounding of my heart. My breaths were erratic, time seeming to pause as I struggled to process the reality unfolding before me.

In my immortal existence spanning a million years, Jiro Griffin had been my first love, the one who made my heart flutter like no ally, companion, friend, or comrade ever had. Now, he was gone, taken from me in the brutality of war, his life extinguished within my helpless hands.

I promised myself I would bring him home alive.

I failed.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Years drifted away since the echoes of war had faded, and I had immersed myself in a life dedicated to salvation and justice, mirroring Jiro's unwavering pursuit of his goals and the liberation of the enslaved. I located Jiro's family, liberated and now free; his mother bore the familiar features that tugged at my heart, a poignant reminder of Jiro's death.

The haunting image of his mangled, half-body persisted, replaying like a relentless reel in my mind. As I visited Jiro's grave, nestled beneath the same tree he once spoke of, I felt the weight of our shared past. His words reverberated in my mind, the promise I made to free his family etched into my purpose. It wasn't easy delivering the news of his demise, but I had kept my word, ensuring their freedom.

At least, in that aspect, I hadn't failed.

The tree, hidden somewhere in the woods, was a sanctuary where Jiro escaped his nightmares and his pain. A childhood refuge where he had carved a drawing, leaving a lasting mark on nature. 'It's somewhere down South, in the woods. Can't remember exactly where, but one day, I'll find it. Carved a drawing on that tree, once,' his words echoed, and the nostalgia of our shared moments engulfed me.

Memories surged, the echo of our time together filling the air. I longed for more, a stolen kiss, shared embraces, moments that could have been, drowned in the misery and despair that followed his loss. Drowned in grief, I could have perished in the same explosion that claimed him. My immortality spared me, a curse of the anguish of never finding peace or release.

The cocktail of misery, despair, and mixed with anger, and the frustration of my immortality had been an arduous mix. The early years were a tumultuous storm, with decades merging into centuries. Yet, I found solace in the ongoing fight for justice, in the battles that needed my intervention, and in the lives, I continued to save; his legacy of justice became my guiding light.

Centuries had unraveled since the 19th century, now in the 21st, and I roamed the earth, an eternal wanderer in pursuit of healing and coping. My goal was simple: Happiness would find me if I pressed forward, navigating through the tapestry of time. Healing and coping defined my existence.

I never knew the things that the choices I made, and the paths I treaded would lead me to my downfall.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

        In the shadows of the moonlit night, I found myself navigating the desolate field in Morocco, a chill wind whispering through the air. The mission was simple—or so I thought—to eliminate the human traffickers and rescue the hostages. Victor Arrenberg, the man who had this mission, had heard of my skills, but not my immortality which I was thankful for, and I had remained an anonymous assassin.

My expertise honed over decades, if not centuries, as an assassin. Gripping my pistol, I approached the designated room with caution where hostages were supposedly held. I had successfully eliminated all the traffickers inside the building as I entered. As my eyes scanned the empty space, confusion gripped me until realization dawned—this was a setup.

"Oh, fuck m—"

A string of curses barely escaped my lips before a barrage of gunfire tore through the silence. Bullets tore through the air, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through my body, jerking with every hit. Darkness enveloped me as I crumpled to the floor, a bullet lodged in my skull. The last flicker of consciousness echoed with a question.

Is this it? Will I truly die?

●

●

●

Yet, life surged back into my veins. I gasped for air, the world slowly coming into focus. The excruciating pain subsided, and bullets spewed themselves from my bullet holes, my fingers reflexively curling around the pistol that had slipped from my grasp. Lying on the cold, dried-up bloody floor, as consciousness returned, I rose unsteadily. I became aware of the voices around me—shock, wonder, and fear echoing through the air.

"Oh my god."

"Reload! Reload!"

"I can't believe it."

Soldiers, their faces etched with disbelief and fear witnessing a resurrected scene. Without hesitation, I attacked, leaving a trail of carnage in my wake. Blood painted the room as I mercilessly took them down, my wounds healing with each passing second. My eyes caught a surveillance camera in the corner; a single shot reduced it to shards.

I was fucking set up.

It didn't take long for them to locate me. Captured, my eyes met Victor, the man behind the act. He, it seemed, was no ordinary mission coordinator but a scientist with an agenda. His scrutinizing gaze swept over me, leaving me with an unsettling sense of being an anomaly, something beyond human.

The unnerving sensation of cable handcuffs biting into my wrists intensified with each tightening grip from the soldiers flanking me; they knew the consequences of releasing me. My eyes locked onto Victor's intense brown gaze, a mix of hunger, curiosity, and astonishment.

"Together we shall do great things. What they are yet, I know not, but they shall be the terror of the Earth."

His words reverberated, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. The prospect of becoming a symbol of terror, a monstrous being, triggered a snarl of disgust. Memories of accusations from the 1690s resurfaced briefly, dismissed but not forgotten. Victor, sensing my reaction, cleared his throat, attempting to change the narrative.

"Or rather the savior of Earth... Can we take the cuffs off?"

One of the soldiers, a subordinate of Victor, shook his head. "No, we cannot, Doctor." Victor's gaze shifted from his worker back to me, his lips curving into a friendly smile.

"Ah, I see. My apologies. Let's get off on the right foot, shall we? I am Victor Arrenberg, or call me Dr. Arrenberg, the CEO of BioThera Corporation. Our work here is all about saving people and unlocking secrets to discover answers. All for science!"

