The battlefield was a storm of chaos and fire. Every explosion shook the ground, every roar echoed through the endless haze of smoke and blood. In the center of it all, Razor clashed with the Super Saiyan 4 Limit Breakers— their fists a blur, their auras clashing like colliding stars.
Each strike tore through the air, shaking the battlefield itself. Razor's body screamed in pain, every bone in his body threatening to snap, but he refused to yield. The enemies were stronger, faster, and more controlled — but Razor's will was sharper than any blade.
His aura flared violently, golden and fierce, pushing back against the crimson-black storm of his opponent. Sparks of ki scattered across the battlefield like meteors as their fists collided again and again.
He could feel the bones in his arm cracking. His breath came out in ragged gasps. But still, he fought — each punch fueled by fury, by survival and the thrill of the fight itself.
The impact of their next clash sent a shockwave that flattened everything nearby. Craters opened under their feet, swallowing the dead and the debris alike.
Around them, Razor's comrades — the surviving Saiyans loyal to his faction — began to notice the tide shifting.
For the first time in hours, they saw a glimpse of hope.
As Razor's battle raged, the distraction it caused gave his allies the opening they desperately needed.
They struck back.
The mid-class and elite Saiyans rallied with renewed fury. They tore through the radicals' frontline, overwhelming the weaker ones in a storm of coordinated assaults. Blasts of blue, red, and gold filled the air, each one echoing with rage and desperation.
Razor's opponent tried to disengage, sensing the collapse of their forces, but Razor didn't let them. He lunged forward, driving a knee into the Saiyan's gut, then smashed his elbow down onto the back of his skull. The enemy crashed into the ground, leaving a crater beneath him.
Razor panted, blood dripping from his mouth. His vision swam. He wanted to fall. But he couldn't. Not yet.
Two more Limit Breakers approached, their energy crackling like thunder. Razor clenched his fists, his aura flickering — he was exhausted, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed.
Then — a surge of power appeared behind him.
Allies.
Three of his comrades appeared in flashes of crimson light, their Super Saiyan 4 forms blazing. Without a word, they charged in, intercepting the approaching enemies.
"Razor! Fall back! We've got this!" one shouted, his voice cutting through the roar of explosions.
Razor refused. His body was breaking down — every nerve, every tendon screaming for rest. But still, he fought alongside them, using every distraction, every moment of weakness from the enemy to strike.
When one of the enemy turned to block a blast, Razor was already behind him — his hand bursting through the Saiyan's chest in a flash of light.
When another tried to flee, Razor appeared above, slamming him into the dirt and finishing him with a single, merciless punch.
He wasn't fighting like a soldier anymore, but like a beast carved out of war.
Minutes turned to hours. The air grew thick with dust and death. And then — silence.
When the last radical fell, the battlefield went still. Smoke curled over the wreckage. The cries faded into nothing.
Razor stood there, chest heaving, every inch of him bloodied and burned. His golden aura dimmed until it finally vanished.
He had done it. They had stabilized the situation. The rest can be handled by others for now.
But he knew the cost. Too many were gone.
A Saiyan approached. "Razor. Report to the medical wing. That's an order."
He didn't argue. He could barely stand.
Razor dragged himself off the battlefield, each step leaving a faint streak of blood on the ground. When he finally reached the healing center, the medics were already waiting. They didn't waste time. They stripped away his armor, revealing the mess underneath — bruises, burns, deep gashes, and bones twisted at wrong angles.
He stared at his reflection in the glass mirror. His body was broken, but his eyes — his eyes still burned with fire.
As the healing process began, he closed his eyes and exhaled. The pain dulled, replaced by a heavy numbness. He could feel his body knitting itself back together, slowly, painfully.
He remembered the battle — the screams, the blood, the deaths. He remembered the faces of those he had killed, and those who had died beside him. It didn't make him sad. It hardened him.
He knew this pain would turn into strength. Every scar would become a reminder. Every broken bone would rebuild him stronger.
This war was shaping him into something he didn't fully understand — something colder, sharper, and far more dangerous.
And yet, even as exhaustion crept in, one thought kept him anchored — 18.
He clenched his fist.
He couldn't die here. He wouldn't.
Outside, the war raged on. Reports flooded in — new radical elites had appeared on multiple fronts, turning victories into losses within hours. The tides were shifting again, and command centers were in chaos.
But Razor didn't care. Not right now. His only goal was to recover, to return to the front stronger than before.
He knew the high-class radicals wouldn't stop. He could feel it in his bones. That last battle wasn't the end — it was only the beginning.
He had seen something in those Saiyans' eyes — loyalty to someone powerful, someone beyond them.
And somewhere, deep within enemy territory, that "someone" was stirring.
Inside the radicals' headquarters, a heavy silence filled the chamber. Medical equipment hummed softly as a team of doctors hovered over a massive figure lying on a reinforced bed.
The Saiyan's body was enormous — tall, muscular, his hair black and wild, flowing past his waist. His breathing was slow but deep, the air around him trembling faintly with suppressed power.
Monitors flickered as his pulse surged briefly, the room trembling with each heartbeat.
The chief medic stepped back, eyes wide. "His vitals are stabilizing… barely. But his ki… it's monstrous. Even in this state."
The assistant swallowed. "That's Cumber for you…"
"Yes, truly a monster among monsters" the medic said quietly.
The name hung heavy in the air.
Even weakened, the sheer presence of the Saiyan was suffocating. His aura flickered faintly in the dim light.
Outside the room, guards stood at attention — wary, tense, afraid to even glance inside.
Cumber's fingers twitched. His eyes fluttered for a moment, a flash of crimson piercing through before fading.
The machines beeped louder, the readings spiking.
The medic froze.
Cumber's voice, low and rough, broke the silence.
"…How long have I been asleep?"
The staff exchanged nervous glances. One of them answered, "A week Sir."
And somewhere, far from that room, Razor opened his eyes inside the medical room, unaware that the true monster of this war had just begun to awaken.