The battlefield was silent.
Marcus stood at the center of the devastation, his white rubber body gleaming in the afternoon sun, his flame-like hair dancing without wind. The Z Fighters had gathered around him—Piccolo with arms crossed, Krillin leaning on a boulder, little Gohan staring with wide eyes.
And in his head, Nika was laughing.
"That was MAGNIFICENT! The way you punched him! The fire! The DRAMA! Oh, Marcus, you have such POTENTIAL!"
Marcus's permanent grin twitched. His mind was racing, processing everything that had happened in the last... what, ten minutes? Fifteen? He'd fallen from the sky, discovered he was made of rubber, beaten two alien warriors, and now he was standing in a crater surrounded by people who thought he was some kind of freak.
Which, fair.
"You're thinking too hard," Nika observed. "I can feel it. Your mind is spinning, trying to categorize, trying to UNDERSTAND. Stop that. Understanding is a chain."
"Easy for you to say," Marcus muttered. "You're not the one who woke up in a cartoon body."
"No. I'm the one who's been IMPRISONED for eight hundred years, watching the world through fragments of dreams, waiting for someone—ANYONE—to set me free." Nika's voice softened. "And then you appeared. Dying. Alone. Your soul screaming for something MORE. How could I not answer?"
Marcus paused.
"I was... dying?"
"Car accident. Your world, your time. A drunk driver. Very tragic. Very mundane. You were bleeding out on cold asphalt, and your last thought was—" Nika's voice became gentle. "—'I wish I could have had an adventure.'"
The memory hit Marcus like a punch to the gut.
He remembered now. The headlights. The screech of tires. The impact. And then... darkness. Cold. The feeling of slipping away.
And a voice, warm like sunshine, asking: "Would you like to live? Would you like to be FREE?"
"I said yes," Marcus whispered.
"You said yes. And now here you are. Not Marcus Chen, accountant. Not even Marcus Chen, accident victim. You are something NEW. Something wonderful. Something..." Nika's voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "...LIBERATED."
"So what?" Krillin's voice cut through Marcus's internal dialogue. "You're just gonna stand there muttering to yourself? We kind of need some answers here, buddy."
Marcus looked at the gathered fighters.
They were staring at him with a mixture of suspicion, curiosity, and—in Gohan's case—something like wonder. These were people who had just nearly died. Who had watched their friends fall. Who had been saved by a complete stranger who looked like a cartoon fever dream.
They deserved answers.
But what answers could he give? "Hi, I'm actually a dead accountant from another dimension, and I'm being possessed by an ancient god you've never heard of"?
"They HAVE heard of me," Nika corrected. "Or rather, they will remember. The name Nika echoes through time, through space, through the very fabric of reality. Anyone who has ever yearned for freedom carries a piece of me in their heart. They just need to be REMINDED."
"How?"
"By BEING me. Not pretending. Not acting. BECOMING. Let go of Marcus Chen. Let go of his fears, his doubts, his limitations. Embrace the joy. Embrace the freedom. Embrace..." Nika's voice rose with excitement. "...the PERFORMANCE."
Performance.
Now THAT was a word Marcus understood.
Before he'd become an accountant—before the soul-crushing reality of adult life had beaten the creativity out of him—Marcus had been a theater kid. Drama club. Improv nights. LARP sessions that went way too hard. He'd spent years learning to become other people, to slip into roles like putting on comfortable clothes.
He'd just never had a role quite like THIS before.
"I can give you more than words," Nika said eagerly. "I can give you MEMORIES. My memories. Eight hundred years of laughter and liberation. Every world I freed. Every chain I broke. Every moment of pure, unbridled JOY. They can be yours, if you want them. If you're willing to stop being Marcus Chen and START being—"
"Nika," Marcus finished.
"Yes."
Marcus closed his eyes.
The drums pounded in his chest. Dum-da-da-dum-dum. Dum-da-da-dum-dum.
He thought about his old life. The cubicle. The spreadsheets. The endless, grinding monotony of existence. Waking up, going to work, coming home, sleeping, repeating. A hamster wheel of mediocrity that had only ended because a drunk driver ran a red light.
Was that really something worth holding onto?