Excitement laced Victor's words, his smile widening with each passing moment. He strolled toward a table, talking animatedly with his back turned to me, not knowing what he was doing as I became cautious.

"I have seen the evidence that one of my subordinates showcased, but I prefer my evidence to be indisputable."

Suddenly, he spun around a small knife in his hand for a letter opener. He lunged at me, jabbing relentlessly. Groans escaped my lips, and I bit down hard to suppress any audible signs of pain. Victor paused, withdrawing the knife, his eyes reflecting amazement at my resilience. The pain lingered but faded, my regeneration weaving its charm.

"We bought a cancer drug on the market last quarter. It's already saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Yet, in its development, it killed a quarter of a million lab mice. Now, I didn't ask for their little permissions. I'm not gonna ask for yours."

Dread sank in as his words resonated. A chill crawled up my spine, my breath hitching in my throat, my heart sinking. As he continued speaking, closing in, his eyes filled with wonder, excitement, and an unsettling eagerness, and his grin widened.

"There's genetic code inside you which could help every human being on Earth. We're morally obliged to take it and I want to discover the secrets of your immortality!"

"What?"

I muttered in disbelief, my attention shifting to one of his workers producing a small bottle that looked like an injection. Panic surged within me as I struggled against the soldiers restraining me. "Wait, what's that?! Hey! Wait!"

I exclaimed, attempting to break free. A sudden shock jolted through my back, electricity seizing my body as I was forced to my knees. The worker approached, injecting the syringe into my neck. The sensation faded, darkness enveloped me, fear the last thing I felt, the uncertainty of my fate haunting my last conscious thoughts.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: January 14, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑽𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 | 2 NEXT CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑨𝑳 | 4

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE & TORTURE!!! Mentions of SLAVERY, WARFARE & DEATH | DYING!!!

Prologue - SALVATION | 2

❝If you want peace; prepare for war.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

        I've roamed this Earth for centuries, an eternal wanderer, chasing the mysteries of the unknown; I found solace in the journey of exploration, navigating the uncharted territories of Earth. The experiences were woven with the threads of camaraderie, with each unique encounter etching memories into the tapestry of my existence.

The vast landscapes, the endless sea, and the allure of the unknown beckoned me forward, accompanied by companions. But fate, cruel and capricious, snatched them away through tragic accidents. Death, claimed my friends, leaving me grappling with an inexplicable reality.

Through centuries of wandering, the faces of friends became fleeting echoes in the corridors of my memory. Their laughter lingered in the rustle of leaves, their voices whispered in the wind, and their absence carved hollows within my soul.

While time weathered their mortal forms, leaving them vulnerable to illnesses and the passage of years, I remained unscathed—a perpetual witness to the cycle of life and demise. The ache in my heart swelled as I witnessed my loved ones slip away, their lives slipping through my grasp.

Their faces etched in the tapestry of my mind, I grappled with the unfairness of my unchanging existence. Yet, amidst the sorrow, a friend's parting words echoed in the recesses of my being:

"Don't cry, be happy that it happened."

A bittersweet reminder to cherish the fleeting moments of joy rather than succumb to the abyss of sorrow. Memories, vibrant and cherished, became my solace amid the bleakness. With each passing moment, the passage of time became a blurred canvas, painting a montage of memories and heartaches. My resolve was anchored in the words my mother imparted: "Be strong yet kind. Be clever yet compassionate."

I ventured forth.

"I will save other people, and they will never endure the same pain I had to carry."

Every encounter etched new lessons upon the canvas of my existence. I saved lives, shielded the vulnerable, and amassed a trove of knowledge woven from the fabric of diverse cultures. My ventures led me through eras, witnessing civilizations bloom and wither, and kingdoms ascend and crumble. Time blurred into an indistinct haze, yet my quest endured.

In the year 1693, I stumbled upon Salem, a secluded village veiled by the chill of a waning winter. The air held a biting chill, seeping through the layers of my clothing, while the villagers, cloaked in suspicion, cast wary glances my way. Initially, I contemplated a swift departure, sensing their hostility.

However, the village's grim secret unraveled before me—the Witch Trials, the injustices inflicted upon the innocent. I couldn't stand by idly; I had to intervene, whisking away those bound for unjust trials and certain doom. The whispers of gratitude from the rescued souls were melodies that soothed my weary spirit.

Though I managed to save many, my fate was sealed. Imprisoned, awaiting a trial. But it didn't matter; my purpose had been fulfilled, and the weight of my actions rested on me as I faced the accusations of being a witch. Blindfolded and restrained, the noose coiled around my neck, the cacophony of accusations and cries for retribution reverberated around me.

Darkness enveloped me, and without warning, the ground vanished beneath my feet. The rope tightened, cutting off my breath. Panic clawed at my throat, leaving me gasping for the air that refused to fill my lungs; I choked, the pressure on my neck unbearable.

My vision was obscured, yet the anguish and the fateful finality enveloped me in an eerie silence.

●

●

●

Suddenly, I sucked in a sharp gasp, the rush of air startling me into awareness, each breath a frantic struggle against the taut rope constricting my throat. Yet, the tranquility was cut by a cacophony of gasps and screams and vehement accusations, branding me as the devil's handiwork.

The noose tightened, inflicting excruciating pain upon my neck, the unbearable pressure sending shockwaves through my body. Just as my consciousness began to fade, a sudden rush of air filled my lungs once more. A cycle of suffocation, torment, and resurgence, and one thing came to mind amidst the agonizing cycles.

Why am I like this?

