Broly's fist cut the air — Vegito slipped under it, almost casual in motion.
In the space between a blink, his right hand lit up, energy condensing along his palm until it took shape — thin, sharp, and silent.
One clean strike.
The blade traced across Broly's arm, barely grazing the skin — yet the cut bloomed deep and clean, light spilling out before the blood. The energy hissed as it dissolved. Vegito let the blade fade from his hand, stepping back.
Vegito – "If I wanted, your arm would be gone."
Broly froze for half a heartbeat. Then the snarl came, deep and raw, shredding his voice into something almost animal. His aura exploded outward, brighter and darker at once, bending the air like heat haze.
Then came the storm.
A barrage of punches — not wild anymore, but sharp, furious, precise in their chaos. Every strike cracked the barrier's sound, forcing the crowd to cover their ears. Vegito met them head-on, his body twisting and weaving through the flurry, blocking one, countering two, but barely keeping the rhythm.
Each hit landed closer. Each deflection came later.
Broly wasn't fighting to test anymore. He was fighting to *erase.*
He broke off suddenly, flying backward to the arena's center. His chest heaved — not from exhaustion, but from something building. His aura began to crawl up his skin, fracturing into bolts.
Then he screamed.
It wasn't pain. It was release.
The light around him flared to emerald fire, pulsing with arcs of lightning — his hair spiking higher, his muscles sharpening rather than swelling. The transformation tore through the arena's gravity field, shaking even the gods who watched.
Broly — Legendary Super Saiyan 2.
Vegito barely saw the punch. One instant Broly was twenty meters away, the next his knuckles filled Vegito's vision.
The impact cracked the air like a whip.
Vegito flew backward, spiraling, his jaw locking under the blow. He steadied himself inches before the barrier, the pressure warping behind his back. He drew in a sharp breath—then felt another shock on his cheek.
Broly's second strike came from the side, so close it sliced a line across Vegito's ear, the blood vaporizing before it fell.
For the first time, Vegito's grin faltered. His aura shivered. Then — the change.
Gold flared through his body, steady, pure, unforced. The familiar hum of a form not used since the tournament began.
Super Saiyan.
The arena lit up like dawn breaking through a storm.
Bulma's scanner cracked from the pressure.
Bulma – "He's actually taking it seriously now…"
Chichi's arms dropped without her realizing. Her voice low, almost grudging.
Chichi – "Took him long enough."
Goten was standing before he noticed, eyes shining.
Piccolo said nothing, but his jaw tightened — sensing it too.
Tien's aura flickered for a moment, instinctive respect.
Uub stared, unmoving.
---
Back in the arena, Broly smirked, his teeth bared like a predator's.
Broly – "Well… not so smug now, huh?"
Vegito wiped the blood from his ear with his thumb, looked at it, and laughed — not mocking, but delighted.
Vegito – "Heh… you got a point."
And then he was gone.
The air snapped where he stood, and the next instant Broly's head jerked back — Vegito's fist buried in his face. The impact drove him into the ground like a comet. The arena floor caved, folding into a crater that seemed to swallow the light itself.
Broly crashed hard, the shockwave rolling across the stands like thunder underwater.
He pushed up—barely—only to find Vegito already there. The next strike came faster, sharper. Broly tried to counter, but each swing was met and turned aside. Every punch he threw missed by inches. Every block came too late.
Vegito moved like water turned to blade — flowing, cutting, never wasting motion.
Each hit landed with precision that broke through Broly's durability.
A knee to the ribs.
A hook to the jaw.
A palm strike that cracked the arena under his boots.
Broly's power still surged, his aura burning brighter than ever—but now it wasn't keeping up. Vegito's blows were painting him into silence.
The crowd couldn't follow anymore—only flashes of gold and green colliding, then Broly slamming to the ground again, each impact heavier than the last.
For the first time since the match began, Broly's roar faltered. He staggered, breathing hard, blood and energy spilling together. His muscles quivered under their own weight.
And then—his pupils vanished.
The glow in his eyes deepened, his aura starting to twist into something *else.*
Lightning burned white across his frame. His skin cracked under the pressure.
The air broke.
Broly's roar bent the light around him, a raw vibration that seemed to tear through the arena's dimensions themselves. His hair exploded outward, now a wild corona of green-white flame; the skin beneath shimmered like molten stone trying to contain something larger than flesh.
Legendary Super Saiyan 3
Bulma's Reader rolled the numbers.
Bulma — "Six sextillion for Vegito… two for Broly."
Her voice was small against the tremor of reality splitting.
Broly stepped forward once. The ground liquefied beneath his heel.
Then they vanished.
The space where they had stood collapsed inward, silence for half a breath—and the next instant, the arena erupted. Billions of fragments lifted into a halo of vaporized debris, each shard catching the light of two figures moving through them like streaks of heat.
Sound caught up late. Each impact cracked like the world folding.
Broly lunged through a storm of shattered stone, his fists carving through trails of green lightning. He was beyond thought—pure instinct and pressure. Every strike he threw rippled the field around them, distorting even the barrier that wrapped the spectators.