Was Marcus Chen really someone worth BEING?
"He was," Nika said gently. "He was kind. He was clever. He dreamed of more, even when the world told him to dream smaller. Those parts of him—the GOOD parts—they're still here. They'll always be here. I'm not asking you to destroy Marcus Chen. I'm asking you to set him FREE."
Free.
The word resonated through Marcus's entire being.
Free from doubt. Free from fear. Free from the constant, grinding anxiety of being a small person in a big, uncaring world.
Free to LAUGH.
"Yes," Nika breathed. "YES. That's it. Feel the rhythm. Hear the drums. And when you're ready..."
Marcus opened his eyes.
"...let me show you who WE are."
The memories came like a river bursting through a dam.
Not overwhelming—Nika was careful, gentle, feeding them in waves rather than a tsunami—but VIVID. More real than anything Marcus had ever experienced. He didn't just SEE the memories.
He LIVED them.
A world of endless ocean. Islands scattered like jewels across blue infinity. A boy with a straw hat, laughing, reaching toward the sky with arms that stretched impossibly far.
"I'm gonna be King of the Pirates!"
Joy. Pure, unbridled joy. The feeling of someone carrying your will forward, your dream alive in their heart.
A slave auction. Men and women in chains, hope dead in their eyes. And then—CRASH—a wall exploding inward, a figure silhouetted against the sun.
"Nobody has the right to own another person."
Chains shattering. Screams turning to laughter. The feeling of liberation spreading like wildfire.
A planet of green-skinned people with pointed ears. Namek—young Namek, before the cataclysm. A tyrant with an army, forcing the peaceful people to build monuments to his glory.
Dancing through the battlefield. Every soldier who saw the dance forgot why they were fighting. Every slave who heard the drums remembered why they were LIVING.
"Who are you?" the tyrant demanded, his empire crumbling around him.
"Shishishi~ I'm Nika! Nice to meet ya!"
A world of eternal night. A people who had never seen the sun, ruled by creatures who fed on their despair.
Bringing light. Not physical light—something deeper. Hope-light. Joy-light. The kind of illumination that no darkness could extinguish.
"You can't kill the sun," the laughing god proclaimed. "You can only wait for it to rise again!"
A council of divine beings. Twenty figures in black robes, fear in their ancient eyes.
"He must be stopped. He's liberating our SERVANTS. Our WORSHIPPERS. If this continues, the very concept of divine authority will collapse."
"Then let it collapse. Shishishi~"
Chains. Conceptual chains, wrapping around the idea of Nika, sealing him away, imprisoning not just a body but an entire CONCEPT.
Eight hundred years of darkness. Of waiting. Of dreaming of freedom.
And then—a dying man on cold asphalt, his last thought a wish for adventure.
A wish that sounded like a KEY.
Marcus gasped, the memories releasing him.
But they didn't LEAVE. They settled into his mind like old friends, like stories he'd always known but had somehow forgotten. He could feel Nika's eight centuries of experience sitting in his consciousness, ready to be accessed, ready to be USED.
And more than that—he could feel Nika's PERSONALITY bleeding into his own.
The joy. The mischief. The absolute, unshakeable confidence that everything would work out because he would MAKE it work out.
The Marcus who had been afraid was still there, somewhere deep down. But he was wrapped in something larger now. Something brighter.
Something that laughed.
"Welcome home," Nika whispered, and his voice was Marcus's voice, and Marcus's voice was his, and the distinction between them was becoming beautifully, liberatingly BLURRED.
"Shishishi~"
The laugh that escaped Marcus's lips wasn't forced. Wasn't uncomfortable. Wasn't the result of his new body's permanent grin.
It was REAL.
It was JOY.
It was the laugh of the Sun God, and Marcus was CHOOSING to make it his own.
"Hey!" Krillin's voice cut through Marcus's transformation. "Are you okay? You've been standing there with your eyes closed for like a minute, and it's getting kind of creepy."
Marcus—no, Nika—opened his eyes.
Everything looked different now.
The battlefield wasn't just a wasteland of craters and scorch marks. It was a canvas. A story. A place where chains had been broken and freedom had triumphed. He could see the narrative of it, the MEANING of it, in a way that Marcus Chen never could have.
