Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH63

[Escarot POV]

Cooler was far more dangerous than I ever anticipated.

Frieza and King Cold? Sure—monsters, tyrants, arrogant freaks with no moral compass. But their overall character made sense. Their patterns were predictable. You knew how to avoid provoking them, how to stay alive, how to play them.

Cooler?

He figured me out in seconds. He saw through my charade, and called me out.

Not only that.

He looked at me the way a scientist looks at a specimen he plans to dissect later—but only after it finishes doing whatever interesting trick it was born to perform.

Cooler wanted to use me. That much was clear, and that alone was far more terrifying than the threat Frieza posed.

“So,” he said, folding his hands behind his back, “shall we talk?”

I forced my shoulders to relax. “Yes.”

His smile broadened. Pleased. Interested.

“As you have probably guessed, I hold no love for my brother or father,” Cooler began, his tone sharp. “Frieza was born with immense power. And so, he was given everything he ever desired. Spoiled. Indulged. Coddled.”

He spoke like he was reciting a biography he hated.

“I, on the other hand,” he continued, “was cast aside. Left to carve my own path. To earn what he was simply handed.”

That matched what little I knew. Canon didn’t give Cooler much history, but the fandom had always theorized this dynamic—Cooler as the self-made warrior overshadowed by a naturally gifted, pampered younger brother.

Smart. Tactical. Driven.

Dangerous.

Cooler paced a slow, deliberate circle, glass of wine in hand. “I have surpassed my little brother many times over,” he said. “In skill. In power. In discipline. In everything that matters. Yet my father…” He tapped the rim of his glass. “He has never revealed his true power. He hides behind his second bio-constrainted, concealing his actual power.”

Yeah. That part was concerning. King Cold was old-school Cold Clan—he didn’t show anything. Ever. Meaning his power could be two times Frieza’s… or ten.

Cooler paused.

“You want my help to kill them,” I said flatly.

His smile sharpened. “Astute.”

“That was my plan regardless,” I admitted. “But I’m still far from strong enough to fight your family.”

“That,” Cooler said, swirling his wine lazily, “goes without saying.”

I felt my eye twitch.

“But what intrigues me,” he continued smoothly, “is that you don’t view that gap as insurmountable. You genuinely believe you can reach such heights.”

I didn’t respond.

“Which makes me wonder…” Cooler leaned slightly closer. “Do your legends hold any merit?”

I froze.

Not visibly, I hoped—but the microsecond hesitation was enough for someone like him.

Cooler’s eyes brightened in satisfaction. “Ah. So they do.” He clapped once, delighted. “Wonderful.”

Shit.

“So,” he went on, taking another sip, “what do you need to achieve this… power?”

Wait… what?

This was insane.

He believed in the Super Saiyan legend. Most of the universe dismissed it as barbarian mythology. The Cold Clan certainly did—or at least pretended to.

And yet, he was still interested in an alliance.

By all logic, he should’ve killed me now. If he believed a Super Saiyan was real, eliminating me early would prevent future complications.

Instead he wanted to partner with me?

Why?

What was his angle?

“I don’t see why you’re entertaining this,” I said slowly. “If you think I’m capable of becoming something dangerous, wouldn’t it be easier to eliminate me now?”

Cooler tilted his head, mildly amused. “That would be the convenient choice. Yes.”

“And yet you’re not.”

“Indeed.”

He set the wine glass down on the arm of his chair.

“I have little interest in convenience, Escarot. I am interested in results.” His voice lowered. “And with you, your potential, your strange discipline, your… unique associations—”

He didn’t say Beerus.

But he didn’t need to.

“—we might stand a chance.”

And after that, he’d kill me the moment the dust settled.

But if I said no…?

He’d kill me now.

I stayed silent.

Cooler’s tail flicked subtly behind him.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That hesitation. The awareness of risk. Saiyans are impulsive brutes, yet you… you weigh outcomes. You hesitate. You strategize. So what will it be, little King?”

“I accept your offer, Cooler,” I replied.

If I refused, he’d kill me. If I accepted, he might kill me later. Later was preferable.

—---------------------------------------------------------

[Cooler POV]

Escarot took a moment before speaking.

He was measuring me.

Calculating what to reveal, what to hide, and what would get him killed.

Good.

Caution in a Saiyan was refreshing.

When he finally answered, he did not bluster or posture the way his kind usually did.

“I need training,” he said. “Real training. And… a trigger.”

Ah.

Emotion-based transformation. Primitive, but not unheard of. Species with unstable biology often relied on emotional catalysts—fear, rage, grief—to break through their natural limits.

