CHAPTER 27: THE CATALYST OF CHANGE

The Crusher’s bond had only grown stronger over the years. Despite the brutal environment of the arena, their shared motivation—to survive and fight together—had kept them alive. Onnio, once timid, now stood more confident, his growth a reflection of Turles's influence and the steady support of his fellow Crushers. The camaraderie among them was undeniable, and for the first time, they felt like more than just fighters; they were a unit.

On the morning of their next fight, the barracks buzzed with energy. The Crushers readied themselves, wrapping their fists and forearms tightly with strips of worn cloth and pelts, a ritual as familiar as the battles they fought daily. The faint scrape of fabric and the low hum of voices filled the air. Some adjusted the makeshift bindings on their feet, while others flexed their hands, testing the strength of the wraps.

"Make sure it's tight," Soya muttered, checking the knot on his wrist. "Last thing you want is it coming undone mid-fight."

Onnio nodded, fumbling with his own bindings. “Right...wouldn’t want to give them an easy target.”

“It’s just another fight,” Soya muttered, glancing at Onnio, who was double-checking his gloves. “Nothing we haven’t handled before.”

Onnio nodded, though his hands trembled slightly. “Yeah... just another fight,” he said, forcing a smile.

Turles stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, exuding calm authority. “Stay focused. Stick to what we’ve trained for. We’ve survived worse than this,” he said, his voice steady and commanding. The Crushers took his words to heart, the tension in the room easing slightly.

But the moment was shattered when the heavy doors swung open with a groan. Every head turned as King Vegeta II entered, his imposing frame and crimson cape making the air feel heavier. Beside him stood his teenage son, Vegeta III, whose sharp, youthful features mirrored his father’s. The boy’s smirk carried the arrogance of royalty, his eyes gleaming with curiosity and amusement as he surveyed the room.

The Crushers snapped to attention, their movements stiff and wary. Even Turles straightened, though his dark eyes remained sharp with unspoken defiance.

King Vegeta II’s gaze swept over them with cold indifference, as though inspecting livestock. “These are the famed Crushers,” he said, his deep voice carrying a sharp edge. “The so-called pride of the lower class. Fighters bred for survival, clawing their way through the filth of the arena.”

Vegeta III stepped forward, his smirk growing as he looked at the group. “They don’t look like much,” he remarked, his tone dripping with mockery. His hands clasped behind his back, he walked among them, his eyes lingering on each warrior. “I’ve heard stories of their victories. But tell me—have they ever fought a true saiyan elite?”

King Vegeta II raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his son’s comment. “No,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “They have not.”

Vegeta III stopped, turning to face his father with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “Then let’s test them,” he declared. “Have one of them face one of my elite guards. It’s the only way to see if they’ve truly earned their place here.”

The King’s lips curled into a faint smile, his pride in his son evident. “A good idea,” he said, nodding approvingly. “A future king thinks like this.” He looked at the Crushers again, his gaze almost entertained by the prospect. “Avoca,” he called, summoning his advisor. “Prepare one of them for the match. Let’s see what these ‘warriors’ are truly capable of.”

Avoca stepped forward, her expression neutral as she awaited her orders. The King gestured toward Turles. “Him,” he said. 

But Vegeta III interjected, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “No, not him,” he said, his sharp eyes scanning the group. “I want him.”

He pointed directly at Onnio.

The room fell deathly silent. Onnio froze, his wide eyes betraying his shock. Around him, his comrades exchanged uneasy glances, trying to process the prince’s unexpected choice.

King Vegeta II raised an eyebrow, surprised but amused. “An interesting choice,” he said with a nod. “Very well. Prepare him, Avoca.”

Avoca gave a curt nod, turning to Onnio. “Come with me,” she said briskly.

Onnio hesitated, his legs feeling like they were made of lead. He glanced at Turles, who stepped forward, his voice firm. “We’ve trained for this,” he said, locking eyes with Onnio. “Trust in yourself.”

Yamoshi nodded in agreement. “You’ve grown strong, Onnio. Remember that,” he said, his voice quieter but no less encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, Onnio nodded and squared his shoulders. “I’ll do my best,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

As he followed Avoca out of the barracks, the remaining Crushers gathered in hushed concern.

