Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH38

[Escarot POV]

It was going to take almost a year to reach Planet Vegeta.

Twelve months, give or take, of doing absolutely jack besides sitting, sleeping, watching the same old view, and trying not to go insane inside a tin can flying through space.

Fun.

But what can you do about it? We were cruising nonstop, no pit stops, no sightseeing, nothing. 

Not that I wanted an adventure, after everything that’d happened since I first left Planet Vegeta, I was perfectly content with a bit of dull. I’d had enough dramatic bullshit and twists for a long time, thanks.

Honestly, part of me was just glad we were heading back for once. After the string of nonsense worlds we’d been through, a return to the red ball I was technically supposed to call home sounded... manageable.

Maybe not relaxing, but manageable.

Still, I couldn’t help but think about the pattern we’d been stuck in lately. Every single planet came with a new freak. First Slug, then the generic brand version of Babidi, then that mop-headed noodle of a cop with questionably overpowered skills.

I’d be lying if I said that one didn’t sting.

He beat me.

No two ways around it. I got outplayed, outmaneuvered, and outdone by someone with less raw power than me. Hell, I’m positive I had more juice than him, and it still didn’t matter. Guy was slippery. Annoyingly efficient. 

The entire fight made me feel like I was trying to punch through fog.

And if the fact that someone who looked like he was cosplaying a random Starktrek background character was playing with me wasn’t enough, I got tased.

That’s the part that still pisses me off.

Tased. Like some drunk jackass trying to get too familiar with the bar-girl.

That cop… there was something strange about him, something off. I can’t say what, but I just know there’s something different about him.

……

I sighed and leaned back in my pod’s seat, arms crossed, watching the swirling stars smear past the window.

Now that we were going back, we all had to keep low profiles.

If we walked into Planet Vegeta without a bit of tact, the PTO would take notice. And I had zero interest in entering the radar of the Cold clan.

So to avoid any sort of problems, I told them both to suppress their ki.

Originally, the plan was for us to keep our powers close to what we had after leaving. Unfortunately, that plan wasn’t viable, because Garlik wasn’t the best at suppressing his power.

He could only suppress his energy down to a fourth of his full power or so. If I had to ballpark it, while surprising his energy I would say he was sitting around 1500 to 2000 in power level. 

A substantial increase from his initial power level that sat around the low 600s.

That would raise some flags, but the situation was still manageable, if we played correctly.

The best way to avoid suspicion was by not appearing too strong outright, and we could accomplish that by not breaking the chain of expectations Saiyans had in their caste system.

As the high class warrior, it was expected of me to become stronger than my subordinates, but not stronger than the King and Queen.

Okara on the other hand, she was expected to be much weaker than me, but stronger than Garlik.

So, I worked around that.

If I had to put numbers to our perceived powers at the moment, I would say:

Garlik – ~1,800

Okara – ~3,500

Me – ~9,000

That put us in a comfortable position, making us appear strong enough to warrant notice, but not enough to get any of the big players in the court.

Until I figured out how to deal with Frieza and his father, the best and only option I had was being invisible. Yet, despite knowing this, despite knowing I had no chance of winning. Every fiber of my being was screaming in protest, demanding I faced this head-on.

Saiyan instincts were truly a concerning matter. I was starting to question using the word instincts for them, I was no etymologist, but I am pretty sure instincts are supposed to help you survive, not kill yourself.

Then again, there’s the Dodo…

Anyway, that wasn’t the issue right now. But what I would do until we reached our destination. A whole year locked in these pods was going to eat away at my brain if I didn’t find something to do.

So I figured I’d take Nail’s advice once more.

Image training.

This type of training didn’t increase power, like normal training did, but control over the former. A useful way of gaining combat experience.

I’d never been too big of a fan of this training. Mostly because the idea didn’t appeal to me that much.

I remember Nail mentioned it a few times during my time in Namek, and considering he was the best warrior I have ever met thus far, maybe it was time to take his word for it and actually give it a try. After all, I had the time. Might as well not waste it, sleeping or staring at the window the entire time.

