"Echoes of a Dying Star"
Planet X-17 — Outer Quadrant of the Southern Galaxy |
The crimson sky burns overhead, twin suns descending behind jagged volcanic peaks. Winds lash the black sands of the broken world known as X-17, a once-bustling trading hub now reduced to war and silence. Once, freighters crowded its orbit, merchants shouted across spaceports, and alien tongues filled the air with commerce and conflict. Now, the planet is a graveyard—its cities cracked open like old wounds, its skies permanently stained red by ash and radiation.
Somewhere within this dying world, a lone pod crash-lands.
The impact is violent. Rock shatters. Steam hisses violently from scorched exhaust vents as molten debris skids across the ground. The pod digs a long trench through blackened stone before finally coming to rest.
Silence follows.
Then—
The hatch hisses open.
Heavy boots strike rock. The sound is deliberate. Controlled.
A tall figure steps out, wrapped in futuristic armor scarred by battle. Red-black ki flickers faintly around his body like dying embers refusing to fade. A dark mask conceals his mouth, its respirator humming softly with each breath, filtering the toxic air. His black, shoulder-length hair sways with the wind, strands catching the light of the twin suns. His red-black eyes gleam like dying stars—ancient, heavy with knowledge no child should possess.
He scans the horizon silently.
The wind howls around him, tugging at his cape. Far in the distance, volcanoes rumble like sleeping beasts.
[SYSTEM: Activating… Status Scan…]
Species: Saiyan-Human Hybrid (Hanma Bloodline)
Age: 5
Power Level: 200
Status: Stable | Tail: Present | Potential: Limitless
His name is Cumber.
Born of war. Bred for conquest. And cursed with memories that do not belong to this timeline. A hybrid outcast. A secret storm moving quietly through history. A being who should not exist yet—and yet does.
"This is the planet I chose… Not bad," Cumber mutters, his voice deep and calm, echoing through the mask.
The words are casual, but his eyes remain sharp.
In the distance, movement stirs.
A race of gray-skinned warriors emerges from behind volcanic ridges. Tall and lean, their bodies wrapped in flowing cloaks etched with ancient sigils. Their crested heads tilt cautiously as they approach, green eyes glowing faintly in the low light. The Zeltraxians—the native species of X-17. Once traders. Now survivors.
They spread out in a loose formation, weapons not raised—but not lowered either.
Their leader steps forward. A hunched figure, older than the rest, his skin lined with age and radiation scars. He leans heavily on a staff tipped with a crystalline shard pulsing faintly with energy.
Zeltraxian Elder:
"You are not of our stars. Yet your landing was not by accident… Who are you, stranger?"
Cumber doesn't answer immediately. His gaze drifts past them—to ruined towers half-buried in ash, to broken docks where ships once docked. His ki remains suppressed, but something about him presses against the air like a storm waiting to break.
Cumber (cool, calculating):
"A hunter. A conqueror. But I offer no war… not yet. I need something first."
A murmur ripples through the Zeltraxians.
The elder's eyes narrow.
Zeltraxian Elder:
"You carry the blood of destruction. Saiyan… and something else. We sense it. You came from the stars. You escaped… the asteroid."
Cumber's eyes narrow slightly behind the mask.
Cumber (inwardly):
An asteroid?
…No. I know the truth. Frieza.
His tail flicks once behind him—controlled, restrained.
Cumber (calmly):
"What asteroid?"
The elder turns away slowly, staff tapping against the ground as he gestures toward a collapsed observatory. Ancient machinery whirs weakly as a holographic projector flickers to life. The image is distorted, but unmistakable—a planet engulfed in fire, space itself tearing apart as the explosion consumes everything.
Planet Vegeta.
"It happened not long ago. A planet of warriors… annihilated by cosmic fire. The Frieza Force calls it an asteroid. But legends speak of… betrayal."
Cumber's ki flares for a fraction of a second before he reins it in.
Cumber (low voice):
"Frieza… you snake. You'll get what's coming… but not from me. That revenge belongs to Kakarot and Vegeta."
He turns back to the Zeltraxians.
Cumber:
"Tell me about the rift."
The elder hesitates. His grip tightens on the staff before he points toward the horizon.
There—where the land itself seems wounded.