“Interesting,” I murmured, gesturing for him to continue.

He did.

“There’s a certain threshold of power required,” he said. “A minimum strength needed before the legend can even be attempted. I’m not there yet.”

He wasn’t delusional about his current limitations, nor self-deceptive. A rarity among mortals—and nearly nonexistent in Saiyans.

“And,” he added, raising his chin slightly, “I need privacy. From your father. From your brother. If they learn what I am trying to achieve… or how strong I truly am… they won’t wait. They’ll destroy this planet immediately.”

I allowed myself a thin smile.

A correct assessment.

Father and Frieza preferred theatrical cruelty, but they were not fools, not entirely at least. The moment they sensed a direct threat, no matter how distant, they would raze the entire world and sift through the ashes later.

“You’re asking,” I clarified, “for breathing room. A buffer. Enough distance that they cannot watch you closely.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

I folded my arms behind my back, considering everything he’d said so far.

The current obstacles were clear:

His strength was insufficient.

Even with the strange potential he possessed, he was nowhere near the level needed to challenge Frieza, let alone my father.

Naturally. Ascending under surveillance was impossible.

This was an easily enough dilemma.

Escarot continued, unaware of the extent to which he was revealing himself.

“I don’t know if the legend truly works the way Saiyans think,” he said. “But if it does… if I can reach that level… I can kill Frieza.”

And me, that went without saying.

No hesitation.

My brother would not appreciate that level of confidence.

Which made it all the more amusing.

“Your issue, then,” I summarized, “is power, time and privacy.”

“Yes.”

“A certain… minimum threshold.”

“For the transformation, yes.”

“Very well.”

I tapped a claw idly against my arm.

If power was the issue, there were ways to address it. Ways Frieza and Father had never bothered exploring, ways I had explored. They relied too heavily on brute force and their natural talents they never nurtured.

But I…

I built my power the hard way.

Through refinement.

Through discipline.

Through technique.

Hard work.

“There are two potential solutions,” I said.

Escarot looked up immediately.

“The Metamorans,” I began, “are masters of spiritual balance and internal focus. Their techniques specialize in energy control, stabilization, and maximizing latent potential.”

His brows lifted slightly. He’d heard the name, at least.

“And the Yadrats,” I continued, “excel in advanced spiritual manipulation. Instantaneous movement. Duplication. And energy control. Their methods are… unconventional, but remarkably effective at expanding one’s capacity.”

His eyes widened a fraction.

“Both planets fall under my jurisdiction,” I said. “Both now are available to you.”

—-------------------------------------------------------

[Escarot POV]

Cooler left the palace as casually as if he’d just finished afternoon tea. And as his ship vanished into the clouds, I felt the tension draining from the air as if someone finally took their boot off my chest.

I stood alone in the throne room, staring at the spot where he’d been.

Things had gotten a whole lot more complicated. But also, better.

He gave me coordinates for Yadrat.

Just like that.

“...Shit,” I muttered to myself.

I sat down slowly on the edge of the throne, elbows resting on my knees.

If Cooler was being truthful—which I was inclined to believe he had been, then he had surpassed Frieza in power by a decent margin. Which meant that even if I somehow managed to pull off the transformation…

Super Saiyan wouldn’t be enough to deal with him.

Though… in the movie, Goku had killed him with Super Saiyan… but the movies didn’t follow power structures very well, so this was all very confusing.

Either way, one thing was clear.

He needed me not because I was strong, but because even if he could kill Frieza easily enough, he didn’t want to face both Frieza and King Cold at the same time. As they could overwhelm him together.

Meaning the moment one of them fell, the alliance ended. And I would be next.

“Great,” I muttered, rubbing my temples.

And yet… this was still the best chance I had.

Even if all Cooler wanted was a temporary tool, he was still willing to help.

—--------------------------------------------------------

[Bardock POV]

By the time the guards escorted us through the palace corridors, I already knew something was different.

The air felt heavier than before—not in a bad way, just… different. Saiyan instinct was remarkably good at picking up danger, hierarchy, dominance. It was practically built into our blood.

We followed the strongest, it was built into our DNA.

And right now, my instincts were telling me one thing loud and clear:

Whoever replaced King Vegeta was strong.

Stronger than the old king by a margin that made my skin tighten.

As the throne room doors opened, I understood why.

A kid.

A literal cub, fresh out of his incubator, sitting on the throne like he had every right to be there.

But the strangest part?

He didn’t look out of place.

