CHAPTER 16: SEED OF DESTRUCTION

The noise from the arena below was muffled inside the lavish VIP booth, but the occasional cheers and chants from the crowd seeped through the walls—faint reminders of the chaos unfolding beyond the polished confines. Inside, the air was stifling, thick with the cloying tang of expensive liquor and the acrid glow of Borzak’s cigar-like contraption.

Truffle sat stiffly at the edge of the room, her every movement calculated, her expression a perfect mask of neutrality. Beneath her calm exterior, her pulse raced, but she couldn’t afford a single slip. She had to play the part—just another nameless showgirl in Borzak’s inner circle. Blend in, stay unnoticed, she reminded herself.

Borzak himself was impossible to ignore. The mogul was a grotesque mix of wealth and menace, his hulking frame adorned with layers of gaudy jewelry that clinked with every exaggerated movement. Gold rings encrusted with gemstones gleamed on his thick fingers, and a fur-lined coat draped over his broad shoulders despite the room’s oppressive heat. Everything about him screamed indulgence and arrogance, as though his ego was as much his armor as his wealth.

The glowing blue smoke from his cigar spiraled lazily upward, forming a haze that made the air almost unbearable. Truffle fought the urge to cough, taking shallow breaths through her nose to avoid inhaling too deeply. Her sharp eyes flicked across the room, cataloging details—the position of the exits, the guards stationed at the door, the behavior of Borzak’s entourage sprawled in nearby seats.

Her disguise as a showgirl was holding for now, but she could feel Borzak’s leering gaze on her, sizing her up like a predator. It made her skin crawl, but she kept her composure. I’ve been in worse situations, she thought, clinging to her focus. Just get the intel and get out.

“More drinks,” Borzak barked suddenly, his voice a low growl as he waved lazily in her direction.

Truffle forced a smile, her movements smooth and practiced as she stepped forward to refill his glass. “Of course, sir,” she said sweetly, her voice light and unassuming.

Her mind raced as she poured, wondering how long she could keep up the charade. Every second here felt like an eternity, each moment increasing the risk of exposure.

The hiss of the booth door sliding open cut through the tension, and Truffle’s body tensed instinctively. She kept her expression neutral, carefully stepping back into the corner, the tray in her hands a convenient prop.

A burly goon entered the room, bowing slightly. “Boss, your business associates have arrived.”

Borzak’s lips curled into a smirk as he set his drink down with a loud clink. “Bring them in.”

Truffle’s stomach tightened as her eyes flicked toward the door. Business associates? she thought, her mind already spinning with possibilities.

The air seemed to shift as two figures entered the room, their presence immediately commanding attention.

Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized them—Saiyans.

The first saiyan was tall and lean, his spiked crimson hair giving him an almost fiery appearance that stood out even in the dimly lit booth. His sleek black and gray battle suit gleamed under the low light, though its intricate gold accents—carved in sharp, regal patterns—betrayed its purpose as a statement of status rather than practicality. This wasn’t armor meant for combat; it was crafted to signify power and position, the mark of someone accustomed to courtly dealings rather than battlefield skirmishes. His confident smirk never faltered, and his piercing, almost lazy gaze swept the room as though every detail had already been measured and deemed unworthy of his concern.

The second saiyan, in stark contrast, was bulkier, his physique built for brute strength and endurance. His close-cropped dark hair and the faint hum of his scouter added to his no-nonsense demeanor. His battle suit was also black and gray, but it was stripped of ornamentation, worn and scuffed in places, a testament to countless battles. It clung tightly to his frame, designed for function over flair, emphasizing practicality over grandeur. His sharp eyes darted across the booth with deliberate precision, every corner of the room scrutinized with the intensity of a warrior who expected trouble at any moment. While his demeanor was quieter than his companion’s, there was a palpable menace in his measured movements, a sense that his calm exterior concealed devastating power.

Truffle’s heart nearly stopped, her pulse hammering in her ears as the realization hit her. They’re here? she thought, her breath catching for a moment. She had been hoping to find some lead on their whereabouts, but not like this—not while trapped in Borzak’s booth, playing the part of a nameless servant.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the tray she held, the edges digging into her palms as she fought to keep her expression neutral. Stay calm. Stay unnoticed, she told herself, retreating further into the shadows. She lowered her head just enough to appear deferential, though her sharp eyes remained fixed on the two Saiyans.

Borzak rose from his seat, his jewelry jingling loudly as he spread his arms in a mock display of hospitality. “Ah, my esteemed guests! Welcome, welcome. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

The crimson-haired saiyan, Dakon, sneered, his voice sharp and cutting. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Borzak. We’re here for business, not small talk.”