The trials, the sentences, all futile attempts to kill an existence that defied death. No respite awaited me; I endured the horrors repeatedly—hanging, drowning, and the searing agony of being burned alive. Each time I returned, my wounds healed, and my body revived, but the pain lingered.

Living through battles and saving lives, never had I fathomed the visceral agony of being burned alive and yet returning, the searing pain etched in my memory. I found my answer, but was it the answer I was happy with? No. The pain was a relentless reminder of my cursed immortality.

A never-ending cycle of suffering in a world that saw me as an anomaly, a monstrosity.

Then came the day they exiled me from the world's surface, casting me into an underground abyss. Shackles clanged and jangled as they bound me, dragging my weakened body against the rough wall of the dungeon. Chains secured me to the cold stone, immobilizing me.

Trapped.

The men's words, dripping with disdain and fear, "You are far more powerful. In here, you will never return to the surface, and will never cause harm. For creatures such as you, there is no salvation, The Child of The Devil."

The words pierced me, igniting a fury within that I struggled to contain. My attempts to reach out were futile, the chains tearing at my flesh, blood oozing from raw wounds. I was nothing like that! I wanted to yell and scream at that.

The door slammed shut, sealing my fate. Echoes of locks and chains reverberated in the suffocating silence. Torches cast eerie shadows, illuminating the chamber devoid of windows, the crackling fire that only kept me in the silence.

Terror supplanted my anger—a realization dawned that this prison would be my eternal sanctuary—a fate worse than death itself. I grappled with despair that I was condemned to an eternity of solitary confinement, an existence devoid of light, hope, or salvation.

Locked away in perpetual darkness... forever.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

        Decades have passed since that fateful day when I managed to break free from that abyss. But at what cost? My mind, a fractured mosaic, retained scattered remnants of my former self, buried beneath layers of torment and despair.

Despite the darkness gnawing at my mind, a sliver of humanity remained. It was that glimmer of empathy that led me to answer a desperate cry for help, a voice in distress, a plea for help, cutting through the madness that threatened to consume me and reach the recesses of my broken soul. And I saved a girl who was being kidnapped.

Why do I take care of people's pain?

Because it heals the part of me that needs someone to take care of.

Time became a swirling upheaval, a blur of weeks merging into years and decades into centuries. In the shadows, I continued my quest, a silent crusade to save lives, mete out justice where none dared to tread and stand amidst the chaos of battles and wars.

Amid the strife of the 1860s, I found myself embroiled in a conflict, fighting to liberate the enslaved and uphold justice in a world steeped in turmoil. It was simple—a quest to emancipate the enslaved, to fight for justice in the relentless currents of war.

Never have I thought of finding love amidst the war.

        Jiro Griffin cut a commanding figure, his towering, robust build frame, his ebony complexion contrasting against amber-shaded, tightly coiled curls, his eyes dark as the night. Among the soldiers in our regiment, he remained an enigma—no knowledge of his past; some assumed he had fled slavery in the South, seeking freedom in our ranks.

Despite being silent and reserved about his past, Jiro earned the admiration of his comrades, hailing him as the epitome of a soldier—steadfast in his training, unwavering in resolve, and unmatched in skill during our rigorous drills. His unyielding spirit in every partnered exercise earned him admiration.

During one of our training sessions, I finally noticed him. His movements were lightning-fast, raw strength, astute strategy, and an unpredictable style that kept everyone on their toes, which ignited a spark of excitement within me.

As an immortal, strengthened by eons of warfare and tutelage under numerous masters, encountering someone at my level thrilled me. We were comrades in arms, yet our interactions had been nonexistent. Jiro remained a secluded figure, shunning social interactions except when necessary. His stoicism was unwavering even in the most intense training sessions; his emotions remained veiled behind an unflinching façade.

As I cleaned my rifle, the metallic clicks and swishes filled the air, curiosity gnawed at me, evoked by the constant sense of his gaze lingering upon me. It seemed he was always observing, yet his expressions remained incomprehensible. It left me guessing what he was feeling or thinking, he was difficult to read. I finished tending to my rifle; I broke the silence, addressing him calmly.

"Did you need something?"

"Nothing," came his monotone reply, unchanged in its stoicism.

I acknowledged his response with a hum, my attention shifting to my rifle. Gripping it firmly, I checked its alignment, positioning myself, my finger pressed on the trigger. The crisp click of the trigger affirmed its functionality, but I couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on me. Before long, he turned away, leaving me alone.

I felt he was judging me.

I mused, pondering about him and his gaze that left me agitated. The day of routine combat drills came to pairing soldiers. I believe fate had an unexpected plan for me; I found myself paired with Jiro. The silence between us hung heavy, empty of any casual talk, but I was thrilled with the chance to test my strength against the best soldier in the military.

Standing face to face with Jiro, our eyes locked, silence shrouded us, the air thick with anticipation. The only sound was the echoes of our breaths on the training grounds. With the signal, our clash began.

I lunged forward, my eyes locked onto his, aiming a knee strike at his midsection, only to meet his swift block, his counterpunch landed, jolting me back, but I retaliated with a swift kick, grazing under Jiro's chin and met with a grunt from him as I staggered away.

We continued the relentless exchange of skill and strategy, our bodies moving in a dance of combat. Strikes met blocks, twists, and grapples. We were two forces colliding, unwilling to yield, each matching the other in skill and determination. Our spar raged on, sounds of grunts and blows echoing in the training grounds.