“What do we do now?” Soya whispered, his voice low.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Rukon replied grimly. “This is out of our hands.”

But Turles remained calm, his voice steady as he addressed the group. “He’ll be fine. Onnio’s stronger than he thinks. We’ve all seen it. He just has to believe in himself.”

Yamoshi added, “And no matter what happens, we’ll be there, watching and supporting him.”

The group fell into a tense silence as they waited, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.

***

The arena was alive with thunderous cheers as the crowd surged with anticipation. Onnio stood in the center of the vast battlefield, his fists bound with worn cloth, his breath steady despite the weight of countless eyes on him. Overhead, King Vegeta II sat in his grand seat, his son Vegeta III lounging beside him with a smug grin plastered across his face.

“He won’t last five minutes,” Vegeta III mused, his tone dripping with disdain. “But it’s a necessary lesson—both for him and the rest of his ilk.”

King Vegeta II chuckled, his arms crossed. “Perhaps.”

In a dugout-like section just off the arena floor, the Crushers huddled together, separated from the roaring crowds but positioned close enough to witness every blow. Onnio caught sight of his comrades, drawing strength from their presence. Turles leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and met Onnio’s gaze, nodding firmly. His expression was unreadable but carried a quiet confidence. “He’s got this,” Turles said, his tone sharp with determination, as though willing Onnio to believe it.

“He’s stronger than they think,” Yamoshi added, leaning forward, his fingers steepled under his chin. “Five years of hard training will show them what he’s made of.”

But the tension among the group was still thick. Soya shook his head. “Doesn’t matter how strong he is. They’ll stack the deck.”

The massive gates at the far end of the arena rumbled open, revealing a hulking silhouette. The crowd roared in approval as Cumber stepped into the light. Bare-chested and towering, his muscles rippled with raw power. His wild mane of hair framed a face that held nothing but savage amusement.

In the dugout, the Crushers froze.

Avoca’s eyes widened in disbelief as she turned to Vegeta III. “You chose him? Your personal bodyguard?”

Vegeta III smirked, utterly unbothered by the reactions. “Of course. If they’re going to prove themselves, it’s only fair to test them against the best. Cumber will show them what real power looks like.”

Onnio stared at his opponent, his nerves tightening like a vice. He was dwarfed by Cumber’s sheer size, the disparity reminiscent of David and Goliath. Yet, he didn’t back down. His gaze flicked to the Crushers one last time. Turles gave him a nod, his calm demeanor unwavering.

“You’ve got this,” Yamoshi muttered under his breath, though his fingers dug into the stone ledge in front of him.

Cumber smirked as he stepped into the arena, his towering frame casting a shadow over Onnio. He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing ominously in the tense silence before the crowd erupted again. “You’re not just fighting me,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “You’re fighting the last thing you’ll ever see.”

Onnio swallowed hard but refused to back down, his fists tightening as he locked eyes with the monstrous Saiyan.

Cumber wasted no time. With a feral roar, he charged, the ground trembling beneath his feet. His first punch was a blur of motion, and Onnio barely dodged it, the force of the missed blow sending a gust of wind rippling through the arena.

Onnio countered with a swift series of strikes, aiming for Cumber’s ribs and legs. His blows landed, but they might as well have been raindrops against a mountain. Cumber laughed, his voice booming. “That's all you’ve got?”

The hulking Saiyan retaliated with a brutal kick that Onnio narrowly avoided, rolling to the side and springing back to his feet. The crowd erupted in cheers at the display of skill, but it was clear who they were rooting for.

“He’s holding his own,” Yamoshi said, his tone hopeful.

But Turles’s eyes never left the fight. “That monster’s not taking this seriously yet,” he muttered darkly.

As if to prove him right, Cumber stopped to crack his neck, his grin widening. “You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. But spirit won’t save you.”

He surged forward with blinding speed, catching Onnio off guard. A vicious elbow slammed into Onnio’s gut, lifting him off his feet and sending him crashing into the dirt. The Crushers flinched as one, the sound of impact echoing through the arena.