And the people standing before him weren't just strangers.
They were POTENTIAL.
Piccolo—a being born from evil, fighting against his own nature, liberating himself from the darkness of his predecessor. A warrior who had chosen his own path, who had become more than what he was created to be.
Beautiful.
Krillin—small, weak by the standards of this world, but BRAVE. So impossibly brave. Fighting against enemies who outclassed him in every way, standing up again and again because someone had to. Because giving up would mean letting down the people he loved.
Magnificent.
Gohan—a child, terrified, pushed into battle before his time. But underneath the fear, a core of steel. A power waiting to be unleashed. A liberator in the making, if someone would just show him the way.
Wonderful.
And Piccolo was staring at him with narrowed eyes.
"Something's changed," the Namekian said slowly. "Your energy. It was strange before, but now it's... different. Deeper."
"Shishishi~" The laugh came easily now, naturally. "You're perceptive! I like that. Must be a Namekian thing."
"What happened?" Piccolo demanded. "What did you just do?"
Marcus—Nika—Marcus—they—spread their arms wide.
"I remembered who I am!"
The declaration rang across the battlefield, carrying weight that mere words shouldn't have been able to hold.
"I am NIKA! The Sun God! The Warrior of Liberation! I was sealed away for eight hundred years by those who feared freedom, and now I have RETURNED!"
The words hit the assembled fighters like a physical force.
And something strange happened.
Piccolo staggered.
His hand went to his head, his eyes going wide, his breath catching in his throat.
Memories.
Not his memories—King Piccolo's memories. Demon King Piccolo's memories. Ancient, buried, from a time before his imprisonment, when he had been young and cruel and thought himself invincible.
A figure made of joy, dancing through his army of demons. Every monster who saw the dance forgot their rage. Every soul he had corrupted began to remember what happiness felt like.
"You," King Piccolo had hissed. "What ARE you?"
"Shishishi~ I'm Nika! Nice to meet ya!"
The demon king had attacked with everything he had. Every technique, every ounce of dark power.
None of it mattered.
Because the laughing figure didn't fight back. He just DANCED. And with every step, every spin, every joyful movement, King Piccolo's hatred felt more and more ridiculous.
"Stop," the demon had begged. "Stop LAUGHING. Why are you LAUGHING?"
"Because life is FUNNY! Because you're so ANGRY about nothing! Because you think evil makes you strong, but it just makes you SAD!"
King Piccolo had fled. The great Demon King, terror of the world, had RUN AWAY from a being who had never thrown a single punch.
And he had never spoken of it. Never acknowledged it. Buried the memory so deep that even Piccolo, his reincarnation, had never known.
Until now.
"You," Piccolo breathed, staring at the white figure with new eyes. "You're REAL. The stories—the legends—they were REAL."
Mr. Popo, descending from the sky on Kami's magic carpet, felt the name wash over him.
And he REMEMBERED.
Not just remembered—RELIVED.
A time before he was Mr. Popo. A time when he was simply... a prisoner. A being of immense power, chained to eternal servitude, bound to a position he had never chosen.
And then the dancing god had come.
"You look sad," the white figure had said, appearing in the Lookout's garden one day. "Why are you sad?"
"I am not permitted to be happy," Mr. Popo had answered. "I am a servant. Servants do not feel."
"That's DUMB." The figure had plopped down beside him, grinning that impossible grin. "Everyone can feel. Everyone SHOULD feel. Here—let me show you something."
He had taken Mr. Popo's hand.
And he had taught him to garden.
Not just the mechanics of it—the planting and watering and pruning. But the JOY of it. The satisfaction of watching something grow. The peace of nurturing life.
"You can't leave," the figure had said sadly. "Those chains are too old, too deep. But you can find freedom WITHIN the chains. You can choose HOW you serve. You can find happiness in small things."
He had given Mr. Popo the ability to smile.
And then he had danced away, leaving behind the drums.
Dum-da-da-dum-dum.
Mr. Popo had heard them ever since. Quiet, distant, but always there. A reminder that even eternal servants could find joy.