As the spar finished within our time limit, I came victorious. Jiro, visibly winded, panted heavily while I, fueled by relentless stamina, developed through centuries, his labored breaths contrasting my steady heartbeat echoing in my ears. Comrades lauded my feat, acknowledging my ability to match Jiro's speed, strength, skill, and intellect. 

It brought a smile to my lips, reveled in the thrill of battle. Time has been constant in my journey across eras, from the Stone Age to the Industrial Revolution, accumulating experiences and knowledge.

And yet, amidst this time during a war, a new sensation had grown with me—a growing attraction toward Jiro. The love for fighting coursed through my veins, and it seemed Jiro shared the same passion. Despite our lack of words, an unspoken understanding grew between us.

We were drawn to each other, finding joy in the challenge of facing an equally matched opponent; it drew us closer with each encounter. With each bout, our mutual attraction only deepened.

Over time, our encounters in training sessions produced a feeling of comradeship, leading me to suggest the idea of sparring outside of scheduled sessions. Jiro's intense gaze met mine, and to my delight, he agreed which ignited a surge of excitement within me.

"Are you ready, Jiro?"

I said while I shot him a faint, amiable smile, locking eyes with his cold, unyielding gaze as he drew his wooden sword, taking a stance. His demeanor was stern and alert, and his voice flatly declared, "Yes, do not keep me waiting."

My fingers curled around my own sword's hilt, drawing it out as I positioned myself—left foot forward, right foot back—my blade proportional and aimed at him. We locked eyes and lingered in the stillness, each searching for the slightest opening, waiting to see who would make the first move. Silence enveloped us, a thick palpable tension.

It didn't take long before one of us moved.

Jiro lunged, wielding his sword with precision. Swiftly, I sidestepped his attack—the sound of our footsteps reverberating on the gritty cement and gravel beneath. Swiftly, I pivoted away, readjusting my stance while keeping a cautious distance, a wary eye fixed on him as we circled each other, a tango of enthusiasm.

My strike followed, initiated from above, then swiftly redirected below. Jiro anticipated, parrying the blow with a resounding clash of our wooden swords. I followed through, aiming for his neck, yet he deftly blocked my strike. His retaliatory attack came swiftly, striving from above, but I intercepted it with a forceful counter.

We were engaged in a relentless exchange, our training sessions pushing the boundaries of our skills, uncovering weaknesses, and adapting styles. In our battles, ruthlessness prevailed. As our swords clashed, it was a dance, a synchronized choreography of reading each other's patterns and counter-patterns.

I swung my sword, and our blades clashed again; he anticipated my move, countering with a thrust, expecting me to evade. A smirk crept across my face; altering my tactic on the fly, I leaned aside, shifting my leg to redirect his sword's trajectory, leveraging his strength against him and thrusting my attack toward him.

My attack landed, catching Jiro off guard. Though his eyes narrowed in defeat, a glint of admiration and surprise shimmered within. Days turned to weeks, months into years, and in our relentless pursuit to outsmart each other, we played a deadly game—a dance of skilled and unpredictable combatants.

Our friendship was an unconventional bond formed on mutual respect and affection, grounded in our shared identity as fighters, warriors, and companions. It transcended mere camaraderie; it was a relationship forged in the heat of battle and forged through respect for our strengths and thrive for sparring.

In the year 1864, three years after our bond solidified, I uncovered Jiro's harrowing past. He and his family were kidnapped and enslaved in the South. Despite his escape, the pain lingered, and his family was still trapped in that torment. His resolve to end the war, seeking justice for his people and loved ones, even if it meant sacrificing his life on the battlefield for his convictions.

“I do not mean to pry or to upset you; however, what is one good memory you had throughout your childhood? It’s fine you don’t have to answer that, I apologize.”

I blurted it out, instantly regretting the question. Guilt swept over me, a pang in my chest, realizing how insensitive it might've sounded. Jiro was a person with a past trapped in enslavement.

Did he even have a childhood worth recalling? What was I even thinking?

“Before I was enslaved…”

Jiro's voice cut through my self-reproach, drawing my gaze to his eyes. His tone remained steady, but those eyes told a different tale. There was a glint of something akin to joy.

"I used to spend hours near this old, massive tree. Ancient thing, but beautiful. I'd climb it, and reach the top... man, the view. You could see everything around for miles. The view stretched far beyond, revealing the entire expanse of the land."

His reminiscence, though delivered in a monotone, carried a subtle warmth that pierced through my guilt. A gentle smile graced my lips. Amidst his hardship, Jiro had found moments of joy. His description of the cherished tree stirred a curiosity in me, piquing an interest in this sanctuary from his painful past.

"It’s somewhere down South, in the woods. Can’t remember exactly where, but one day, I’ll find it. Carved a drawing on that tree, once."

His eyes held a glimmer of a cherished memory, painting a vivid picture of his childhood. It was clear—finding that tree again meant more to him than just revisiting a place from his past. It was an escape from the harsh reality he had endured. The idea of Jiro, a child, finding solace and joy in the simple act of climbing a tree, and admiring the world from above, tugged at my heart.

“That’s adorable, honestly.” 

I blurted, my words more direct than I intended but genuine, causing Jiro's eyes to widen briefly in surprise; his stoic facade slightly cracked. He quickly masked the reaction, shutting his eyes and letting out a soft exhale, reining in his emotions behind that composed façade.

"Major, [First Name]. I suggest maintaining professionalism."

"Second Lieutenant, Griffin. You dare give me orders?"

“...No, I apologize, Major.”

