They ceased to be perceivable within the framework that mortals call "movement."
To the spectators, it was as if two points of existence had been deleted and reinserted somewhere else so rapidly that continuity itself failed to form between the two states. Their disappearance created absence.
A vacuum of meaning.
And then — the world answered.
Reality suffered a seizure.
The arena did not crack.
That would imply structural failure.
Instead, it convulsed, as if the very concept of a battlefield was trying and failing to hold onto its shape. Space folded, buckled, and then detonated outward in a dome of invisible force so dense that the stone composing the arena atomized for a fraction of a second before reintegrating under Angelic reinforcement.
Every tile was lifted in millions of fragments, but the fragments did not fall.
They were suspended midair, not frozen, but stuck between frames of reality, unable to decide which moment in time they belonged to.
Each shard rotated at different angular velocities, orbiting nothing, held in place by distorted gravitational currents created not by ki — but by the ideological pressure radiating from two beings whose worldviews were powerful enough to affect spacetime.
It was identity.
Vegito appeared on one shard, weightless, not through teleportation but through narrative displacement — as if the universe edited him into a new position.
Baby Vegito Black appeared on another, balancing on a razor-thin sliver of stone so small that no normal force could have supported him. But his standing there was not physical — it was philosophical. He existed wherever his ideology demanded him to exist.
The debris began to fall —
but before a single fragment completed even one percent of its descent,
both fighters leaped again, appearing on shards that had only begun to rotate.
Vegito lunged.
His foot touched a shard so small it should have shattered, but instead it cracked only microscopically — the stone protesting the presence of a being who carried two absolute wills but rejected both lineage and destiny.
From that unstable sliver he moved, body tilted forward, momentum perfect, driving a palm strike toward Vegito Black's throat.
As he moved, he spoke —
not loudly, not angrily, but as if delivering a correction:
Vegito:
"Your flaw is believing the universe cares for your ultimate goal."
The strike came with such force that the shard beneath him imploded, compressing into a grain of dust so dense it briefly became metallic.
Vegito Black didn't block.
He raised two fingers —
elegant, disdainful —
and redirected the palm's momentum not sideways or backward, but inward, collapsing the strike through a micro-vortex that tore open a wound in the air.
The vortex burst behind them, shredding the debris into spirals.
Baby Vegito Black:
"And your flaw is believing the universe must care for your dominance to be relevant."
They clashed again —
fist meeting forearm —
and the angle of their collision produced not a shockwave, but a vacuum cone so sharp it carved a perfect circular aperture through the clouds miles above, revealing black cosmic void through the wound.
He pivoted behind Vegito with an executioner's grace, spinning downward with a heel like a divine guillotine. The force of the strike created a pressure arc that bisected a floating slab of arena cleanly, splitting it like a flawless gemstone.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Your power is unstructured.
Chaotic.
A tantrum with infinite energy behind it.
It has no direction—no destiny.
You are entropy, pretending to be a warrior."
Vegito intercepted the kick with his forearm.
The impact bruised the limb immediately — purple swelling in a bloom — but the bruising healed as the motion continued, the regeneration occurring mid-impact as if Vegito's body refused to acknowledge vulnerability.
Vegito:
"And your power is sterile.
Predictable.
A doctrine wrapped in ki.
Boring."
He twisted and delivered a backhand so fast that the air behind it collapsed, forming a vacuum line that sucked nearby shards into dust.
Vegito Black didn't block.
He leaned into the strike, letting the edge graze his cheek, slicing a line that bled black-red — the blood falling in slow motion, each drop orbiting him like a planetary system held together by divine contempt.
He smiled.
Baby Vegito Black:
"You can't intimidate something born from divinity."
His laugh was short, low, and cruel.
Vegito:
"I don't need to intimidate you.
I just need to show you that every version of you, in every timeline, ends in failure."
Baby Vegito Black paused —
a microscopic hesitation,
a hitch in divine certainty.
It was enough.
Vegito's knee rammed into Black's ribs with such force that the air around them turned into plasma. Baby Vegito Black shot through the debris field so fast that every shard he touched disintegrated from the sheer differential in force.
Before Vegito could follow, Black appeared above him, hand extended in a claw-like gesture — not grabbing, not striking — but compressing the very air.
