Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH53

[Escarot POV]

Broly finally fell asleep in my arms.

Not suddenly. Not peacefully either. His breathing slowed in increments, his grip loosening one finger at a time like he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go. Part of me wanted him to hold tighter. Part of me needed to break free. His ki stopped lashing outward and curled inward instead, tight and dense, like a fist refusing to unclench—just as my heart refused to decide between vengeance and staying here, holding him until morning.

It took him a while. But it was quiet now.

I lowered him carefully into Okara’s arms. She took him without a word, cradling him far more gently than most people would ever expect from her. Her usual edge was gone. No jokes. No grin. Just understanding.

“Do not let him out of your sight,” I said.

She nodded once.

“I trust in you,” I added.

Her jaw tightened. “I know.”

" If anything happens to him," I continued, voice flat despite the war raging inside me, " if anyone comes for him—"

“They die,” she finished. “Slowly. Painfully. Okara-style.”

Good.

I stepped back and looked at Broly one last time.

Okara said. “You’re really doing it.”

“Yes.”

She studied my face for a moment. Whatever she saw there made her expression harden.

“…Well fuck, this ought to be fun.”

I turned away before she could say anything else.

The air tore around me as I took off.

When did I get attached to Broly?

I was okay with the King trying to exile him, that event I knew, but trying to kill him? Had he done that in the movies? Had I forgotten that?

Was this my fault?

I didn’t fly fast. I didn’t need to. The palace wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was the King.

Planet Vegeta stretched beneath me, a sprawl of metal, red stone, and smoke, and in the horizon, the castle rose ahead, a massive slab of arrogance carved into the skyline. Floodlights bathed it in gold, banners hanging from every tower bearing the royal insignia.

Celebration.

I felt nothing but rage.

I landed on the outer platform and dismissed my ki just enough to walk. 

Inside, the noise hit first. Music. Laughter. Plates clattering. The stink of roasted meat and spilled alcohol. Saiyans drinking like tomorrow didn’t exist.

Maybe it didn’t.

I walked forward, and people parted instinctively.

I stared straight ahead.

My teeth ground together. If I bit any harder I felt as if I would shatter my teeths.

Each step felt heavier than the last.  Scouters started exploiting like a kettle corn in the sun.

Not all at once. One here. Another there. Small explosions, sharp cracks of failing tech as readings spiked, overloaded, and died. Saiyans cursed, ripping them off their ears.

“What the hell—”

“Mine just—!”

“Is this some kind of joke?!”

The floor beneath my feet cracked.

Not a crater. Just a spiderweb fracture spreading outward in a tight circle, as the stone groaned under pressure with each step I took.

“There you are, coward,” I hissed.

King Vegeta sat there, raised above everyone else, laughing with a goblet in his hand. Advisors leaned close, whispering praise into his ears. He looked comfortable.

Safe.

My vision tunneled.

I remembered Broly’s blood in the dirt.

Someone stepped into my path. A high-ranking officer, drunk enough to be brave.

“Escarot, son of Paragus!” he slurred. “Enjoying the festivities?”

I didn’t stop.

I walked through him.

Not with a punch. Or a blast. Just my shoulder, carrying enough force to snap bone and send him skidding across the floor in a spray of blood and broken teeth.

The music stopped.

Silence rolled outward in waves.

Every eye turned toward me.

King Vegeta noticed.

Our eyes met across the hall.

His smile faltered.

Just a little.

Good.

I stopped ten meters from the throne.

Close enough.

“You,” he said, standing slowly, trying to recover his composure. “What is the meaning of this interruption?”

I didn’t answer.

I could hear my own heartbeat. Each thump felt like a countdown.

“This is a royal celebration,” he continued, voice rising. “You will show respect or—”

I took another step forward.

The floor cracked again.

More scouters exploded.

A few guards raised their weapons.

“You forget your place,” he snapped, but there was something brittle underneath the anger now. “You forget who stands above you.”

“No,” I said.

My voice carried through the hall without effort.

“I remember exactly who you are.”

The King sneered. “You dare—”

“I’m done waiting for the perfect time to do anything… there won’t be a perfect time,” I replied, glaring at him. “I will never be fully prepared for all the threats that come…”

King Vegeta’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “You think you can walk in here, bark orders, threaten the throne—”

“You’re not the throne.”

My voice was cold. Level. No yelling. No Saiyan theatrics.

“You’re just a rat who climbed into a bigger chair.”

He raised his hand — slow, dramatic, like it still meant something. A flick of his fingers, and half the guards in the room sprang forward, surrounding me. Circling. I didn’t recognize most of them. Probably pulled in from outer sectors for show.

Cannon fodder in gold trim.

“I could end you where you stand,” he spat.

“Go on,” I challenged, “End me…”

King Vegeta didn’t hesitate.

His hands snapped forward, both palms glowing white-hot, as he roared, and his ki surged into the air, wild and overcharged, crackling as it built into a sphere bigger than his own throne.

“DIE!” He fired.

The blast screamed across the hall, blinding and loud, turning everything white. It tore through the air like a cannon, vaporizing anything in its path.