My attempt at issuing a command received a rebuttal, swiftly met by a subsiding apology. As the tension ebbed, I aimed for a more congenial tone.

"At ease, soldier. Let's find solace in this war-torn land, shall we? If you plan on being a saint, that's not happening, no heroic sacrifices on my watch. I won’t let one of my best soldiers go down. I promise you this much—your family will be free."

Jiro's eyes widened briefly, a rare softness seeping through his tough exterior. His tense posture eased slightly, a faint smile gracing his lips. His smile, like a rare treasure, sent my heart into a flutter. But then he spoke, shattering the moment, "Don't make promises you can't keep." Jiro's words cut through, igniting a pang of hurt.

Did he doubt my resolve?

Standing my ground, I asserted with authority, my voice projecting conviction as I replied, "I will keep it no…"

"I declare your family will be free, one way or another. I'll make it happen."

My declaration seemed to catch Jiro off guard. He froze, his reaction one of disbelief as if my words had momentarily stunned him. We'd fought side by side for three years in this war, and while he knew my determination, my steadfastness seemed to surpass his expectations. The chill of the night air grazed my face, the moon's ethereal light casting a soft glow on Jiro's features. He averted his gaze as if trying to process my unwavering assurance.

Was he... flustered?

I pondered, noting a subtle hint of color on his cheeks, but maybe it was just my imagination, playing tricks in the darkness. Gradually, his body relaxed, and he met my gaze once more. A genuine smile tugged at his lips, growing with each passing second that caught me off guard, leaving me momentarily stunned by his unexpected warmth.

“Thank you... [First Name].”

Jiro said, a shift in our interaction evident as he abandoned formal military ranks. It was a departure from our usual dynamic, a shift toward a more personal and intimate connection.

"Of course… Jiro."

I replied, softening my tone, dropping the formalities of military rank and last names. Our simple switch to using our first names signaled an unspoken understanding, a shared moment. Night had settled, casting a veil of darkness over the camp. Despite the need to prepare ourselves for the coming day's tasks as soldiers, a softer atmosphere enveloped us. My voice cut through the tranquility with a stern directive, "Time to turn in, soldier."

"Yes, Major," he replied, slipping back into our customary formalities. But amidst the orders and obligations, an unspoken understanding lingered, a shared acknowledgment of this unique bond forming between us. Before departing for my quarters, I paused, breaking the protocol.

"Jiro... thank you for sharing your story." No ranks, no formalities, just a heartfelt gratitude exchanged between two individuals whose connection was growing deeper.

In the days that followed, a newfound warmth bloomed, growing fondness between us, a subtle evolution in our interactions. Jiro, typically reserved and known for curt responses, surprised me by opening up more. Jiro, a man of few words, broke his silence, engaging in conversations. It wasn’t always serious; sometimes, it was the simplicity of daily anecdotes or inactive musings.

Yet, each exchange felt significant, as if uncovering layers of shared understanding and burgeoning affection. Despite his stoic facade, he found a way to convey his thoughts, drawing us closer with each passing conversation. In the quiet moments, amidst the routines of military life, a burgeoning connection took root—a delicate and unforeseen bond between two souls discovering an unexpected resonance in each other's company.

The more the days went the more I grew to trust him enough… to tell him my secret that I was immortal.

How would he react to learning that I was immortal?

"You called, Major?" Jiro's voice, a familiar echo in the night, sliced through my reverie. I turned, meeting his towering figure loomed before me, bathed in moonlight, the silver beams casting an ethereal glow upon his features and uniform.

His stern, penetrating gaze locked onto mine, delving into the depths of my being. Despite the facade of composure I wore, anxiety pulsed within me, my heart drumming a frenzied rhythm in my chest. I released a small exhale, willing my heartbeat to steady.

"Yes, Second Lieutenant Griffin. I need to talk to you about something," I replied, maintaining a poised exterior while inwardly grappling with nerves.

"It's personal... Jiro."

Jiro's nod conveyed an understanding—a silent acknowledgment that this conversation would not be about war and duty. “I won’t breathe a word to anyone, [First Name],” Jiro affirmed, his commitment to confidentiality evident in his reply.

With a deliberate inhale and an exhale, I steadied my nerves, my body relaxing marginally. Surveying the area to ensure we were alone, I locked eyes with Jiro, the weight of my revelation hanging in the air.

“Jiro, I’m immortal. I can’t die.”

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: January 7, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1 NEXT CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑬 | 3

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[theunkn0wn-0]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅... 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

╰➤⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰➤ 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙎: 𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙴 ⟬ 10 / 500 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰 ⟭ ╰┈➤ 𝙂𝙀𝙉𝙍𝙀: Fanfiction, Adventure, Action, Romance, Slow Burn, Drama ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: COMPREHENSIVE & GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF DEATH & BLOOD!!! Mentions of DEAD ANIMALS!!!

Prologue - BIRTH | 1

❝Every time I die, this is the vision that greets my eyes, and every time I think, “How lovely that sunlight which I forsook so many centuries ago…”❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

Do you truly believe immortality is a gift? How naive. Let me tell you about the sentiments that will haunt you for centuries, that will devour your soul.

1. Disorientation.

To begin with, you never had the choice to be like this. Why was this your reality? You'd ask, and without answers, it feels like punishment, a curse, or a twisted game from the deities above. Sometimes, you’re not even sure what’s real anymore.

Did you hear that voice calling your name? You know you’re alone here, so why are you searching?

