Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH61

[Escarot POV]

When consciousness finally decided to crawl back into my battered skull, the first thing I noticed was pain.

Everywhere.

A deep, bone-deep ache, the kind that made me feel like someone had pulled me apart, slapped the pieces back together out of order, and called it “training.”

Which, to be fair, wasn’t far from what Beerus actually did.

I groaned, rolling onto my side. I expected to see Beerus looming over me, ready to punt me across the planet for round two.

But instead…

He was gone.

In his place, a small piece of parchment lay on the ground, held down by a pebble. I squinted at it.

Going to take a nap.

I will be back in a few months. To take you into another Planet.

~Beerus

A few. Months.

I let my head drop back to the dirt.

“Thank God,” I muttered.

I pushed myself up, wincing as my spine protested every centimeter, cracking with every inch of movement. My energy was almost nonexistent. If King Vegeta suddenly crawled out of a tomb for revenge, he’d actually have a chance now.

“Okay… ow,” I groaned, grabbing my ribs. “This is stupid. Whis absolutely could’ve healed me fully. He just didn’t.”

Probably “part of the training.”

Or he just enjoyed watching me suffer.

Hard to know with him.

Before I could stand fully, a voice yelled behind me:

“No fair, why was Lord Beerus training you!?”

I jolted so hard my ribs screamed, spinning around.

Okara stood there, arms crossed, tail twitching with irritation.

I blinked. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see you lying facedown like a broken battle dummy,” she said. “And long enough to hear you complaining to yourself, by the way.”

Great. Exactly what I needed.

I exhaled and gave her a small, pained laugh. “Well… I did ask.”

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she got a better look at me.

“Damn,” she muttered. “He really messed you up, didn’t he?”

“‘Messed me up’ is a generous description of what he did,” I said. “Right now, if you pushed me with one finger, I’d fall apart like wet bread.”

She snorted. “Sounds about right.”

“Yep, next time someone sneezes in my general direction, I’ll die.”

She grinned at that—too cheerfully, honestly.

Then, with zero warning, she pointed at me dramatically.

“I made a new technique.”

I blinked. “You did?”

“Hell yeah!” she repeated, puffing her chest out. “Inspired by your worryingly strong little brother.”

I frowned. “Broly inspired a technique? How?”

She grinned wider—a dangerous sign.

“I call it… Murderous Rampage.”

I stared at her.

She stared back proudly.

“…So, what, you watched a baby cry and decided to create a murder technique?”

“He punched me, and I took inspiration from that,” she replied.

He did… I wonder if I should be concerned about that.

“Well, uh… congrats,” I said, cracking my neck—and immediately regretting it when something inside popped in a way it definitely shouldn’t. “Fuck me, that hurt.”

Okara tilted her head. “I wanna try it against you.”

I held up a hand immediately.

“No. Absolutely not. If we fought right now, you’d kill me by accident.”

She squinted at me skeptically. “Is it really that bad?”

I gestured to myself. “Does this look like I’m battle-ready? Beerus turned my skeleton into modern art.”

“That’s what you get for trying to fight a god,” she snickered.

“I’d like to see you fare any better.”

Her laughter died instantly. “…Fair enough.”

For a moment, we just stood there—me barely standing upright, her analyzing me like she was debating whether she could still punch me a little bit without killing me.

I broke the silence first.

“Hey… have you seen Garlik recently?”

Okara crossed her arms again. “Not in a while. He's probably off reading or something. I wonder what he thinks of you becoming King.”

He probably had feelings about that.

“Yeah,” I muttered, rubbing the side of my face. “He’s either impressed or stressed.”

“Or both,” Okara added helpfully.

“Both is very possible.”

I tried to take a step and nearly fell, catching myself on a boulder. My whole body protested, my muscles wobbling like they were made of pudding.

Okara raised an eyebrow. “You need help walking?”

“No,” I said immediately.

Then my knee buckled.

Okara caught me by the arm with a sigh. “You really are pathetic right now.”

“I’ll have you know this is advanced training fatigue.”