Onnio staggered back to his feet, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His breaths came in ragged gasps, but he didn’t back down.

“You’re braver than expected,” Cumber admitted, his voice dripping with mockery. “Let’s see how much more you can take.”

The next exchange was brutal. Cumber’s strikes came faster and harder, each one sending shockwaves through the ground. Onnio tried to dodge, but exhaustion and pain slowed him. A massive punch connected with his ribs, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

“Get up!” Yamoshi muttered, his voice tight with desperation.

Onnio’s body trembled as he tried to push himself up, but his strength was gone. Cumber stood over him, laughing. “Stay down, worm. It’s where you belong.”

Yamoshi’s fists clenched, his body vibrating with barely contained rage. “This has to stop,” he hissed, his voice shaking.

But the crowd roared louder, hungry for more violence.

Onnio’s broken body lay unmoving, his breaths shallow. Yamoshi couldn’t take it anymore. He vaulted over the barricade, sprinting into the arena.

“Yamoshi, stop!” Turles shouted, his voice sharp with warning.

But Yamoshi didn’t listen. He slid to his knees beside Onnio, cradling his friend in his arms. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Cumber sneered. “Two worms in the dirt. Fitting.”

Yamoshi rose slowly, his fury radiating off him like heat. “You think this is strength?” he snarled. “You’re nothing but a bully.”

Cumber’s grin widened. “Care to join him?”

Before Yamoshi could answer, Turles stepped into the arena, his expression grim. “No,” he said coldly. “You’ll fight me.”

The arena fell silent for a moment, the tension crackling like electricity.

Cumber’s grin grew feral.

Turles’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yamoshi, get him out of here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Yamoshi hesitated, then nodded, carrying Onnio away as Turles faced Cumber. The crowd erupted once more, eager for the next brutal clash.

This time, however, the Crushers weren’t just watching a fight. They were watching the moment that would define their rebellion.

The tension in the arena was electric as Turles stood face-to-face with Cumber, the air between them thick with animosity. Cumber’s towering figure loomed over him, but Turles didn’t flinch. His fists clenched, and his eyes burned with an intensity that even Cumber couldn’t ignore.

“You think you’re ready to take me on, low-class trash?” Cumber sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’ll break you like I did your friend.”

Turles’s lip curled into a snarl. “You talk too much,” he said coldly, his gaze flicking momentarily to King Vegeta II and his son. He could feel their eyes on him, watching intently from their elevated perch. Turles knew this fight wasn’t just about Cumber—it was about sending a message.

King Vegeta II raised a hand, stopping Avoca mid-command as she nearly called for the guards to seize Turles. “Let it play out,” the King said with a smirk. “This one interests me.”

Vegeta III leaned forward, eager to see how this fight would unfold. “Father, this one’s different,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and intrigue.

Cumber cracked his neck, stepping closer. “I’ll make this quick,” he said, the ground shaking slightly as his energy flared. But Turles didn’t wait for him to make the first move.

With a primal roar, Turles struck first, his fist colliding with Cumber’s jaw in a thunderous impact that sent the elite Saiyan stumbling back. The crowd gasped, the sound of the blow reverberating through the arena. Cumber wiped his mouth, shocked to see blood on his hand.

“You’re going to regret that,” Cumber growled, his energy spiking as he lunged at Turles with a flurry of punches. But Turles had been watching every move Cumber made during his fight with Onnio. He dodged and countered with precision, his movements sharp and calculated.

Turles’s strikes were relentless, each one fueled by his anger and grief. He ducked under a wide swing from Cumber and landed a crushing blow to his ribs, forcing a grunt of pain from the elite guard. Cumber’s frustration grew, and with a roar, he began firing energy blasts wildly around the arena, each explosion shaking the stands.

The crowd roared with excitement, but Avoca was on edge. “We need to stop this! People are going to get hurt!” she urged, but King Vegeta II remained unmoved.

“Let it continue,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he watched Turles with growing interest. “If he survives this, it will be worth the risk.”