Truffle’s grip on the tray tightened ever so slightly as she edged further into the corner. Her sharp ears caught every word, her mind working furiously to piece together what was happening.

Dakon’s gaze briefly swept the room, pausing for a moment on Truffle. Her heart leaped, but she didn’t flinch, keeping her head low and her expression blank. His attention passed as quickly as it landed, and he moved further into the booth.

Borzak gestured toward the plush seating area, his smirk widening. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

As the saiyans settled into their seats, Truffle’s mind was a storm of questions. Why are they here? What could they possibly want with Borzak? Still, she kept her composure, careful not to give herself away. She had a job to do, and any mistake now could cost her dearly.

***

Meanwhile, in the stands, Meelo hovered up to Vegeta, Tarble, and Broly, its beeps frantic and insistent. The little droid’s lights blinked in rapid succession, the urgency impossible to ignore. Vegeta frowned, uncrossing his arms as his sharp gaze narrowed on the droid. 

Broly leaned in slightly, his large frame moving with surprising care as he studied Meelo. “It’s… trying to tell us something,” he said slowly, his voice thoughtful as he focused on the sequence of beeps.

Tarble’s expression shifted, concern flickering across his face. He glanced around instinctively, scanning the stands. “Wait…” he said, his voice growing quieter. “Where’s Truffle? She hasn’t checked in with us in a while.”

Vegeta stiffened at that, his posture no longer as composed. His eyes darted to the corridors before settling back on the beeping droid. 

Meelo let out another rapid series of beeps and turned toward the shadowed corridors, its blinking lights almost frantic as it rolled a few feet away, then back, as if beckoning them to follow.

Vegeta’s brow furrowed deeply, a rare flicker of worry crossing his features. “She wouldn’t just disappear without letting us know,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. His eyes lingered on the path Meelo seemed desperate to lead them down. “If something’s wrong…”

Tarble stepped forward, his tone resolute. “I’ll check it out. You and Broly stay here and keep an eye on Gohan.”

Vegeta turned to his brother, his usual commanding presence tempered by visible concern. “Be careful,” he said firmly, his voice low but weighted with warning. “If there’s trouble, don’t engage unless you have no choice. And don’t draw attention to yourself.”

Tarble nodded, his expression steady. “I’ll handle it. I won’t cause a scene.”

Broly glanced between the two brothers, his quiet gaze lingering on Tarble. “Do you want me to go with him?” he asked, his tone calm but ready.

Vegeta shook his head. “No. If something’s happening, it’s better we don’t all leave. Gohan might need us.” He looked back at the arena, where Gohan’s match was about to start, though his focus remained split. “Tarble can handle this.”

Tarble gave a reassuring nod before turning to follow Meelo, who had already started zipping ahead toward the shadowed corridors. Vegeta’s gaze lingered on his brother’s retreating figure for a moment longer than usual before he forced himself to turn back to the ring.

Broly leaned slightly toward him. “Do you think she’s okay?”

Vegeta didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he watched Gohan square off with his opponent. Finally, he muttered, “She’s strong…but if she’s in danger, we’ll make whoever’s behind it regret it.”

As Tarble disappeared into the crowd, Meelo leading the way, Vegeta and Broly watched the next fighter enter the ring. This opponent was a disciplined martial artist, his movements precise and fluid. For Gohan, it was a more familiar style of combat, but the match was far from easy.

***

Back in the booth, Truffle moved carefully, refilling glasses and avoiding eye contact as the conversation between Borzak and the Saiyans unfolded.

“You’ve been a valuable partner to us,” Dakon began, leaning back in his chair, his crimson hair catching the dim light. His voice was smooth, almost conversational, but carried an undertone of authority. “Your networks of weapons and resources have kept certain… operations running smoothly.” He smirked, swirling the drink in his hand. “But now, we’re offering you something far more valuable—a trade that will elevate you beyond even your wildest ambitions.”

Borzak raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “I’m listening.”

Dakon reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small, sealed container, setting it on the table with deliberate care. “These,” he said, his voice lowering, “are seeds from the Eternal Tree of Might.”

Borzak’s sharp gaze fell on the container, his curiosity piqued. “Tree of Might?” he repeated, skeptical.

Dakon’s grin widened, his confidence unwavering. “The fruit of the Eternal Tree is no ordinary harvest,” he said smoothly. “It’s a source of unmatched energy and power—concentrated life force drawn from the planets it grows on. One bite, and the strength it grants rivals that of the gods themselves.” He gestured toward the container, his tone turning almost enticing. “And now, we’re offering you a chance to harness that power.”