The air screamed.
It bent inward, twisting into a shrinking sphere, as if Vegito was being drowned in the concept of pressure itself.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Every version of you ends in self-destruction.
Because you are power without principle.
A storm pretending to be sovereign."
Vegito Didn't flinch.
He allowed the crushing force to obliterate the stone beneath his feet into dust, then into nothing. The pressure folded around him, compressing the ground into a glassy crater — but Vegito remained standing, smirk widening.
Vegito:
"And you are a principle pretending to be a destiny."
He took one step forward —
and the crushing sphere of air tore apart like tissue paper.
When their fists collided:
Their power did not double.
It multiplied.
Exponentialy.
For one horrifying instant,
their ki signatures jumped by 40% simultaneously —
not growing individually,
but feeding off each other's escalation.
Then another spike —
80%.
Then more.
The angels froze —
all twelve of them —
before raising their staffs.
Simultaneously.
Reinforcing the barrier with a wall of divine energy so dense that even Beerus narrowed his eyes.
Gravity failed.
The two Vegitos hovered in the air atop nothing—no ground, no platform, no physical justification for their positions. Reality was providing footholds out of fear. Even gravity seemed to distance itself, unwilling to interfere in a battle between two beings who no longer followed the logic of mass or force.
The arena had already been torn into a thousand floating shards, but now even the air was beginning to break.
Thin cracks—hairline fractures of space—zigzagged through the sky like lightning frozen in amber.
And yet…
Neither fighter showed the slightest hint of effort.
No hesitation.
Only arrogance.
Pure, unfiltered arrogance.
His fist drove straight for Baby Vegito Black's ribs, but the technique was unmistakably Son Goku's — not brute force, but:
Instant Momentum Flow
A movement Goku developed instinctively:
"Move where your opponent's energy will be, not where it is."
Vegito's strike aimed at the future position of Vegito Black's body before the movement ever happened.
Baby Vegito Black's eyes flared — genuinely impressed for one-tenth of one-tenth of a second.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Predicting the future of movement… using mortal instinct? Pathetic."
But his parry betrayed the truth — he was almost too slow.
Almost.
He redirected Vegito's strike with Vegeta's signature:
Royal Deflection Style
Two-Finger Parry
A deceptively small counter motion, using minimal force to unmake the vector of the attack, dissipating its power into a spiral.
But Baby Vegito Black twisted it further, refining Vegeta's move into something more efficient, more cruel.
Vegito's fist slid past his two fingers— grazing them.
And that graze created a shockwave that sheared a floating boulder in half behind them.
Vegito tilted his head.
Vegito:
"Cute. Stealing Vegeta's technique just to try and keep up with me."
Baby Vegito Black smirked.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Perfecting."
The two fighters burst apart from each other in opposite directions, both launching onto separate floating chunks of arena.
Vegito T2 sprinted across the air itself—each step bending light around him like a gravitational lens. He leaped onto a falling piece of debris, then another, then vanished, reappearing directly behind Baby Vegito Black.
This was pure Goku:
After-Image Flow
But perfected.
Instead of leaving a trail of ki clones, Vegito created echoes of possible positions — a map of hypothetical Vegitos cluttering the battlefield, any one of them capable of becoming real depending on his next movement.
Baby Vegito Black snarled.
He answered not with after-images, but with Vegeta's tactic:
Ruthless Gap-Slayer Maneuver
A counter aimed not at Vegito's current position, but at the predicted gap in Vegito's rhythm — the one moment no martial artist can avoid, the half-frame where intention must shift.
Their attacks met midair.
A fist.
A knee.
An elbow.
A block.
Each collision created rings of distorted transparency — ki shockwaves so dense they bent the visual spectrum.
For a brief moment, this looked like classic martial arts.
But only for a moment.
Then the rings exploded outward, flinging shards of arena into orbit.
Vegito inhaled sharply.
Just once.
And the debris around him was sucked inward—
not physically,
but ideologically.
Then—
Dragon God Step
He vanished.
He erased causal dependency.
He reappeared behind Baby Vegito Black mid-punch, the attack already in motion from a position that didn't logically exist a frame earlier.