2. Misery.

Longing for the familiarity of their touch, you embrace your loved one in your arms as their final breath escapes. Their faces fade from your memory and their laughter was a distant echo. Countless lives all slip away while you remain, time continues, and the ache never fades.

Wait—didn’t you see them last time? In your house? No, you didn’t. You only dreamt of it. Right? 

Then who is that dead man buried outside?

3. Anguish.

Each battle claims another comrade, another soul who fought by your side. The cycle repeats, leaving you grappling with the aftermath. You’ve sacrificed everything—your heart broken by loss and your mind tormented by horrors. The blood on your hands never fades. It stains not just your skin, but your soul.

How many times have you died? How many times have you woken up next to a corpse? Did you slaughter those innocents for your sick satisfaction?

Answer me.

I don't know.

4. Fear.

You fear closeness because loss is inevitable. No matter the people that come and go, you'd be alone again. You fear betrayal because that trust has been shattered. Most of all, you fear yourself of what you might become if you lose the last shred of your humanity. Humans are capable of ruining their own kind when consumed by their nature.

What would you do if you lost control? What if you already have? What if the thing you fear most isn’t what you might become—but what you already are?

That's not me. You're wrong.

5. Bitterness.

It's a wonder how the good withers while the bad lingers, just like when you find someone to share this burden, they are taken. As evolution grows, it becomes difficult to disappear just to yearn for that peace. You envy the life others take for granted; the chance to grow old, to rest, to let go. However, there is no reprieve for you.

How much longer can you endure this existence? How long until you try to end it all? You’ve tried before, haven’t you? And yet here you are.

Why is that?

My story has no ending.

6. Resentment.

You are furious—at the world, at destiny, at yourself. You rage at the cruelty of being alive without purpose, enduring endless suffering without answers.

Why were you born into this nightmare? Was it to protect? To suffer? To wander endlessly?

Or maybe to end humankind?

No, it couldn't be it. 

Then, there’s no one to understand you but yourself.

You are truly alone in this world.

The world was a tapestry of raw, untamed beauty, painted with earthy hues, rugged landscapes, and wilderness. Trees, giants of a bygone era, stretched their gnarled limbs towards the heavens, their bark adorned with moss and lichen.

The air held a heady mixture of damp soil and the fragrance of wild flora that danced upon the breeze. Nearby, the sound of babbling streams wove through the area. Their crystal-clear waters wound their way around mossy rocks and pebbles with the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of unseen critters.

The sun descended behind the horizon, painting the sky with fiery hues before gradually giving way to the unfolding blanket of night. Above, the celestial tapestry is adorned with countless stars glittering like precious gems. The crackling of a distant fire and the rhythmic click of stone against stone reverberated through the tranquil stillness of the night.

A woman sat upon the grassy floor, silhouetted by the flickering flames. Her tattered clothing bore streaks of soil and splotches of blood, yet she seemed unperturbed by her disheveled appearance. Engrossed in her task, she worked diligently on sharpening a spear from a sharp stone. Each strike of the rock against the chipped stone echoed in the night, the clinks and clanks harmonizing.

However, the rustling of nearby bushes abruptly disrupted her focus. Swiftly, her keen [Eye Color] eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness beyond the bushes as they continued to sway and rustle. Her hand instinctively tightened around her weapon, poised to confront whatever creature lurked in the dark.

"[Mother's Name], seize your weapon. Don't strike your devotee, my beloved."

The commanding yet familiar voice, carrying a trace of bitterness, resonated through the night air. Hearing this voice, she eased her grip on the spear, lowering it slowly as the figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the warm embrace of the firelight. He bore the appearance of a man with his dark, wavy hair glinted, and his pale skin, pure and pale as freshly fallen snow, seemed to glow in the amber light.

She had always found this man intriguing, not only for his unique appearance but for his eyes. In a world where eyes typically bore shades of black, brown, green, blue, or hazel, his crimson-red eyes were a rarity, captivating and mysterious in their intensity.

"Ares, you're back," [Mother's Name]  murmured, a mix of calmness and admiration lacing her words, each syllable a tender whisper that carried across the clearing. Her voice was gentle yet resonant.

"Apologies, I took longer than expected," replied Ares, his crimson eyes softening as he closed the distance, his gaze locking onto hers. Settling beside her, he felt the dampness of the grass tickle his bare feet.

"I've searched for you since dawn. Where have you been?" Your mother's tone, initially calm, contradicted her stern words. Her eyes betrayed her worry, flickering with a mix of emotions—care, concern, and a touch of relief upon seeing him safe.

"I had urgent matters to discuss with Whis. It couldn't wait," Ares explained. His voice carried a hint of urgency mingled with a touch of regret; his eyes flickered with fear for a brief moment before he relaxed.

"I understand. But next time, please tell me. I scoured the woods, fearing the worst," her words carried a motherly concern that she couldn't conceal. Ares let out a hearty laugh, rich, and echoed through the woods, carrying a sense of amusement that reverberated in the night air. His amusement twinkled in his crimson eyes as he gazed into her [Eye Color] iris.

"Do you truly think these woods pose a threat to me? Fear not, I am far more powerful," Ares replied, a confident smirk gracing his lips, his eyes holding a mischievous spark.

"Regardless of your strength, I'll protect you until the end of days," your mother declared, her voice carrying an unyielding resolve and a depth of emotion and affection towards him. Ares' blunt retort carried a hint of admiration, "Another reason why I fell in love with you, woman."

Her soft and tender smile reflected the depth of her affection for this enigmatic man. Her warm chuckle mingled with the gentle rustling of leaves in the canopy above, a symphony of nature.