I adjusted my seat, closed my eyes, and let out a slow breath.

“Focus,” I muttered to myself.

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

[Beerus POV]

There’s something about watching other people suffer that makes food taste better.

As I slurped down the last mouthful of my third bowl—no, wait, fourth—of spiced mushroom soup, I leaned back on the large cushion and looked at the floating image playing in front of us. One of the recordings I had asked Whis to collect. 

A big movie having nothing but the latest string of adventures; of the saiyan with the incredible and might I add, impeccable, taste for idols. Escarot.

I flicked my tail once, reaching lazily for another bowl without even looking. I didn’t have to. Whis would put it there before my hand landed. One benefit of having an angel servant.

I could do with less passive aggressiveness though, but that seemed to be a trait all angels had.

“That Slug is a real idiot, you know,” I said between bites, not taking my eyes off the fight. “He could’ve just killed the brat. Had him right there. But no. He missed his vitals on purpose. All to make a big show of how evil he was. Classic overcompensating. That’s why villains lose. Too much theater, not enough killing.”

Whis made a small sound behind me. One of those polite little hums that meant nothing but said a lot.

"Quite resilient, isn’t he?" Whis said, sipping on his own tiny cup of tea. “I wasn't aware Saiyans were quite this durable.”

“He got stronger after getting nearly killed,” I said, scratching behind one ear with a claw. “Do all Saiyans do that? Or is this one just special?”

“Not at all, Lord Beerus, all Saiyans possess the ability,” Whis replied smoothly. “It's a genetic trait that continually lets a Saiyan recover faster and increase in performance against adversity, either by healing from great injuries or enduring great struggle in battle.”

“And they’re still this weak?” I scoffed, tail flicking again. “That’s just sad.”

“I suppose it is,” Whis replied.

I watched the screen a bit longer. Watching how he defeated Slug, whistling… that had to be one of the most embarrassing weaknesses to have and reasons to die there is.

“So, who’d he fight next?” I asked, yawning wide as I stretched out, reaching for another bowl with one hand and scratching my stomach with the other.

“One of the magical off-shoots of the wizard you ordered the Supreme Kais to kill,” Whis said, tone light, looking at me with one of those looks that said: You were lazy, again. “because you didn’t want to disrupt your nap schedule.”

I glared at him.

“Was that the guy with the music box?”

“No.”

“Hmph. Was it that demon girl who’s always pestering the shrimp of time and won’t let me poke around the Nest?”

“No.”

I tilted my head. “That guy who eats planets?”

“No, Moro is still imprisoned.”

I blinked. “The green wrinkly one who was trying to summon some pink monster? Or was he trying to create it? I can’t recall.”

“Yes,” Whis said, nodding. “That one.”

“Ahh, yes.” I leaned forward a little. “So Escarot went up against one of that guy’s magical knockoffs.”

“Yes. Though, it wasn’t a physical confrontation as much as a tactical one. The wizard was attempting to gain control of Escarot.”

“Figures,” I muttered. “Those types don’t know how to throw a punch, less how to make one.”

The image shifted. New scene. New fight. Ah, this was the most recent one.

And there he was. Whis’ little brother. Stick in hand. Swinging at Escarot’s face like he was a piñata.

I chuckled. “I can almost taste the brat’s confusion, wondering how someone weaker than him was getting the best of him.”

“I can only imagine the frustration,” Whis replied.

“Yeah yeah,” I said, waving my hand. “I have a question though, if your little brother can’t use his powers while pretending to be a mortal, and he is limited to such a pitiable amount of strength, how did he win so easily? Did he cheat?”

“No,” Whis replied. “Not at all, he would never break the Grand Priest’s mandate. He simply used tactics, technique, and clever redirection. Your favorite saiyan friend had no chance of winning against such odds.”

“He’s not my friend,” I snapped quickly. 