“Uh-huh.”

I let out a tired breath. 

I couldn’t really walk as I was right now, and laying on the ground wasn’t an option… it seems I would have to swallow my pride.

“Okara?” I asked weakly.

“Yeah?”

“Can you carry me?”

“I can, and I will record it.”

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

[Paragus POV]

I stood at the foot of the palace steps for a full minute before taking the first step.

Ridiculous.

I’d stared down meteor storms, hostile worlds, elite squads, and worse… yet somehow this was the thing that had me hesitating like a coward on his first mission.

My son was King.

King.

And I had absolutely no idea what the hell to do with that information.

One part of me—an embarrassingly large part—felt proud. Proud enough that my chest had been tight for days. My boy, the strongest Saiyan on the planet. Stronger than the former King. Stronger than the royal line. Strong enough to take the throne by combat!

That was the stuff of legends. Things Saiyan fathers bragged about for generations.

But the other part of me…

Was concerned…

Had he killed King Vegeta because the fool insulted Beerus, like the rumors claimed?

Or had he killed King Vegeta because he wanted the throne?

Was Escarot… ambitious?

Ambition wasn’t a sin among our people. But reckless ambition? That was suicide. For him. For all of us.

I gritted my teeth and walked through the palace doors.

The guards bowed as I passed. Bowed. To me. Because I was the King’s father. The idea made my skin crawl.

I’d been avoiding this meeting. Telling myself there were logistical matters to handle at home. Anything to justify delaying the moment I had to look Escarot in the eye and figure out what he’d become.

But enough was enough.

I needed to see my cub.

I needed to know.

The halls were… different. Not in structure—Escarot hadn’t been King long enough to redecorate—but in atmosphere. The tension was gone. The sneers the elites used to wear were gone. Most of them looked nervous, cautious, and respectful.

It was unsettling.

I passed several advisors carrying crates—new scouters, by the look of them—and they hurried to get out of my way.

Good grief.

King Escarot.

My son.

I reached the throne room doors and exhaled slowly before pushing them open.

Inside, the throne was empty.

But Escarot wasn’t hard to find.

He was lying on the ground near a pillar.

Completely broken.

Bones misaligned, bruises covering half his body, ki so low it barely flickered. I froze for a moment, every instinct in my body screaming my cub as I rushed forward—

Only for Escarot to lift a hand weakly.

“Don’t—ugh—step on my spine… pretty sure it’s already loose.”

I stared.

“Escarot,” I said slowly, “what happened to you?”

He groaned and tried to push himself up, failed, and flopped back down like a sack of meat.

“Training,” he muttered.

I blinked again.

“Training did this?”

“…Beerus training,” Okara snickered, and my son glared at her.

I nearly passed out myself.

“Lord Beerus trained you!?” I hissed in a whisper-shout, looking around like the god might appear out of thin air at the mention of his name.

“He did more than train him,” Okara called from the side, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed. “He pulverized him. I watched the last ten minutes. It was… educational.”

I ignored her and knelt beside my son.

“You should be in a regeneration tank.”

“Healing’s overrated,” Escarot grumbled. “Jokes aside, please throw me into one of those, immediately.”

This was insanity.

My son was getting beaten to death by the God of Destruction on a weekly basis and apparently this was considered normal by him.

I lifted him gently—I could feel the way his ribs shifted wrong, how carefully I had to hold him—and he didn’t complain. Not even once. That alone told me how bad it was.

Okara whistled. “Cute. The King is being carried by his dad.”

I shot her a look sharp enough to cut steel. She shrugged.

Escarot, meanwhile, groaned. “Don’t… drop me.”

I adjusted my grip and started toward the healing chambers.

As I walked, the pride and worry fought inside me again.

This boy—my boy—had surpassed every expectation. He was strong enough to dethrone the King. Strong enough to get the attention of gods. Strong enough to be trained personally by Beerus.

But that strength painted a target on him.

On us.

On Broly.

On the entire planet.

“Escarot,” I said quietly, “tell me something.”