A massive crater stretches outward, bathed in blue-white light. Floating at its center is something unnatural—a dimensional wound, cracked like shattered glass suspended in midair. Space folds inward around it, light bending strangely as time itself appears distorted.
Zeltraxian Elder:
"That… is the Time Wound. A fragment of space and time. Ten years pass within for every year outside. It is unstable. No one who enters has returned."
Cumber's lips curl into a faint smirk beneath the mask.
Cumber:
"Perfect."
Time to grow. Time to train. Time stolen from fate itself.
He already knows his path.
The Cereal Dragon Balls.
The Eternal Dragon Toronbo.
Power without divine chains—if wielded correctly.
And in this era…
Granolah is still a child.
The Heeters rule Cereal.
And no one understands the value of those orbs yet.
Except him.
I will use them wisely. I will not pay the price like a fool.
Planet X-17 — Southern Galaxy |
The Zeltraxian elder tilts his head, sensing the shift in Cumber's intent.
Zeltraxian Elder:
"Another world calls to you, doesn't it, offworlder?"
Cumber (quiet, deadly):
"Yes. Cereal. I need to leave. You said this was a trade hub once. Do you have ships?"
Zeltraxian Elder:
"We have one—abandoned by space raiders. Warp-capable. Damaged, but it will fly."
Cumber:
"Good."
Before he turns to leave, Cumber reaches up—
With a sharp crackle of ki, he crushes the Frieza Force scouter, dropping the sparking remains into the dust.
Cumber:
"I'm no one's dog."
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
[Scouter Destroyed. Location Signature Erased.]
[Frieza Force tracking: TERMINATED.]
HOURS LATER — IN ORBIT ABOVE X-17
Cumber sits alone in the cockpit of a rusted Saiyan-style shuttle. The controls hum unevenly, shields flickering but holding. His armor pulses faintly with each breath, ki synchronized to his heartbeat.
Stars stretch endlessly before him.
One stands out.
Cereal.
SYSTEM:
Destination Locked: Planet Cereal
Distance: 4 Days at Warp-2
Estimated Time: 96 hours
Alert: You are currently in Age 744. Granolah is 3 years old. Heeters are active.
Cumber (inwardly):
I'll take the Dragon Balls.
Make my wish.
Then vanish into the Rift.
Cumber:
"Warp now."
The engines roar.
4 DAYS LATER — Planet Cereal
The ship pierces the atmosphere, descending over emerald hills and jagged cliffs. Cities dot the land sparsely—Cerealians and Sugarians forced into uneasy coexistence under Heeter control.
Above it all looms Heeter Base One, an orbital station watching the planet like a predator.
Cumber flies beneath radar, ki wrapped so tightly it barely exists.
SYSTEM SCAN ACTIVATED
Dragon Ball 1: Blackstone Gorge
Dragon Ball 2: Vault Room, Heeter Outpost 7
Time to move.
Cereal — Jungle Outskirts, Blackstone Gorge
The jungle breathes around him. Ancient ruins stretch like bones across the forest floor.
Then—
A shot. Precise. Silent.
A bug explodes from a tree leaf 100 meters away.
Someone's watching.
She drops in front of him.
Young. Cloaked. Armed.
Heterochromatic eyes lock onto his.
Cumber:
"You don't belong here."
Girl:
"Neither do you. Especially not with that tail."
She's sharp. Dangerous.
Her name is Lyra.
And for the first time since Planet Vegeta—
Cumber doesn't feel alone.
The sky screams.
Lightning coils around itself, emerald and gold, tearing open the heavens as Toronbo fully manifests. His colossal body spirals downward from the beam of light, scales etched with ancient Namekian script older than most stars. His eyes—vast, intelligent, merciless—lock onto the two small figures below.
The jungle bends under his presence. Trees bow. Stone cracks. Even the air feels heavier, as if reality itself recognizes an authority far beyond mortal scale.
Lyra stumbles back instinctively, boots digging into the earth, her breath catching in her throat.
Lyra (hoarse whisper):
"…That's a Dragon?"
Cumber does not move.
His tail remains still. His ki is controlled, compressed into a razor-thin edge beneath his skin. His eyes never leave Toronbo.
Toronbo (voice echoing across dimensions):
"You who have summoned me… speak.
I shall grant any single wish within my power—
if it is within your strength to wield."
The final words land heavier than the rest.
Cumber feels it.
Not pressure—judgment.