Whis thought that because the brat was respetful and had asked for my autograph I somehow had a soft spot for him?! Well, he was right, but I would never give him the satisfaction of saying that.

Whis tilted his head.

“I simply find him useful,” I said, picking up another bowl. “That’s more than I can say for most mortals. I gave that cocky little worm of King Vegeta one task. One. One. And what does he do? Tries to weasel his way out of it.”

Whis smiled faintly. “Yes. I believe we saw him mention to his wife that he planned to send a different pillow; keeping the most comfortable one for himself, as he deserved more than you.”

“That bastard isn’t just scamming me, but calling me a fucking idiot!” I growled, slamming the empty bowl down and reaching for another. “Even if I didn’t have you keep an eye on him, did he really think! That I wouldn’t notice some third-rate stuffing? Old fabric? Or worse! fraudulent memory foam—memory foam?! Whis!”

“How dastardly of him,” Whis said with that infuriatingly calm face.

“Well, that’s why I want Escarot to give me the pillow, to humiliate him, before I destroy him,” I continued, biting into a fresh bowl of something spicy and delightful. “The brat gets to finish the mission. King Vegeta gets humiliated. I get to destroy him. Everyone wins.”

“By the way, Lord Beerus,” Whis said, smiling, “there’s another detail you might find amusing about Escarot.”

I looked at him. “Does it involve him getting electrocuted again?”

I will admit, that made me laugh a lot, but it lost some of its flavor after watching it forty times.

“No,” Whis smiled, tapping his staff. “Something arguably more impressive.”

The image hovering in front of us shimmered, switching from the fight to… a campfire?

No, not a campfire. A makeshift kitchen. Rocks, crude grills, an open flame. Escarot was crouched down, flipping something over a stone pan. His expression wasn’t just focused. It was precise.

“...He’s cooking?” I asked.

“Indeed,” Whis said. “He’s not just a talented fighter. In fact, by the wording of the divine registry... Escarot is currently ranked as the best chef in the universe.”

I sat up.

“Wait. What?”

Whis nodded. “Indeed.”

I stared at the image in front of me. Escarot sprinkled some greenish powder on a dish, flipped something golden and sizzling, and dropped it neatly onto a wooden plate. Steam curled off it.

Even through the recording, I could smell it, making my mouth water.

I leaned forward.

“Play the part where they eat it,” I said.

There it was. The loud saiyan girl took a bite, and her pupils dilated. The other saiyan teared up and clutched his chest like he was seeing a divine being. All while Escarot looked smug about it, and I didn’t blame him, he should’ve! I could tell that dish was worthy of divine praise!

“..How?” I muttered. 

“Who knows,” Whis said with that infuriating grin that said, he knows. “But apparently Escarot’s now the best chef there is, by far.”

I stared a little longer, forcing myself to not try to bite the projection of his food.

“That’s not all he has cooked, Lord Beerus,”

There’s more?!

A massive platter of dishes—steamed, roasted, seared, fried, baked, grilled—all arranged like some divine banquet worthy of a God.

The soup alone was glowing.

Glowing!!!

My stomach growled in betrayal.

“I want that,” I said.

“You have a hundred chefs from across the cosmos,” Whis said.

“Do any of them make glowing soup?” I snapped.

“No.”

“Exactly.”

We watched as Escarot plated a sizzling skewer of what looked like some space lobster-turtle hybrid. The moment it touched the stone plate, it let out a soft hiss of steam and released a smell so rich I could taste it through the staff.

“Whis.”

“Yes, Lord Beerus?”

“I will murder you if I don’t eat that in the next hour.”

Whis chuckled.

“If it helps, he’s returning to Planet Vegeta,” he said. “If you’re patient, we can intercept him at the right time.”

He wants me to wait… A YEAR FOR THAT FOOD?!

“…Whis.”

“Yes, Lord Beerus?”

“Do we have the coordinates for where Escarot currently is?”

“Yes.”

Good.