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4 YEARS LATER | AGE: 4

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

The haunting cries echoed through the dense woods, disrupting the serene harmony of nature. Startled birds took flight, their wings flapping urgently as they disappeared into the sky. My mother’s face, once radiant, was now streaked with tears.

Her [Eye Color] eyes, once so warm and comforting, were now swollen and red, her tears traced their path down her warm, reddened cheeks. She held me tightly, her arms a trembling shield against the cold weight of her grief. She struggled to speak through choked sobs, her voice quivering with each uttered word.

“I’m sorry, darling. I don’t want to cry in front of you,” she whispered. “But I have you…” Her words trailed off, swallowed by her sobs, as her embrace tightened.

I didn’t understand why she was crying, though I wanted to help. My small hands reached for hers, and for a moment, something flickered in her eyes—hope, maybe. Her trembling fingers wrapped around mine, rough and warm, as she gently caressed my hand. 

“I still have you… [First Name],” she murmured, her voice barely audible through hiccups and sobs. Her gaze, full of sadness and something else I couldn’t name, locked onto mine.

“Don’t be like your father. Don’t be like me,” she pleaded softly. “Be strong, but kind. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. Be clever, but compassionate.”

Her touch moved to my hair, her fingers tenderly stroking my locks as her voice softened into a fragile murmur. “I wish your father could see you now… I wish fate hadn’t taken him away.” 

I frowned, confused and I stumbled on my words.

“Fa-th-er?”

“Yes, your father,” she confirmed, her voice softening as she looked at me with watery eyes. Her hand lingered on my hair as if holding on to something she couldn’t bear to lose.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t understand. I was just a child. So, I stayed in her arms, letting her hold me as she cried.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

7 YEARS LATER | AGE: 11

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

"For this is how you hunt," my mother's firm voice guided me as I stood by her side, eyes fixed on the fallen animal at our feet. The deer lay still, my mother's makeshift spear protruding from its side, blood seeping slowly from the deep wound. Her hands carefully gripped the spear, extracting it from the deer's body, crimson blood seeping from the deep wound.

"Use everything, down to its bones and skin. A hunter uses everything; this is how we respect the dead."

Her touch upon the deer's neck spoke volumes, a quiet acknowledgment of its life slipping away.

"We share goals, the animals and us. Survival is our common thread. As much as I cherish them, we must feed ourselves. We respect their sacrifice by ensuring it's swift and painless."

With a swift motion, she ended the deer's suffering, a snap that echoed through the woods, the fading light in its eyes; its once rhythmic breaths gave way to silence as death claimed it. "Come, help me carry this," she beckoned, and my heart surged with eagerness and hunger.

We had secured food for the day, and my eyes flickered with a mix of joy and anticipation, hungry not only for the meal but for the warmth of my mother's cooking. Together, we dragged the deer, its blood painting a trail on the grass, marking our path back to our den.

Our steps echoed as we made our way to our den, the cave's cool embrace enveloping us. The trickling sound of water inside greeted us as the sunlight, filtered through the cave's mouth, illuminated our path. The scent of damp earth mingled with the tang of blood, an earthy yet strong aroma that lingered in the air.

The weight of the dead animal strained against my grasp, letting out grunts that echoed within the cavern. Without my mother's help, carrying this load would have been difficult. We ventured deeper into the cave, finally setting our prized bounty upon the cold, stony ground.

"[First Name], could you gather fish from the lake? I'll prepare the food," my mother spoke, her words a gentle directive. She handed me her makeshift spear, a tool crafted for the hunt. As our eyes met, a sense of pride sparked within her gaze, her lips curving into a soft smile. With a nod, I accepted the spear, returning her smile with one of my own.

Snatching up the makeshift basket woven from leaves and twigs, I dashed out of our den, my bare feet navigating the terrain with ease. As my bare feet pounded against the ground, the crunch of leaves and the sensation of soft grass, soil, and scattered pebbles underfoot greeted my senses. 

I felt the softness of the grass and soil between my toes, punctuated by the occasional touch of the gravel. Though accustomed to walking barefoot, I had grown numb to the pain. The melody of the flowing river and the rush of the nearby waterfall reached my ears, their soothing sounds interweaving with the rustling of leaves overhead.

Venturing deeper into the woods, the sounds intensified, guiding my journey toward the river. With each step, my pace slowed, my breaths steadying. I approached the bright, glistening river, sunlight dancing upon its surface. With a tightening grip on my mother's spear, I maneuvered onto the scattered boulders, inching closer to the deeper section of the river.

Carefully, I positioned myself, scanning the crystal-clear water for signs of movement. A flicker of movement caught my eye, and in a swift motion, I plunged the spear into the water. The sound of splashing and flopping resonated, signaling I had caught it. As I withdrew the spear, a cacophony of splashes and thrashes echoed as the fish wriggled at the end of my spear. 

With nimble fingers, I plucked the catch from the spear, adding it to the woven basket beside me. Again and again, I pierced the water, each successful strike the basket steadily filling with the day's sustenance; I couldn't resist the temptation for one more catch.

My senses attuned to the river's rhythm, searching for more prey amidst the gentle currents. Then, a stroke of luck—or fate. My gaze locked onto a salmon, which they were infrequent in this river. However, it was just out of reach of my spear.

Pulsating with excitement and determination, I took a risk, inching closer to the edge of the boulder that provided me safety from the deeper currents below.

So close, but just out of reach.