Baby Vegito Black barely caught it by crossing his forearms, and even then the block bent his arms inward from sheer force.
Baby Vegito Black:
"…Impossible."
Vegito:
"Predictable."
Vegito's next punch chained instantly into—
Wolf Fang Spiral Breaker
A terrifying, spiraling barrage of strikes mixing Yamcha's technique with Saiyan velocity and fusion precision, each hit landing with enough force to distort Baby Vegito Black's silhouette.
Baby Vegito Black was actually forced backward.
Black stopped himself midair with a single kick against nothing, pivoting around his own axis.
Then he answered with something worse:
Galaxy Crusher Combo
But amplified by divine hatred
It was a sequence of precise strikes Vegeta used when enraged—
jabs
elbows
knees
all aimed at vital points.
But Baby Vegito Black added his own divine twist:
Every strike generated a gravitational spike — small black dots appearing and collapsing at the point of impact.
The collisions pulverized the fragments behind Vegito T2 into cosmic dust.
Vegito was forced back as well — pushed, his boots grinding invisible grooves into the fabric of spacetime.
Vegito:
"Using Vegeta's aggression with divinity layered over it…
Makes sense for a thief."
Baby Vegito Black:
"Your existence is the theft."
Their fists collided.
A microsecond later the universe reacted:
Future Bulma ''The Machine is going crazy!''
Power growth spike: +37%
They clashed again.
Dr. Gero ''Yea, keep giving me this absurd data!''
Spike: +54%
Again.
Spike: +92%
The spectators felt their bodies being pulled upward again as the field twisted.
Even Future Gohan, unconscious, twitched.
But the two fighters didn't notice.
They were entirely absorbed in the argument that was their fight.
Vegito:
"Tell me, what exactly do you hate more?
Mortals?
Or the fact that one of them made you possible?"
Baby Vegito Black's aura vibrated violently.
Vegito drove a close-range elbow toward Black's sternum — a short, brutal strike Goku used once against Cooler.
Black caught the elbow with one hand.
Then his smile widened.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Tell me, what disgusts you more?
Mortals?
Or the idea of losing to a god wearing your face?"
His knee rose at impossible speed, catching Vegito's ribs and sending him sprawling through a cloud of pulverized stone.
Vegito flipped midair, landing on a floating shard.
He wiped the blood from his lip.
Vegito:
"…you scratched me."
Baby Vegito Black:
"Did i hurt you to much?."
Serpent Flow Footwork
An unpredictable zigzag pattern meant to confuse the eye and ki-sense simultaneously.
But he layered it with Vegeta's violent accuracy:
Prince's Execution Barrage
A brutal sequence of full-force punches aimed at vital organs —
liver, throat, heart.
He mixed softness and brutality so seamlessly that even Vegito T2 had to recalibrate.
Goku's softness + Vegeta's perfection
Vegito inhaled.
His body loosened — shoulders relaxed, eyes half-closed.
Ultra Ease (Pre-instinct martial discipline)
A style built on minimal tension.
Then he fused it with Vegeta's extreme precision:
Atomic Counterstrike
Every strike of Baby Vegito Black was parried with sub-millimeter efficiency —
redirected, dismantled, neutralized.
Vegito moved as though he had rehearsed this sequence 10,000 times.
Baby Vegito Black's attacks began to lose coherence under the pressure.
Vegito countered with:
A kidney blow so sharp it distorted Black's outline
A wrist-lock that bent divine bone
A double-palm strike that silenced the air itself
A spinning kick that bent the trajectory of falling debris
Baby Vegito Black staggered.
Just slightly.
But to Vegito, that was enough.
Vegito (smirking):
"You can evolve mid-fight.
Good.
So can I."
Baby Vegito Black roared —
no word, no philosophy —
just pure divine fury at being pressed.
He appeared behind Vegito—
then above him—
then in front—
throwing three different attacks from three different possible futures.
Vegito countered each one.
Then—
Their fists collided again.
A shockwave erupted that bent the debris around them into spirals.
Both were pushed back.
Both halted midair.
Both glared.
Both attacked at once.
The universe glitched.
Reality stuttered.
Every spectator felt their hearts skip two beats.
Every Angel reinforced the barrier again.