He grunted. “If it involves walking, the answer is no.”

“I’m serious.”

His tail twitched, but he didn’t speak, so I continued.

“You didn’t kill King Vegeta for insulting Lord Beerus… did you?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He looked at me as my scouter beeped.

That scared me more than anything.

Finally, he exhaled. “I killed him for disrespecting Lord Beerus, and Lord Beerus was so grateful, he decided to train me a little bit as a reward.”

That… felt like a lie.

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

[Escarot POV]

Floating in the healing tank felt like sinking into warm glue while my bones argued over which direction they should reattach themselves. The regeneration fluid tingled across every exposed inch of skin, seeping into bruises, sealing fractures, knitting torn muscle. The mask feeding me oxygen hissed softly—a calm sound that didn’t match the irritated storm in my head.

I should have been relaxing. Healing. Letting my body recover from the latest episode of Beerus Beats a Child for Fun.

But no.

I had something else to stew over.

Okara.

Running her damn mouth.

Of course she ran her mouth. She saw Paragus, saw me half-dead, and decided that moment was the perfect opportunity to brag about watching my spine fold like paper. And Paragus, being Paragus, had his scouter on. Which meant the scouter recorded the conversation. And the scouter transmitted to wherever the Cold Clan wanted it to transmit.

Which meant…

There was now a non-zero chance the Cold Clan had a little log sitting in their system titled:

“Saiyan King Training With Beerus: Audio Attached :)”

Wonderful.

Perfect.

Exactly what I needed.

Bubbles escaped my mask as I groaned into the fluid.

“Stupid… stupid… stupid…”

I didn’t know if I meant Okara.

Or myself for not ripping every scouter off this planet and stomping them into dust the moment Frieza handed them over.

Beerus training a Saiyan wasn’t something the Cold Clan would just shrug off. Beerus didn’t get involved with mortals. Beerus barely got involved with himself unless someone bribed him with food or annoyed him into lifting a finger.

And me?

I was a brand-new King with suspicious power levels, a public execution under my belt, and now—apparently—direct divine mentorship.

From Frieza’s point of view, that was a checklist titled “Reasons to Blow Up Planet Vegeta Tomorrow.”

I let my head fall back against the tank’s inner padding.

This was bad.

Really bad.

No—terrible.

I needed a plan. Fast.

Unfortunately, the tank fluid was warm and relaxing and the more it healed me, the more tired I felt. My brain was starting to drift, thoughts blurring at the edges. Every instinct told me to sleep. That was probably normal. Whis had only healed me partially earlier—probably some cryptic training bullshit—and Beerus had made sure the rest of me resembled overcooked meat.

I forced myself to stay awake a little longer.

Think.

Damage control later. Right now, recovery.

I couldn’t change what had already happened…

Besides, even if the scouter caught something, it didn’t necessarily mean the Cold Clan was paying attention. They had entire empires to run, systems far larger than Planet Vegeta.

…Hopefully.

But if they did hear it?

I needed a story prepared. Something vague. Something harmless.

“Beerus was testing my loyalty,” I muttered through the mask. “Yeah… that could work.”

Kind of.

Maybe.

Or I could pretend Beerus visited to complain about my cooking. That sounded like something Beerus would do. No one would question it. They’d probably believe it faster than the truth.

The liquid hummed around me as my ribs reattached with a dull pressure. My fingers twitched involuntarily when nerves reconnected. I hated the feeling—it was like being tugged from the inside out.

Another slow breath.

A big problem for later: if Frieza learned Beerus was training me, he’d either panic or plot harder.

Neither outcome was good.

But that was an issue for the near future.

In the immediate present, my body still felt like it had been used to wipe Beerus’ sandals.

I let my eyes drift shut for a moment. The world muffled—just the fluid, the steady beeping, the faint thrum of my ki returning.

I let out another breath and finally stopped resisting the exhaustion dragging me downward. And slowly, I let myself drift under.