This dragon does not serve blindly like Shenron.
Toronbo measures potential, will, and consequence.
Lyra turns toward Cumber, eyes wide.
Lyra:
"You said this thing grants wishes—but that tone—"
Cumber (calm):
"It doesn't give gifts. It gives burdens."
He steps forward, boots crunching against stone. The light from Toronbo's body reflects off his armor, casting long shadows behind him.
Inside his mind, timelines overlap.
Granolah's future.
Gas's rise.
The Heeters' lies.
Ultra Ego.
Ultra Instinct.
Gods playing games with mortals.
He exhales slowly.
Cumber:
"Toronbo. Eternal Dragon of Cereal."
The dragon's eyes narrow slightly.
Toronbo:
"You know my name.
You know more than you should, child of mixed blood."
Cumber:
"I know the cost of greed.
I will not ask for borrowed strength."
Lyra stiffens.
Lyra:
"…Borrowed?"
Cumber does not look at her.
Cumber:
"Others wished to become the strongest.
They paid with their future.
I won't."
A flicker of interest passes through Toronbo's gaze.
Toronbo:
"Then speak your wish."
The jungle goes utterly silent.
Even the wind stops.
Cumber raises his head.
Cumber:
"I wish to inherit the knowledge, training discipline, and fighting style of a warrior from Universe 11…
Jiren the Grey.
Grant me access to his full power—but only as I grow strong enough to wield it."
Let all future strength be earned—
not stolen."
Lyra's breath hitches.
That wish—
It isn't explosive.
It isn't flashy.
It's terrifyingly intelligent.
Toronbo's coils slow.
The dragon studies Cumber not as prey… but as a variable.
Toronbo:
"Such a wish alters destiny without defying it.
You ask not for power—
but for permission."
A long pause.
Then—
Toronbo:
"This wish is within my power."
The sky detonates.
Green-gold energy slams downward, engulfing Cumber completely. The ground fractures outward in a perfect circle. Lyra throws her arms up, barely shielding herself as the pressure wave tears through the jungle.
Inside the light—
Cumber screams.
Not in pain.
In restructuring.
His cells burn.
Saiyan instincts collide with human adaptability.
Hanma blood awakens fully—muscle memory written into his DNA screaming for combat, growth, survival.
Limiters snap like chains.
Not strength given—
Paths unlocked.
His heart pounds harder, faster. His ki core deepens, expanding like a star collapsing inward. His perception stretches—time slowing, space sharpening.
The beam fades.
Cumber drops to one knee, breathing hard, steam rising from his body.
Toronbo begins to ascend.
Toronbo:
"Your path is now unshackled.
Grow wisely, child of contradiction.
For your ceiling… no longer exists."
Lightning disperses.
The Dragon Balls turn to stone.
Silence returns.
Lyra rushes to Cumber's side.
Lyra:
"Hey—hey—are you—?"
Cumber stands.
Slowly.
Too smoothly.
His eyes open.
They are no longer just red-black.
There is depth now—like staring into a deep sky before a storm.
SYSTEM UPDATE:
[Biological Limiters: REMOVED]
[Growth Rate: Exponential (Condition-Based)]
[Zenkai Threshold: Expanded]
[Hybrid Compatibility: PERFECTED]
Cumber flexes his hand.
The air bends slightly around his fingers.
Cumber (quiet):
"Good."
Lyra stares at him, unsettled.
Lyra:
"…You feel different."
Cumber:
"I am."
Suddenly—
ALARMS.
Red light floods the sky as energy signatures spike overhead.
Lyra turns sharply.
Lyra:
"That station—Heeter Base One—they felt that!"
Cumber looks up.
Multiple ships are deploying.
And far above, within the station—
A tall, sharp-eyed figure leans forward, smiling.
Elec.
Elec:
"Oh? That energy…
Interesting."
Cumber's lips curl faintly.
Cumber (inwardly):
Good.
Let them notice.
I won't be here long.
He turns toward Lyra.
Cumber:
"I'm going somewhere time breaks."
Lyra:
"…You're coming back, right?"
A pause.
Cumber:
"If I don't—
the galaxy's already dead."
He launches skyward, ki erupting beneath his feet—
Straight toward the Time Wound.
Behind him, the Heeters mobilize.
Ahead of him—
Ten years of growth await.