20 power stone bonus chapter!
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Fasha ignored him, prowling the perimeter of the obsidian platform like a caged predator. Her boots clicked rhythmically on the seamless marble. She paused near the edge, staring into the swirling nebula where Planet Vegeta was dying. Kyoto's gaze, unbidden, locked onto her backside. The pink armor wasn't just tight; it was molded like a second skin, sculpting every outrageous curve. Her ass was a masterpiece of Saiyan genetics – impossibly round, defiantly firm, straining the fabric material with every shift of her weight. It wasn't subtle. It was a declaration. Look, it screamed. Kyoto looked. Hard. A familiar, possessive heat coiled low in his gut, sharper now, amplified by the Saiyan blood singing in his veins. Seraphina, he thought, a dark grin forming.You dumbass bitch.
He tore his eyes away with effort. Gine remained crumpled near the capsule, silent tears carving paths through the grime on her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. Kyoto sighed internally. Earth-him would have awkwardly patted her shoulder, mumbled platitudes, and fled. Saiyan-him felt a flicker of impatience warring with the primal urge to claim something. The capsule pulsed softly. One bed. One chance. He cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the cosmic quiet.
"Alright," Kyoto announced, his voice deliberately rough, cutting through Fasha's pacing and Gine's sniffles. He jerked his thumb towards the silver capsule. "Training starts whenever Whis feels like it. Means sleep. Now." He paused, locking eyes with Fasha as she turned, her obsidian-chip gaze instantly suspicious. He grinned, sharp and challenging. "Bed's in there. Big enough for two. Maybe." He let the implication hang, thick and deliberate. "You in, Fasha? Or you gonna sulk out here all night?"
Fasha's eyes narrowed, scanning him head to toe – the unfamiliar gi, the spiky hair, the thick tail twitching behind him. Her lip curled, but it wasn't disgust. It was assessment. Predator sizing up predator. A slow, feral smirk spread across her face, revealing sharp canines. "With you, runt?" She took a deliberate step towards him, hips swaying with lethal grace. "Training starts tomorrow? Fine." Her gaze dropped pointedly, lingering on the significant bulge straining his gi pants before snapping back to his face. "Consider tonight… warm-up."
Kyoto met her challenge with a grin of his own. Chaos delivered. He turned towards the capsule hatch, its silver surface shimmering. Behind him, Gine's quiet sobs hitched, a fragile sound in the vast silence. Kyoto paused. Earth-him had always floundered with tears. Jenny's quiet disappointment, Bianca's rage-fueled weeping – he'd dodged, deflected, or drowned them out with crude jokes. Comfort wasn't his language. Saiyan-him felt the same impatient urge to move, to act, to claim. Fasha's predatory heat was a welcome distraction from the raw, maternal terror radiating off Gine.
He glanced back. Gine was curled into herself, shoulders trembling, face buried in her hands. The sheer vulnerability was alien in this Saiyan body, a stark contrast to Fasha's simmering aggression. Trying to soothe her felt like trying to pet a wounded thresher-beast – likely to get his hand bitten off. Worse, he might say something monumentally stupid and make it worse. Leave it. Whis dumped her here; Whis could deal with her fallout. Kyoto wasn't equipped for gentle.
"Fasha," Kyoto jerked his head towards the open capsule hatch, ignoring Gine's muffled cries. "You coming? Or you gonna let the runt claim the soft spot?" The challenge was clear, baiting her competitive fire.
Fasha snorted, sparing one last contemptuous glance at the weeping Gine. "Pathetic," she muttered under her breath, the word sharp and dismissive. Then she stalked past Kyoto, her shoulder deliberately bumping his as she entered the capsule's dim interior. "Move it, grunt. That bed better not be lumpy."
Kyoto followed, stepping over the threshold. The hatch hissed shut behind them, sealing out the cosmic vista and Gine's heartbreaking sobs. Inside was surprisingly spacious – sleek white walls, soft ambient lighting, and one large, low platform covered in thick, yielding foam that served as a bed. Fasha was already prowling the small space, her pink armor stark against the sterile white. She ran a hand over the foam mattress, testing its give, then turned, her dark eyes locking onto Kyoto with predatory intensity. The air crackled with unspoken challenge. Kyoto's Saiyan blood roared in response, the possessive heat flaring hotter. Outside, Gine wept alone under indifferent stars. Inside, the storm was just beginning. Fasha's lips peeled back in a fierce grin.