Vegito drifted through it all. No wasted motion. No retreat. Every punch Broly launched slid past his body by a width smaller than air itself. His expression didn't shift; only the corner of his mouth ticked upward as he twisted aside and let Broly's next blow collapse the fragment of ground behind him into dust.
Broly's breath burned. He threw another sequence—shorter, heavier. Vegito caught one wrist, turned, and the air detonated. The force sent them spinning apart into a spiral of debris.
Broly felt nothing but the ache of not hitting him.
He surged again, faster. Fist met air, air split into heat. Vegito blurred sideways, shoulder grazing Broly's aura and leaving a flicker of gold across his own cheek. They crossed paths fifty times in an instant, light stuttering into lines, the space between them vibrating like a chord stretched to breaking.
Then for the first time, Broly felt the sting of contact—not on him, but around him. Vegito's aura lashed like a blade; the shock carved through Broly's defenses, flaring along his ribs. Broly spun with it, eyes wild.
Goku shouted from the stands, hand clenched. "Vegito! He's rising! Don't let him—"
Future Gohan cut in, eyes narrow. "He knows. He's letting him."
They were right. Vegito's grin wasn't one of dominance—it was invitation.
Vegito — "This is what I wanted."
His voice carried even through the vacuum of speed.
Broly didn't hear it so much as feel it echo through his chest. He drove forward, aura snapping from green to white-hot emerald, every nerve at the edge of tearing. Vegito answered in kind; his power climbed, slower, steadier, deliberate.
They collided again.
The barrier itself became their canvas—light reflecting, twisting, refracting their movements for the others to witness. To most, it was a blur of motion and thunder. Only Baby Vegito and Gast could track their outlines: two forces shredding the notion of limit itself.
Broly swung upward—Vegito slipped beneath. The ground peeled apart behind him. Vegito countered with a palm strike to the chest, enough to shatter sound itself; Broly absorbed it, roared, and spun, his heel cutting through Vegito's defense like a storm's edge.
The next exchange was beyond counting. Pressure, recoil, flashes of light—each one a different collision of intent and will.
Every time Broly broke through one layer of speed, Vegito was there waiting, a fraction higher.
Broly's pulse became rhythm. His vision tunneled to one point: Vegito's face, calm, sharp, alive. The part of him that wanted to destroy had never met something that refused to die so easily
The world around them ceased to exist. There was only impact.
Vegito's hair cracked with light; Broly's aura flared until even the angels had to shield their gaze. The barrier groaned, folding inward.
Broly swung once more—one punch meant to end all movement.
Vegito stopped it. Two fingers.
The stillness that followed was deafening.
Broly trembled, every muscle screaming rebellion. Vegito's eyes shifted, not mockery.
Vegito — "Now show me what you can do in the face of a wall."
Broly's body obeyed before his mind did. Energy flooded out of him in waves, bending gravity, distorting the horizon. His scream began low, rising until it no longer sounded human.
The last thing anyone saw before the light swallowed the arena was Vegito lowering his stance, golden aura surging like a storm ready to meet it.
And then—silence.
Broly was closing in.
Alright — here's the next sequence, written as a **cinematic, visceral narration**, continuing directly from where Broly closes in.
We'll open with Bulma's scanners going wild, the angels barely keeping the barrier stable, and then Vegito's controlled escalation — *Super Saiyan 2*, *Quantum Shatter Fist*, and *Instant Guard*.
No technical listing, just folded naturally into the flow.
---
The sky was gone.
Only the hum of unstable air remained, vibrating through the bones of everyone watching.
Then—
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Bulma's reader screamed to life, its holographic digits burning white before she could even focus.
Her eyes widened. "Wh—what?! Vegito… eight sextillion… Broly seven—seven!"
Her voice cracked. "From two to seven—in less than a second!"
The barrier shuddered as her words echoed. Even Whis' calm expression tightened, his staff flickering with effort to keep reality contained.
Broly was still standing, head bowed, chest expanding with every monstrous breath. His aura no longer glowed; it *devoured* light.
Vegito felt it—an absurd surge, a storm growing inside a single being. For the first time, he didn't smile. He blinked once, his tone low, edged with honest awe.
Vegito: "Huh… you're truly a monster."
He raised his head, hair trembling under the weight of his own power.
No hesitation. No thought.
Golden light flared again—sharper this time, cutting the horizon apart. The air bent backward as Vegito's aura changed pitch, electricity dancing across his arms. The ground cracked under invisible gravity.
Super Saiyan 2.
His voice carried through the roar of the storm.
Vegito: "I've never used this in battle… This is how much I respect you, Broly."
He disappeared before his own echo finished.
Broly's eyes barely caught the flash—he fired on instinct, a beam of green plasma that stretched across the entire field, tearing the atmosphere like paper. It hit nothing. The air where Vegito stood folded inward, collapsed into silence.
Then came the counter.
A soft *tap*.
That was all it looked like. Vegito reappeared beside Broly, one fist buried lightly in his gut. No explosion. No blast. Just that quiet contact.
Broly grinned—then froze.
A soundless pressure rolled through the arena. Space itself rippled, bent, and shattered in threads around them. The air warped, then—
BOOM.