Turles dodged the energy blasts with ease, deflecting one directly toward the royal box. The crowd gasped as the attack hurtled toward King Vegeta II and his son. With a flick of his wrist, the King raised a barrier, shielding himself and Vegeta III from harm.

“That was intentional,” Vegeta III remarked, his voice laced with amusement.

As the dust settled, Turles closed the distance between himself and Cumber. With a final, devastating blow to the side of Cumber’s head, he sent the elite guard crashing to his knees. Bloodied and defeated, Cumber glared up at Turles, but the fight was over.

The arena erupted into chaos, the crowd roaring in disbelief. Turles turned, his chest heaving, and his gaze fell on Yamoshi and the others. They were gathered around Onnio, their voices desperate as they called his name.

Turles’s heart sank as he saw Yamoshi cradling Onnio’s lifeless body. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut. Onnio was gone. The first Crusher in years to fall in the arena, and the pain of that loss ignited a new fire within Turles.

He turned his attention back to King Vegeta II, pointing a bloodied hand at the ruler. “This is on you!” Turles roared, his voice echoing across the arena. “You sit there, watching us die for your amusement. I challenge you, King Vegeta! Face me yourself if you think you’re worthy of your throne!”

The crowd fell silent, stunned by the audacity of Turles’s words. King Vegeta II’s expression darkened, but there was a glint of interest in his eyes.

“You dare challenge me?” the King said, his tone calm but laced with menace. “Very well. If you wish to die by my hand, I will grant you that honor.”

Turles didn’t flinch. “You’ll regret everything you’ve done,” he vowed.

The Crushers were escorted back to the barracks under heavy guard, the weight of Onnio’s death heavy on their hearts. Turles followed behind in silence, his fists trembling with rage. 

“I’ll kill him,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “For Onnio, for all of us, I’ll end this.”

***

That night, the barracks were filled with grief. The Crushers sat in silence, their minds heavy with the loss of Onnio, their fallen comrade, and their brother. His absence was felt deeply by every one of them, the weight of his death like a leaden cloud that seemed to suffocate any hope of freedom.

Amond, Cacao, Daiz, and the others huddled together, speaking in hushed tones as they reminisced about the moments when Onnio had been alive. They spoke of his growth, how he had started as a weak Saiyan who couldn't hold his own in a fight, and how he had earned his place among them, proving his worth by holding his own against Cumber, an elite warrior. He had fought until the end, never backing down.

"We thought he'd make it," Daiz murmured quietly, a bitter edge to his words. "He was so much stronger than when we first met him... But what’s the point, huh? We keep fighting, and for what? To stay trapped in this hell, to keep dying for their amusement?”

Amond, his voice laced with frustration, slammed a fist onto the ground. “We’re not going to win. Not like this. The King’s got his foot on our necks, and there’s nothing we can do to shake him off.”

“There has to be another way,” Cacao said, though doubt was evident in his tone. "Maybe we can organize… find a way to take back control, get rid of the King and his elite."

The conversation paused as the weight of the thoughts hung in the air. Their future seemed uncertain, and for the first time in a long while, the Crushers seemed unsure if continuing the fight was even worth it. But the one thing they knew for certain was that Turles would never back down. And that brought them to the uncomfortable realization that Turles might be their only hope—and their only threat.

“Where is Turles?” Rukon asked quietly, looking around the dimly lit barracks. “And Yamoshi?”

Meanwhile, far from the others, Turles and Yamoshi walked in silence, their steps heavy. Yamoshi’s voice broke the stillness first, low and filled with concern. “Are you out of your mind, Turles?! Do you think challenging the King will solve anything? If you lose, it’s over for all of us.”

Turles’s expression darkened, eyes hard as stone. “What else can we do? Do you think the King cares about us? About anything other than his own power? You saw the grin on his face. That was a message. He’s not just killing us. He’s sending a message to anyone who dares to rise up. And we let that happen.”

Yamoshi clenched his fists, trying to reason with his friend. “That’s exactly why we need to stay vigilant and think this through. Fighting him directly—challenging the King—it won’t change anything. It’s just a death sentence. You’re better than that, Turles.”