The two fusions hovered, locked in a stalemate that sent ripples across all twelve universes.
They were still in base form.
And had not even started trying.
(Time elapsed since the start of the battle: 0.00026 seconds)
The smoke peeled away from the edges of the arena like torn curtains, unraveling in reverse. The two Vegitos hovered—or seemed to hover—on drifting blocks of shattered arena stone.
But they weren't hovering at all.
The blocks were falling.
Rapidly.
Gravity was doing its job; the rubble plunged downward like meteors, but to the combatants, time had slowed to such a microscopic crawl that those same blocks looked nearly stationary. The rest of the world saw a rain of debris; the two fusions saw a still canvas.
Daishinkan's barrier—now an evolving lattice of angelic equations—stretched spacetime just enough that mortals could observe the fight without witnessing only a single flash followed by universal collapse.
Vegito T2 exhaled.
The air trembled.
Then—without theatrics, without screaming, without a single wasted unit of effort—he ignited.
Perfect Super Saiyan.
The form exploded outward like a flawless geometric construction of ki.
His aura didn't roar.
It hummed, like a machine operating at absolute efficiency.
1,600× multiplier. Bulma Calculated in her sensor.
But the true leap was in coherence—his energy sharpened, focused, crystallized into a perfect structure.
Vegito (PSSJ):
"Let's step up.
Can you keep up with this, copy?"
His voice wasn't mocking.
It was observational—clinical even.
As though he were testing a hypothesis rather than insulting an opponent.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Oh? So you're getting nervous…"
His aura snapped upward.
Hair lengthened into the roaring mane of Super Saiyan 3, lightning flaring in the micro-void around him.
But even as a SSJ3, he didn't match Vegito T2's Perfect form.
Vegito (Perfect):
"still below me."
Baby Vegito Black grinned wider—too wide, too pleased.
A grin not of superiority, but of anticipation.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Well then…"
His SSJ3 aura began condensing.
The hair shrank.
The brow softened.
The feral rage of SSJ3 contracted into a spiral of pure controlled light.
Baby Vegito Black's aura compacted into a perfect sphere—
then erupted outward into the golden calm of…
Perfect Super Saiyan.
He had replicated the form.
Instantly.
Flawlessly.
Vegito T2's smirk almost faltered.
A nanosecond of genuine surprise.
Vegito
"…Huh."
"You learned it that fast."
Baby Vegito Black flicked his hair backward.
It glowed, polished, almost metallic in its perfection.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Don't tell me you're afraid I'll replicate more."
A fist suddenly appeared in Baby Vegito Black's face.
There was no windup. No movement.
One moment Vegito was standing; the next, his knuckles were buried into Black's cheekbone.
The blow launched Baby Vegito Black off his floating fragment, spinning him through falling rubble. Each block he touched atomized from the residual energy.
Vegito T2 pursued immediately—
—but Baby Vegito Black was laughing mid-spin.
Laughing.
His body bending, twisting, aligning with the force so the momentum became part of his next movement.
Baby Vegito Black:
"HAHAHAHA—You think hitting harder makes you superior?"
His voice echoed through ki itself.
Black snapped his heel into a drifting block of arena stone—kicking off it so hard the block flattened into a disc of powdered dust. He turned his momentum into a corkscrew, counterattacking with a lunging knee strike.
Vegito raised his forearm and blocked it effortlessly.
But Baby Vegito Black's grin didn't break.
Not even as Vegito's counter-punch shattered several ribs.
Not even as his body dented space behind him.
His arrogance wasn't performance.
He genuinely believed he was winning.
Vegito T2's arrogance wasn't shaken either.
Even as Black's ki skyrocketed again.
Even as his Perfect SSJ form stabilized.
Both of them believed the victory was predetermined.
By themselves.
By their own existence.
The two in frame omission.
Their movements ceased obeying the normal sampling rate of reality; they moved in between observable intervals.
A block of stone fell.
Vegito appeared on it.
A block behind him cracked.
Baby Vegito Black stood there.
They moved simultaneously—
—and struck simultaneously—
—and vanished simultaneously.
To spectators, it looked like a million impacts happening everywhere at once.
To them, it was simply choreography.
Complex.
Flawless.
Terrifying.