I didn’t move.

The beam hit me dead center.

Behind me, I heard screams. Bodies thrown back. Some unlucky bastards caught in the radius weren’t so lucky — I felt their ki vanish as the blast erased them. Walls buckled. Tables disintegrated. One of the royal pillars cracked down the center and came crashing to the floor.

Smoke flooded the hall.

Dust rained from the ceiling.

Silence.

Then coughing. Shouts. Dazed groaning.

The King's blast had scorched a trench through half his own celebration. The food, the banners, the honor guards — gone.

He was panting now. Shoulders rising and falling. Sweat dripping down his forehead.

And then the smoke cleared.

I was still standing.

Same spot.

Unmoved.

Untouched.

Completely unharmed.

Not a mark on me.

Not even my cloak was singed.

I looked down at my chest, then back up at him.

“That was it?”

His eyes went wide.

Not fear, not yet — confusion. That kind of stunned, sick realization that your worst-case scenario isn’t just happening — it’s already over.

He stumbled back a step.

I stepped forward.

Just one.

He flinched.

Behind me, the silence stretched like wire about to snap. No one dared speak. No one moved.

“Let me make something clear,” I said.

Each word landed like a weight dropped from a rooftop.

“You never stood above me. Not on your best day. Not when I was a child. I was more than content letting you die at the hands of others, but you had to go and fuck that up as well.”

“I—I’m the King!” he barked, voice cracking under the weight of it. “This is my rule!”

I moved, closing the distance between us slapping him with the back of my hand hard enough to dent bone. His crown spun off, knocking into the steps and rolling to a stop at some advisor’s feet.

He staggered sideways, clutching his jaw, eyes watering. For a heartbeat, no one processed it — then the whole room gasped as one organism. The King had never been struck. Not in living memory, not by subject nor traitor.

He clamped a trembling hand to his mouth. Blood dribbled between his fingers.

I pushed past his guards—didn’t even need to fight them. They parted, not from obedience, but because of fear.

My boot found the top of his head. Pressed down. Forcing The King of all Saiyans to his knees, until his forehead hit stone with a crack.

I leaned in. “You want to die on your knees? Fine by me.”

He looked up, face twisted: hate, shame, horror, all mixing into one ugly snarl. “My son will—”

“Your son will inherit nothing but your failures.” I put more weight into my foot. The floor cracked again.

Someone screamed. Not a soldier. Not a man.

Queen Kayle jumped over the banister, landing with enough force to crater the marble. Gold armor flashed as she punched me in the face, doing nothing damage. 

She got maybe half a second of satisfaction before my tail lashed out, snapped around her ankle, and yanked. Her eyes flicked wide, then she was upside down, spun like a flail, slamming into the ground from side to side. Marble and bone shattered in equal measure as I swung her in a wide crescent, leaving cracks and blood with every impact.

She screamed—once, on the first hit. After that it was all gurgles.

I let go on the upswing, and she pinwheeled across the hall, skidding through a banquet table. Plates, food, and chairs went everywhere; she didn’t stop until she cratered into the far wall, where she lay twitching.

The room was deadly silent.

The King stared, wide-eyed, all pretense gone. He was shaking. I could see it in his hands, the way they gripped the floor to keep from collapsing altogether.

“You—” he managed. “You can’t—”

I grabbed his hair and yanked him up, so he was nose-to-nose with me. “I can. I will.”

A slow clap broke the silence.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

I froze, mid-motion, still holding the King down by the back of the head. My eyes narrowed.

Lord Beerus.

Sitting sideways on one of the upper banquet tables like it was a throne of his own, tail lazily twitching, legs crossed, fingers still coming together in the slow, deliberate rhythm of someone who had enjoyed every second of what he’d just watched.

“Bravo,” he said, smiling. “Never thought you had it in you, brat.”

“Lord Beerus, I didn’t know you were here…” I replied. “Otherwise, I would’ve shown more… decorum.”

My grip on the King didn’t loosen.

Beerus tilted his head. “Ha! By all means, don’t let me stop you. I’m enjoying the show.”

The King spat at me, lips peeled back. “You think you’re strong, but you’re nothing. If I had transformed, I would’ve killed you in seconds. Do you hear me, scum? I’d burn this entire planet to cinders with your corpse at the center. If you had any honor, you’d fight me as a true Saiyan—let me transform, and I’ll show you power.”

I laughed. “You want to go Oozaru?”

He stared, wild, desperate. “Let me transform! Then we finish this like warriors.”

“No,” I replied, I blasted him through the face at point-blank range.

No build-up. No speech. No honor. Just one finger pointed between his eyes and a flash of blue that obliterated his skull from the nose up. The back of his head painted the stone behind him in a wet, red arc. His body hung suspended for a split second, limbs twitching in refusal, then it dropped like a sack of ruined meat.

The court screamed.

Some dove under tables. Some ran. Most just stood frozen, slack-jawed, as the King’s corpse bled out on the steps with his jaw locked in a final, silent order no one would ever hear.

Beerus stood and stretched, as if waking from a nap. “Graphic and gory. I like it.”