Turles’s voice grew colder, his gaze hardening. “You’ve always believed in unity and peace, Yamoshi. But it’s too late for that now. We watched Onnio die today and they cheered. This—this isn’t about unity anymore. It’s about survival. It’s about strength. We can’t keep waiting for a miracle. The only way to change things is by forcing it. And I’m not going to sit back and wait for someone else to decide when we die.”

The two men stood facing each other, the tension between them palpable. Yamoshi shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. “I don’t believe this is the way, Turles. We don’t have to lose ourselves in anger to win.”

But Turles was already turning away, not willing to listen anymore. “I don’t have time for speeches, Yamoshi. Tomorrow, I fight the King. And if I die, then at least I’ll die on my own terms.”

Yamoshi made a move to stop him, but Turles was already gone, slipping into the shadows through a small hole he’d created in the wall of their barracks years ago. Alone in the quiet of the night, Turles wandered out, his mind spinning with thoughts of anger and revenge. He needed a way to win. His power alone might not be enough to face the King, but perhaps there was something else that could give him the strength he needed.

After the chaos of the fight and the pain of losing Onnio, Turles wandered into the night, his mind a swirling storm of anger and grief. He had never felt so helpless. How could he possibly face King Vegeta II in battle? His power alone was no match for the King’s elite strength. The image of Onnio’s lifeless body haunted him, fueling a growing hatred that twisted in his chest.

Seeking solitude, Turles slipped into the shadows, far from the barracks and the others. He needed to think, to clear his mind, but the pain from losing Onnio only burned brighter the longer he brooded. In the quiet darkness, the weight of everything threatened to crush him. What did it all mean? What was the point of fighting if this was the result?

As he walked aimlessly, lost in his thoughts, a strange gleam of light caught his attention in the distance. Intrigued, Turles followed it, moving silently through the darkness. He crept closer, his senses sharp and his heart pounding with curiosity.

It wasn’t long before Turles stumbled upon the source of the light: two strange figures standing under its faint glow. He crouched low behind a boulder, his instincts kicking in as he watched them cautiously. Even in the dim light, he could tell they weren’t from Planet Sadala—their appearance alone made that obvious.

One was tall, with light pink skin and an air of arrogance, wearing pristine white Jackie Ohh sunglasses that glinted faintly in the darkness. The other was short and dumpy, an odd contrast to her companion, with red Jackie Ohh sunglasses perched on her nose and a blonde wig that sat awkwardly atop her head.

Turles crept closer, careful not to make a sound, his sharp eyes locked on the two. He hoped to overhear their conversation without being detected. Whatever brought them to this desolate part of Sadala wasn’t ordinary, and his instincts told him they were important.

“Well, this is a waste of time,” a sharp voice—East Kai—sounded, laced with annoyance. “Sadala is nothing but a wasteland. A savage planet, full of primitive beings.”

South Kai, less bothered by the place, sighed. “It’s hardly worth our time, but orders are orders. Let’s just finish up and move on.”

East Kai groaned dramatically, adjusting her blonde wig as she crossed her arms. “I know it’s orders from the Supreme Kai, but I finished my census ages ago. Why do I have to be here with you? I could be on my jet bike, racing across the cosmos! This backwater rock is the last place I want to be.”

South Kai chuckled, an air of calm about him despite her complaints. “Maybe if you spent less time joyriding and more time working, you wouldn’t be here now.”

East Kai shot him a glare. “Excuse me?! I do my job, and I do it fabulously, thank you very much. Unlike you, who spends forever on every detail. What are you even doing now?”

South Kai ignored her tone and gestured to his clipboard. “Plant life. The Supreme Kai wanted a thorough catalog of life on Sadala. Though after observing the Saiyans, I see no reason to interact with them. Primitive, war-hungry creatures. Hardly worth divine intervention.”

“Ugh.” East Kai rolled her eyes and reached into her sash belt, pulling out one of their divine fruits—the very same fruit from the Tree of Might. She bit into it and immediately grimaced, her face scrunching in disgust. “Ugh! Bitter! I thought this was supposed to be sweet!” She held the fruit up in frustration. “I need to talk to Zalama about this. His new fruit needs serious work.”