With a hopeful breath, I extended the spear, but in my eagerness, my fingers lost their grip, and a gasp escaped my lips. Swiftly followed by a resounding splash as I descended into the river's icy embrace. The chill water hit me like a slap, stealing the air from my lungs. The current dragged me under, spinning me in its relentless grasp. My lungs screamed for air, my limbs thrashing in the abyss of the river.

I failed to swim for the surface as my limbs felt sluggish and my strength slipped away with each frantic motion. Each moment intensified the burning sensation in my chest and despite my efforts, I sank deeper into the dark abyss.

It hurts! It hurts so much! Mom! Mama! Please!

Water filled my lungs, and darkness crept at the edges of my vision, a numbing sensation spreading through my weakening body. I felt myself slipping away, renouncing the icy embrace of death. Then, an inexplicable light pierced the darkness, and with a sudden surge of awareness, my eyes shot open, startled by the sudden influx of air into my lungs.

Before I could comprehend the situation, water was flooding back into my lungs after my gasp as the burning sensation returned. Frantic, I thrashed and struggled against the relentless tide, but it was futile.

My lungs screamed for air, my vision faded, and my body weakened as the cycle repeated mercilessly, trapping me in a loop of drowning and reviving. Every time, the agony intensified, and despair took root. I lost count of the times I woke up, only to be pulled back into the watery abyss.

My body, weakened by the relentless assaults of the sea, had succumbed to darkness countless times, but as light pierced the veil of my consciousness once more, I awoke on solid ground with a desperate gasp, taking in a precious lungful of air. The burning sunlight assaulted my vision, accompanied by the symphony of splashes, the rushing river, and the distant roar of a nearby waterfall.

"Wake up! [First Name]! Please!"

The desperate plea reverberated in my ears as my chest heaved, wracked by a fit of coughs, each one a reminder of the recent ordeal. The memory of the ordeal left me trembling, a knot of anguish tightening in my throat, raw with the acrid taste of seawater.

Was that real?

I couldn't bring myself to believe it. The mere thought left my hands quivering uncontrollably, as I grappled with the terrifying uncertainty of what I had experienced. Tears began to prickle my eyes and warm hands cupped my face, drawing my attention amidst the chaos of my thoughts. Those familiar [Eye Color] eyes met mine—my mother's gaze—a mixture of dread and hope swirling within their depths.

"You're alive!"

Her voice, tinged with relief and disbelief, seeped into my consciousness, stirring emotions I struggled to comprehend; my body trembled, still shaken by the ordeal. Drenched and disoriented, I found solace in my mother's warm embrace, her attempt to soothe and comfort me amidst the storm raging within.

My heart raced against my ribcage, each breath felt heavier, a desperate attempt to grasp onto existence. The fear lingered as the tears streamed down my cheeks and the rest of the day I pondered. I couldn't comprehend it then, couldn't fathom if what I experienced was normal or a haunting aberration until I would figure it out.

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When my mother passed peacefully in her sleep, I laid her to rest beneath the same tree where my father found his final slumber. Wildflowers were left at their graves, a silent tribute to lives well-lived, marking their passage into the afterlife. Grief settled on my heart like an unyielding weight.

At eighty, I stood by their burial, grappling with the feeling of their absence and the questions of my own existence pressing harder than ever. Witnessing my mother's gradual decline had been hurtful. Her once-strong frame grew frail, her sight fading, and her strength waning until she could no longer join me in the hunt or walk beside me. With each passing day, I prepared myself for the inevitable; however, nothing could soften the blow of her final breath.

Why hadn't I aged as she had? Why hadn't I suffered the same fate?

Was it even normal?

These questions circled endlessly in my thoughts and a pang of heartache pierced me. My mother never questioned my perpetual youthfulness nor did she offer any explanation. It left me to grapple with the uncertainty of my existence.

In the weeks after her passing, the tasks she had taught me became a lifeline—gathering food, sharpening tools, preparing for winter. But as the seasons shifted, so did the ache of loneliness. The den we had shared felt hollow, its walls echoing with memories that now brought more pain than comfort.

The urge to explore beyond the boundaries gnawed at me, a longing to find others like me. The boundaries of our territory became suffocating, and the familiar landscapes were oppressive. Yet the uncertainty of what lay beyond the horizon held me captive.

Would I ever return if I go? Would I get killed out there? What if I’m the only one here?

When my feet met the soft, damp grass on the far bank, a strange mix of emotions coursed through me. The thrill of stepping into the unknown was tempered by uncertainty. I paused, turning back for a glance at the familiar lands behind me: the den and the trees that had shaped my existence.

It was a world I had known all my life, but it felt smaller now. My eyes shifted to the riverbank where I stood; ahead of me lay a vast, untamed expanse. Fresh air filled my lungs as I took a deep breath, my gaze tracing the currents and the uncharted land on the opposite bank.

Don’t fall.

I told myself. Adjusting the strap on my shoulder, with my provisions secure, I took a step onto scattered boulders. Then another. My heart raced with each careful stride, cautious not to lose my footing. Finally, my bare feet touched the soft, damp grass on the other side.

I didn’t know what awaited me in the lands ahead, maybe more company, answers, or even more questions. But for the first time, I allowed myself to hope that perhaps something was out there worth finding.

The path stretched endlessly before me, and though my heart trembled with excitement and fear, I stepped forward as the wilderness swallowed me whole.

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Finished: December 28, 2023 Edited: January 18, 2025 Published: December 31, 2023

NEXT CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑽𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 | 2

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