Fasha's hand snapped out, lightning-fast, catching his wrist. Her grip was iron. She didn't push him away; she held him there, inches from her armored hip. Her grin turned sharp, mocking. "Whoa there, runt. Eager much?" She laughed, a low, throaty sound. "Just because that blue guy dumped us in this tin can doesn't mean I'm jumping your monkey stick." She released his wrist with a dismissive flick. "We just met. And I've spent the last cycle dodging Frieza's lizards and watching my planet get primed for scrap." She stretched, a feline arch that made her armor creak. "I'm exhausted."
Kyoto watched, Saiyan arousal warring with Saiyan frustration, as Fasha began unlatching her armor. Plates clattered to the pristine floor – greaves, vambraces, chestplate. Underneath, she wore a simple, sweat-stained pink tank top. It clung to her powerful frame, outlining the heavy swell of her breasts. Her nipples were visibly hard, pressing against the thin fabric like pebbles – a stark contrast to her dismissive tone. She kicked off her boots, then flopped backwards onto the foam mattress with a groan that was pure exhaustion. "Bed's mine, runt," she mumbled, already closing her eyes. "Find a corner. Or the floor. Don't care." Within seconds, her breathing deepened, becoming slow and rhythmic. She was out cold, sprawled like a warrior after a brutal siege, her tank top riding up slightly to reveal the taut muscles of her abdomen and the enticing curve of her hip.
Kyoto stared. Exhausted? He felt wired, energy humming beneath his skin. The sight of her sprawled, vulnerable, yet radiating that fierce Saiyan heat, was maddening. The bulge in his gi pants throbbed insistently. He wanted to grab her, flip her over, pin those powerful thighs apart, and bury his dick in her pussy claim her ass right here, right now. But the sheer finality of her unconsciousness was a wall. Pouncing on a sleeping warrior? Even Saiyan-him recognized that was cowardly. Worse, it was boring. He craved the fight, the fire in her eyes, the struggle. Taking her while she slept offered no challenge, no victory scream. Just… theft.
Grunting in frustration, Kyoto moved towards the bed. He gripped Fasha's shoulder – rock-hard muscle beneath surprisingly soft skin – and shoved. It was like trying to shift a mountain. She didn't budge an inch, didn't even stir. Her tail twitched once, dismissively. He shoved harder, putting his newfound Saiyan strength into it. Nothing. She was a dead weight, anchored deep in sleep. Finally, panting slightly from the useless exertion, he managed to wedge himself onto the narrow strip of foam beside her. His body pressed against hers, radiating heat. The scent of sweat, ozone, and Saiyan musk filled his nostrils. Her ass pressed firmly against his groin, the thick curve a maddening pressure against his erection. He groaned, shifting slightly, but there was nowhere to go. He was pinned against her unconscious form.
Kyoto stared at the sterile white ceiling. Fasha's warmth pressed against his side. Outside the capsule, cosmic silence felt deafening. Is this it? The thought chilled him. Back on Earth, he'd had control—even with Elara pushing him, Bianca's wild energy, and Jenny's quiet need. He could drive fast, hook up recklessly, piss people off. Here? He was trapped. Floating on a marble platform near a sleeping cat-god. Watched by an alien butler who could freeze him with a thought. His "Oh-Pee" potential felt like a cruel joke. He couldn't even spark Ki, let alone bend reality. And the women? Fasha lay unconscious beside him defiant anduntouchable. Gine wept outside. Earth's messy chaos suddenly seemed... comfortable. Familiar. Maybe Seraphina screwed me harder than I thought.
But Saiyan blood burned in his veins. No. Kyoto clenched his fists, muscles tightening. Earth was ash. Smooshed Kyoto was gone. This Saiyan body was power,raw and untapped. Potential. The idiot goddess called it omnipotent. Whis wouldn't waste time on him if he was worthless. How fast could he grow? Faster than Goku? Faster than Vegeta? Could he shatter planets before breakfast? The thought sparked fierce hunger. And the perks... His eyes drifted down Fasha's strong frame to where her hip pressed against him. Someday. Possessive heat flared hotter. He'd always found a way Bianca's fire, Jenny's sweetness, Elara's icy challenge. Saiyan women? Stronger. Fiercer. Hotter. He'd break them too. He'd train until he could pin Fasha awake, make her scream his name instead of curses. He'd wield godlike power and get all the pussy he ever wanted ten times over. Kyoto grinned sharply into the dim light. Fine. Bring it on. He shifted against Fasha's warmth and closed his eyes. Sleep. Then training. Then conquest.