His posture, his expression, the lack of hesitation when he looked down at the room—he held himself like someone who had already survived things most warriors never would.

Even without a scouter, I could feel his power. He was strong.

It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It made me want to fight him.

I had never felt that from King Vegeta. Not once. The old king was strong, sure, but he didn’t make seasoned elites like me feel like prey, nor this excited.

This kid did.

I stepped forward, my team falling in behind me.

“King Escarot,” I announced, forcing my voice steady, “Team Bardock reporting.”

He looked at me. Really looked. His eyes sharpened, surprised for a moment, then confused, then something else—like recognition.

Which made no sense. We had never met.

Why did he look at me like he’d seen a ghost?

He blinked once, then his expression reset back to something neutral.

“There’s no need to drop your reports with me,” he said. His voice was young, but direct. Not a hint of hesitation. “Leave them with the dispatcher.”

I nodded. “I still wanted to see who the new King was.”

He tilted his head, leaning slightly forward. “And?”

It wasn’t a challenge. Just a genuine question.

I couldn’t help the small grin that crept onto my face.

“You can’t do worse than Vegeta, that’s for sure.”

A risky thing to say. The kind of thing that could get a Saiyan vaporized depending on the king’s mood.

But instead of getting angry, Escarot just blinked at me again. Then he smiled—barely. A faint, almost tired little curl of the mouth.

It didn’t look like a child’s smile.

It looked like something older. Something burdened.

Strange brat.

I turned and signaled my squad, and we walked out of the throne room.

As soon as the doors shut behind us, Tora muttered. “He didn’t look that strong.”

Fasha folded her arms. “Well, he killed Mr Forehead, so he has to be.”

“He seems more tolerable than the old king,” Borgos muttered. “Which I consider a win.”

Shugesh whistled. “I still can’t believe that King Vegeta really got washed by a brat, it's hilarious, haha.”

Maybe this really was the change Saiyans needed.

For years, we’d stagnated under Vegeta’s rule. Stagnated under the Cold Clan’s leash, too. Nothing ever changed. Nothing ever improved. A few of us got stronger, but as a species…? We were sinking slowly into complacency.

Maybe he would bring about some change.

I kept walking, leading my squad back toward the dispatch office.

The visions still gnawed at the back of my mind—the planet on fire, Frieza laughing, the warrior who rose from the ashes in glowing gold.

“Come on,” I said to my team, straightening. “We have reports to file.”

—------------------------------------------------------

[Kayle POV]

The first sensation I became aware of was pain—dull, distant, but unmistakably present. A reminder. A humiliation.

I floated in the healing chamber like a corpse suspended in glass. The liquid hummed softly around me, keeping me alive, knitting together what that little monster had nearly torn apart.

Escarot.

My fingers twitched, movement finally returning to them after… weeks, maybe months… I wasn’t sure. Time blurred inside these tanks.

The important thing was, I had survived.

Of course I had.

I am Kayle—the rightful Queen of the Saiyans. I do not die so easily.

My vision sharpened as the machine increased its restoration cycle. Muscle tissue re-formed. Bone realigned. The violent damage that little beast inflicted slowly reversed.

I remembered every moment of it.

His tail grabbing my leg.

The world flipping sideways.

My body smashing into the ground again and again until I couldn’t tell up from down.

Me.

A Queen.

Reduced to a mangled heap of flesh before my own people.

My blood boiled at the thought.

That… creature humiliated the royal bloodline, my bloodline. The throne belonged to my son—Vegeta—by right, by destiny, by lineage.

And that beast took it with brute force and nothing else.

I curled my hand into a fist as the chamber hummed.

I will not forget this.

Once I fully recover, I will take Vegeta and leave this miserable planet behind. We will train. We will rise. And when the time is right, we will return.

This time, we will be the ones dragging Escarot’s corpse across the throne room.

He thinks he’s strong now.

He will regret being born!

My son… my brilliant, ruthless boy… Vegeta will surpass him. He will surpass all Saiyans, as he was always meant to. As he was born to.

The chamber beeped again, signaling another stage of recovery. My ribs no longer stabbed when I breathed. My left arm, once shredded down to bone, was nearly whole again.

Good.

The sooner I leave this pod, the sooner I reclaim what was stolen.

“Enjoy your throne while you can, little Escarot,” I murmured inside my mind. The fluid silenced the sound, but the promise echoed in my chest.

Once I walk out of this chamber, things will change.

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One thunder means, Surge.

Two means Great Ape.

Three means Great Ape + Surge.