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

[Cooler POV]

I replayed the video again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, the same pieces repeated themselves with perfect clarity—Okara’s bragging, the rustling of movement, and that single, damning line:

“Lord Beerus is training the King.”

It shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did… and yet it did.

Escarot was already an unusual Saiyan. Strong, uncommonly composed, and—if my earlier estimations were correct—an anomaly in potential. But this?

This was far beyond what even I expected.

Beerus did not train mortals.

Beerus barely tolerated them.

For him to take interest meant one of two things:

Either Escarot had a potential far above what the universe typically produced—

—or Beerus was preparing a weapon.

Both possibilities were fascinating.

And dangerous.

I folded my arms behind my back as I listened to the last seconds of the recording fade out. The dim blue lights of my private control chamber reflected against the metal walls, humming softly with the ship’s systems. 

Salza stood at my side, stiff and alert, waiting for my command like a well-trained hound.

The implications spun through my mind.

If Escarot continued to grow under Beerus’ tutelage—assuming the God didn’t accidentally annihilate him in the process—then this Saiyan would one day surpass the natural limits of his kind.

He could become a threat.

To my brother.

To my father.

To me.

I did not like threats.

But I did like opportunities.

An amused breath slipped from me—something between a chuckle and a thoughtful hum.

“Lord Cooler?” Salza asked cautiously.

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I tapped my claw lightly against the console—thinking.

If I killed Escarot now, it would eliminate a problem before it began. A surgical removal of a future obstacle. Efficient. Logical. Clean.

But…

My father was still alive.

And Frieza was still… Frieza.

Taking the throne of the Cold Dynasty required more than strength. It required leverage. Strategy. The right alliances—even temporary ones.

Beerus’ involvement alone made Escarot untouchable for the moment. Killing him now would be poking a sleeping dragon while setting myself on fire.

However…

Using him?

Using him could be useful.

With proper manipulation, Escarot could become a blade pointed directly at my father and brother. A living weapon sharp enough to open the way for me.

“Lord Cooler?” Salza asked again, more tense this time. “Do I allow this recording to reach the main database?”

Ah yes. The dilemma of the moment.

This recording could shake the entire Cold empire. If my father or Frieza heard even a whisper that Beerus was involved with the Saiyans, they would escalate matters immediately. Destroy the planet. 

Kill every witness. Panic.

Fear was the one thing they both excelled at.

But panic would also ruin my plans.

Frieza destroying the Saiyans too soon would rob me of Escarot before I had the chance to shape our relationship into something useful.

No, this information needed to stay with me and me alone.

I turned toward Salza, my expression calm, controlled, certain.

“No,” I said. “Delete all data including references to Lord Beerus and Escarot.”

Salza blinked. “All of it, my Lord?”

“Yes. Relay the rest of the recording as standard intelligence.” I allowed myself a small smile. “But the part involving Beerus belongs only to us.”

Salza bowed instantly. “As you command.”

He moved to carry out the order.

I stood still, letting the silence settle around me.

Beerus training a Saiyan…

Such an amusing twist of fate.

And a potential weapon with divine backing? Even better.

I turned, clasping my hands behind my back as I walked toward the panoramic window of my vessel. Stars gleamed outside in a quiet tapestry of black and blue. Planet Vegeta was somewhere ahead—

And on it: a young king brimming with untapped power.

A king who did not yet understand the stage he’d stepped onto.

“This will be interesting,” I murmured to myself.

Very interesting indeed.

I tapped the console beside me.

“Prepare my personal pod,” I instructed. “I will be visiting Planet Vegeta.”

Salza straightened, surprise flickering across his face before he masked it. “At once, Lord Cooler.”

As he hurried off, I allowed myself a genuine smile.

It was time to meet this anomaly properly.

Escarot and I had much to discuss.

And even more to plan.

After all… every great empire begins with the removal of obstacles.

And the forging of temporary allies.

I stepped into the hallway, tail flicking once behind me.

“Oh, Escarot…” I whispered with amusement. “I look forward to seeing how far you can climb—before I tear the ladder out from under you.”