Borzak’s skepticism lingered, his expression unreadable. “Even if I believed you, why would you offer such a resource to me?”

“In return for your help,” Dakon said smoothly, his tone growing sharper. “The fruit is…particular. It requires planets capable of sustaining its growth, and not every world is strong enough to handle its power. Most…fail.”

“Fail?” Borzak asked, tilting his head.

“They wither,” Dakon explained, his smirk deepening. “And die. But in exchange for the tree’s fruit, that’s a price worth paying, wouldn’t you agree? With your reach, your resources—you could help us find the planets we need to expand its influence. In return, you reap the rewards.”

Borzak leaned back, swirling his drink. “You’ve certainly got my attention…but this feels like a tall tale, Saiyan. Divine fruit? Power beyond imagination? Where’s your proof?”

Dakon chuckled softly, motioning to his companion. “Noppal?”

The bulkier Saiyan stepped forward, his dark eyes glinting as he reached into his pouch. He produced a gleaming golden fruit, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly glow, and set it on the table. The energy radiating from it was almost tangible, making the air feel heavier.

“One bite,” Dakon said, gesturing to the fruit, “Just one bite, and even the weakest among us would rival the gods.”

Borzak’s gaze lingered on the fruit, his intrigue obvious. He reached for it, but Noppal’s large hand shot out, stopping him.

“Not so fast,” Noppal rumbled, his voice calm but carrying a hint of menace. “This one isn’t for you.”

Without waiting for a response, Noppal raised the fruit to his lips and took a deliberate bite. The room seemed to grow heavier as his energy spiked, muscles rippling as his already imposing frame seemed to expand. Power radiated off him in waves, causing glasses on the table to tremble.

Borzak’s eyes widened, but before he could speak, Dakon gestured to one of Borzak’s bodyguards—a massive brute who stood silently by the door. “Your toughest man,” Dakon said, his grin widening. “Let’s see how he fares.”

Borzak hesitated for a moment before nodding. The guard stepped forward, cracking his knuckles as he squared off with Noppal.

The fight was over in an instant. With a single strike, Noppal sent the brute flying across the room, slamming him into the far wall with a sickening thud. The guard crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Dakon leaned back, clearly enjoying the stunned look on Borzak’s face. “Still think it’s a myth?” he asked, his tone almost mocking.

Borzak exhaled slowly, his expression shifting from disbelief to intrigue. “Impressive,” he admitted, his voice steady. “And you’re telling me… this fruit can do that to anyone?”

“Anyone,” Dakon confirmed. “But its effects are amplified for those who are already strong. Imagine what it could do for you…or the mercenaries you employ.” He leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes locking with Borzak’s. “My companion here—” he gestured to Noppal, who stood with an air of quiet menace—“will be the final opponent in your little tournament. A live demonstration, if you will.”

Borzak smirked, clearly entertained by the idea. “I like it. But I assume your king—what’s his name? Turles?—has his own reasons for this…generosity.”

Dakon chuckled, leaning back again. “King Turles has big plans. This quadrant? Frieza’s empire? They’re all ripe for the taking. With your help, Borzak, you could be part of something far greater.”

As the conversation continued, Truffle’s hands tightened around the tray she carried. Her heart pounded as the pieces began to fall into place. The appearance of these saiyans, the connection to the dying planets, and the mention of King Turles—it was all starting to make sense. Truffle’s heart raced as she realized the scale of what might be happening, but the full extent of his plans still eluded her.

She had to get this information to the Galactic Patrol. But how?

In the arena, Gohan’s match reached its climax. The martial artist was skilled, but Gohan’s training and adaptability gave him the edge. With a decisive blow, he secured his victory, the crowd erupting into cheers.

In the VIP booth, Noppal’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk as he stood, his energy still radiating from his earlier bite of the fruit. “Now,” he said, his voice deeper and more menacing, “let’s see how this Great Saiyaman fares against true power.”

___________

Writer’s Note:

Meet Dakon and Noppal—two new Saiyans I created specifically for this story. This chapter juggles multiple threads, with each character playing a role as the plot slowly converges on the key goal: uncovering the location of Idun.

Putting Truffle in the middle of all this chaos added a layer of tension and created the perfect opportunity for some mayhem to unfold. Her presence helped elevate the stakes and made the situation more dynamic.

When I decided to include Tarble in the story, I knew I wanted to explore his relationship with Vegeta. A lot of time has passed between them since they reconnected during Cooler’s Wrath, and I see Tarble as the younger brother trying to rebuild that lost connection. This dynamic adds depth and emotional weight to their interactions, and it’s something I’ve enjoyed developing throughout the story.