They clashed
Elbows scraping air into molten ribbons
Knees pressurizing oxygen into plasma
Palm strikes drawing spirals into spacetime
Roundhouse kicks bending the direction of falling debris
Finger jabs so fast they created micro-quantum fragmentation
Each technique was a conversation.
Each motion a philosophical refusal.
Vegito surged forward, shifting into a stance recognizable across universes—
Quadratic Flow Guard.
A stance blending openness and adaptability, one foot angled diagonally, the upper body loose, shoulders lowered. But Vegito's version was enhanced by Vegeta's perfectionism—every angle exact, measured, optimized.
Vegito's eyes sharpened.
Vegito:
"Let me show you control."
He moved.
Dragon Fist Feint → Wolf Fang Interrupt → Serpent Coil Reversal → Zero-Distance Bone Crush
The movements were fluid yet violent:
Dragon Fist Feint
Vegito extended a punch, but the fist wasn't the attack—the trail behind it was.
The ki pressure carved a fissure in the air.
Wolf Fang Interrupt
A rapid flurry at angles no normal body could attack from, striking Baby Vegito Black's shoulders, ribs, and abdomen.
Serpent Coil Reversal
He twisted his torso, palm striking upward, flipping Black's chin skyward.
Zero-Distance Bone Crush
He closed the gap and slammed both palms into Black's chest with enough force to crater spacetime.
Baby Vegito Black was blasted backward—
Black stabilized, his boots scratching against nothingness as he halted himself by anchoring his ki into the barrier's molecular weave.
He wiped blood from his lip.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Your 'control' is infantile."
"This is royalty."
His body twisted into Vegeta's old stance from the Saiyan Saga—
—but refined, sharpened, made divine.
He surged forward using:
Royal Execution Combo → Hell Prince Guillotine → Galaxy Breaker Punch → Atomic Spiral Barrage
Royal Execution Combo
His fists hammered at Vegito's vitals with surgical brutality.
Hell Prince Guillotine
A downward heel kick so sharp it divided the air into two thermal layers.
Galaxy Breaker Punch
A punch packed with gravitational compression; the contact point warped light.
Atomic Spiral Barrage
A series of spiraling strikes that caused Vegito's body to distort slightly at impact.
Vegito T2 was forced backward—
—but his smile widened.
Vegito:
"You're learning fast."
Baby Vegito Black:
"I learned the moment you conceived the thought."
Their Perfect Super Saiyan auras flickered—
—then brightened—
—then hardened.
The air screamed around them as their energy calculations spiked.
+46% power growth
+81% power growth
+122% power growth
Beerus T1's watched it joy.
The Grand Priest narrowed his gaze.
Time itself bent slightly.
Space folded.
Gravity hesitated.
Baby Vegito Black:
"Admit it. You're slipping."
Vegito:
"You're stalling."
Baby Vegito Black:
"I'm evolving."
Vegito:
"Good. I need you at your best before I erase you."
Black's grin sharpened:
Baby Vegito Black:
"You still delude yourself with that fantasy?"
Vegito cracked his knuckles.
Vegito:
"I'm not deluded."
"I'm unbeatable.''
Baby Vegito Black:
"So am I."
They moved again.
More complicated,More deliberate,More intelligent.
Baby Vegito Black spun into a triple-axis rotation, generating a vortex that bent Vegito's trajectory inward. Vegito bent his body at an impossible angle, flipping through the spiral, kicking outward with a spinning strike that converted rotational force into linear shock.
Black countered with three simultaneous attacks from three predicted timelines—one from the future, one from the present, one from a hypothetical angle Vegito could have taken.
Vegito responded by fracturing his own ki signature, splitting into three after-images that each countered one timeline.
Their eyes locked with feral thrill.
Their fists blurred into probability waves.
Their movements layered into polyrhythmic combat patterns.
The shockwave inverted gravity in a 200-meter radius.
Spectators lifted upward involuntarily.
Piccolo braced himself with both arms.
Whis adjusted his staff.
The collision sent rings—perfect circles—rippling outward.
The two Vegitos didn't budge.
They simply stared at each other, fists still locked.
Vegito:
"Only just begun."
Baby Vegito Black:
"Obviusly"