Turles, crouched low behind the boulder, watched the exchange intently. As the two Kais bickered and bantered, something clicked in his mind. Their otherworldly presence, their dismissive attitude toward the Saiyans—it all pointed to one undeniable truth. These weren’t ordinary beings. They were gods. Real gods.

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt, leaving him stunned. Gods, here on Sadala, conducting some mundane task for the Supreme Kai? And that fruit…

“Maybe if you stopped stuffing your face with every divine creation…” South Kai muttered under his breath as he finished his notes, ignoring her.

East Kai didn’t seem to hear him. She glanced around, visibly bored. “Are we done yet? Because if we’re done, we can finally leave this dump.”

South Kai slapped his pen to his clipboard with a nod. “Yes, I’ve got what I need. It’s time to go.”

East Kai practically beamed. “Finally! Let’s get out of here.” In her excitement, she tossed the remainder of the fruit aside without a second thought. The half-eaten divine fruit landed carelessly on the ground, gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

South Kai and East Kai turned, their forms beginning to glow with divine light as they prepared to leave. “Finally, I’m free!” East Kai cheered, practically skipping as they vanished into the shimmering light, leaving Sadala behind.

Turles’s eyes locked onto the discarded fruit. A divine fruit, casually tossed aside like it was nothing—and now, it lay right in front of him.

This was it. His chance.

The Kais had vanished in a shimmer of light, their dismissive remarks still echoing in Turles’s mind. The wasteland they saw, the primitive beings they mocked—it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fruit they had left behind.

Without hesitation, Turles moved swiftly, snatching the fruit from the ground. Its faint energy pulsed beneath his fingers, sending a jolt through his body. This was no ordinary fruit—it was divine, a gift from the gods. To Turles, it was more than that. It was a sign, a beacon of the power he desperately needed.

Hiding the fruit in his pelt, Turles slipped back into the shadows. His mind raced with possibilities, his heart pounding as the weight of his decision settled in. Tomorrow, he would face the King and he would fight with the power needed to win. And if he died, he would die with the strength to make a difference.

Unbeknownst to him, Yamoshi had been following from a distance, quietly observing. Concern clouded Yamoshi’s mind as he watched his friend retreat into the darkness. Whatever Turles had found, whatever path he had chosen, it was one Yamoshi feared would lead to ruin. The fight for survival—against the King and the system—was about to begin.

___________

Writer’s Note:

Rest in peace, Onnio.

Well, that was a lot to unpack. Cumber’s introduction as King Vegeta III’s (present-day Vegeta’s father) personal bodyguard was a choice I wrestled with while developing this chapter. Originally, I was going to have Cumber be a member of the Crushers, but with his strength and ferocity in this era, it just made more sense for him to be an elite. His brute power fits perfectly within King Vegeta II’s harsh hierarchy and caste system.

Having him be the one Onnio faces felt brutal, but it delivered the message I needed: to show just how ruthless King Vegeta II truly was. It also served to shatter any hope the Crushers had that their bond as a family could somehow make a difference from within the system. No matter how strong they grew or how long they survived, they weren’t going to earn their freedom. They were destined to die in the arena—and that realization pissed Turles off.

Losing Onnio was emotional, not just for the Crushers but for Turles personally. That rage he unleashed on Cumber wasn’t just about revenge; it was about grief, about the weight of loss, and about standing up for Yamoshi—because that’s what brothers do when they’ve bled and fought side by side in the arena.

Now, about how Turles stumbled upon the divine fruit—that’s something I’ve had in mind for a while. I always imagined it wasn’t just lying around waiting to be found. I thought, What if it was a Kai who casually snacked on it and discarded it, completely unaware of the ripple effect it would cause? The identities of those Kais didn’t solidify until I worked out where Sadala fits within the universe. Ironically, this entire mess ties back to South Kai and East Kai—their actions set everything in motion, even though South Kai had no idea it would come back to haunt him in the present.

The original movie never explained how Turles got the fruit—or the seed, for that matter. But this version feels right to me. It fits without breaking canon, offering a believable explanation for how a fruit of the gods could end up in the hands of a mortal.

Now… get ready. The main event of Part 2 is next!