Multiple detonations erupted a heartbeat late. Behind Broly, ahead of him, above, beneath—the world *imploded*. Each burst wasn't fire, it was *reality collapsing in on itself*.
Vegito's "Quantum Shatter Fist."
The aftershocks hit Broly from every direction, crushing and twisting, his roar cut into static.
He swung wildly—Vegito was already gone.
Another blow. Another soft *tap.*
Another delayed, world-tearing chain of implosions.
Every hit rewrote the air; light fractured into prisms before falling into darkness.
Broly staggered, his movements turning ragged, each breath a small explosion leaking from his mouth. He roared, unleashed another energy wave in blind fury—
It hit nothing.
The beam disintegrated midair, dispersing into spirals that turned back toward him. Vegito hadn't dodged. He'd *folded space* around himself—his aura flickering in and out like a reflection on shattered glass.
Instant Guard.
Broly's final strike passed through his chest without touching him. The fabric of reality twisted closed behind it, snapping back like a wound sealing itself.
Vegito stood inches from Broly's face, eyes cold, electric. The light from his aura painted everything gold and white.
The legendary Saiyan swayed, lips parting to growl—but only a wheeze came out. His knees bent under him, body refusing to obey.
The audience said nothing.
And there, in the flickering ruins of the arena, Broly—the unstoppable storm—was almost unconscious.
Vegito hadn't taken a step back.
---
Here's your continuation — intense, cinematic, and human-sounding prose. It keeps every concept you gave, but told as a flowing battle narrative instead of a move list. The "techniques" appear naturally through imagery and timing rather than being announced like game commands.
---
The air cracked again—then shattered.
Broly's body convulsed, aura twisting into a funnel that tore the light from every direction. His scream wasn't just rage—it was pressure, raw gravity collapsing out of his lungs.
"VEEEGIT—!"
He never finished.
Vegito was already moving. A ripple of gold lightning cut across the field—one flash, then a thousand.
He slipped through Broly's strikes as though reality forgot to place him there. Each swing met nothing but an echo. Then came the *returning* hits—subtle, almost polite taps that arrived seconds apart and detonated as delayed echoes of themselves.
The world folded inward under each invisible impact. Broly staggered through phantom shockwaves that struck from directions that didn't exist, eyes wide, disoriented, trying to understand which blow was real.
That was Vegito's *Echo Mirage Barrage.*
He wasn't punching one Broly; he was punching the memory of where Broly had just been—and where he *would* be next.
Every delayed strike met with the next in a cascading rhythm, the sound like a million thunderclaps compressed into one breath. Space caved, rebounded, and broke again.
Broly's roar cracked. He slammed both fists together, unleashing an emerald surge so dense it looked fluid. Vegito slid backward, boots cutting molten grooves in what remained of the arena.
He smiled—not wide, not manic—just an honest, sharp line of focus. His eyes narrowed.
A golden spiral flared around his arm. Energy condensed into a thin coil, twisting tighter until light bled away from it.
Then he fired.
The beam shot straight through Broly's chestplate aura—so fast the air behind it didn't even move. Vegito *stepped into his own blast*, punching through the heart of it. The collision birthed an impossible sound, like glass folding inward.
The moment his fist connected, he detonated his ki outward.
The blast didn't expand. It imploded.
For a heartbeat, the entire arena sank inward.
Gravity turned on itself. Every fragment of dust, every mote of light was dragged toward a single point between them. The angels raised their staves instantly; Whis' halo flared blue, Whis (T3) violet light overlapping his, both fighting to contain the compression.
Then—release.
A wave tore outward, erasing everything within sight. The shock rippled through time itself, scattering echoes of the moment across the horizon like splintered glass.
When the light faded, there was only silence.
Broly stood for an instant—chest torn open, aura flickering between emerald and void. His knees buckled. He fell forward, the sound of his body hitting the fractured tiles echoing across the now-colorless battlefield.
Med-pods rushed in, angels redirecting what was left of him into containment.
Vegito exhaled. The lightning around him softened, fading back into nothing. He let his form drop, golden hair dimming, the world finally audible again.
From the stands—
Uub (T2): "That's my master!!"
Piccolo (T2): "Expected nothing less."
Tiene (T2)) "Still, To make Vegito use SSJ2..Broly is something Else!"
Bulma from Timeline 2 said nothing—just twirled a lock of blue hair, a small, knowing smile curling at her lips.
Across from her, Goku of Timeline 1 crossed his arms, tone calm but eyes steady.
Goku:"Even a monster like Broly… beaten by that version of us, Vegeta."
Vegeta: "Tch. I fought him with that red hair Transformation and it wasn't enough. He just—ended it."
Future Gohan adjusted his stance, gaze fixed on the settling dust.
Future Gohan: "Call It SSJGOD, This proves it. Power isn't about form—it's base strength. Pure foundation. Nothing else matters."
Vegito didn't turn back.
He was already walking off the field, boots crunching over what used to be stone, his aura reduced to a quiet hum.
He reached out—searching.
Son Gohan (T2). His ki was faint. But it was there, Somewhere.
Vegito let out a slow breath, eyes half-closed, whispering more to himself than anyone else.
"Still breathing… good."