"Nika," Mr. Popo said, his eternally calm voice carrying a weight it had never held before. "Mr. Popo remembers. Mr. Popo... is glad you have returned."
Kami, floating beside his assistant, felt the name echo through his divine consciousness.
The Guardian of Earth had access to the memories of every being who had held his position. Thousands of years of accumulated wisdom and experience.
And buried deep in those memories—deeper than almost anything else—was a SONG.
Not a song with words. A song with FEELINGS. A rhythm that spoke of liberation, of joy, of the absolute refusal to accept that chains were permanent.
The Drums of Liberation.
Every Guardian had heard them, at least once. Usually in their darkest moments, when the weight of protecting an entire world felt too heavy to bear.
The drums would echo through their minds, and suddenly the weight felt... lighter.
"Nika," Kami breathed. "The Sun God. I thought... I thought it was just a legend. A story the previous Guardians told to give themselves hope."
"All legends are true somewhere," Nika said cheerfully. "And all stories are real to someone. Shishishi~"
"WHAT."
The telepathic shout rang through everyone's minds, making them all wince.
"WHAT. WHAT. WHAT."
"King Kai," Kami said, rubbing his temples. "Please calm down."
"CALM DOWN?! CALM DOWN?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT JUST—THE ENERGY I JUST FELT—THE NAME THAT WAS JUST—"
"I'm Nika!" the Sun God called out cheerfully, waving at the sky as if King Kai could see him. "Nice to meet ya!"
"I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!" King Kai's mental voice was shaking. "I KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND IT'S IMPOSSIBLE! YOU WERE SEALED! THE GRAND PRIEST HIMSELF AUTHORIZED THE BINDING! HOW ARE YOU FREE?! HOW ARE YOU HERE?! HOW—"
"Shishishi~ Lots of questions! I like questions. Let's see..."
Nika began counting on his fingers.
"One: The seal wasn't perfect. Nothing is perfect. Even divine imprisonment has cracks, if you wait long enough and dream hard enough."
"But—"
"Two: I found a friend! A dying soul who wished for adventure with his very last breath. That kind of wish has POWER. Enough power to pull me through the cracks."
"That doesn't—"
"Three: I'm HERE because this is a universe I touched before. My influence still lingers. Earth, Namek, even the Saiyan homeworld—I visited them all, centuries ago. This reality REMEMBERS me, even if the people forgot."
King Kai was silent for a long moment.
Then: "The Kais have stories about you. Legends passed down through generations. They say you once made Beerus LAUGH."
"Oh, Beerus!" Nika's grin somehow widened. "Grumpy kitty! Yeah, he was funny. So SERIOUS about destruction. I showed him that destroying things is only fun if you also CREATE things. He didn't fully get it, but he giggled. That was a good day."
"He SLEPT for three centuries after you left. Threw off his entire destruction schedule."
"You're welcome!"
"THAT'S NOT A COMPLIMENT!"
"Everything's a compliment if you're happy enough!"
King Kai sputtered.
"The divine hierarchy," he managed finally. "They'll notice. They'll feel your presence. If Beerus wakes up—if the Grand Priest gets word—"
"Then I'll deal with it!" Nika spread his arms wide. "That's what I DO. Chains appear, and I break them. Problems appear, and I laugh at them. That's the power of liberation—not fighting AGAINST things, but dancing AROUND them!"
"You can't just DANCE your way out of—"
"Watch me! Shishishi~"
King Kai fell silent.
Then, incredibly, the Kai laughed.
It was a small laugh. A reluctant laugh. But it was THERE.
"You're insane," he said. "Completely, utterly insane."
"Probably!"
"And somehow, I feel... better. Just from talking to you. How do you DO that?"
Nika's grin softened into something almost gentle.
"Because that's who I am. I'm the Sun God. And the sun doesn't just give light—it gives WARMTH. It makes things GROW. Wherever I go, people remember how to be happy. Even if it's just for a moment."
"...I need to meditate on this. And probably warn some people. And definitely panic some more. But..." King Kai's mental voice was warmer now. "...it's good to meet you, Nika. Even if your existence might destroy us all."
"Likewise! Say hi to the bugs for me!"
"How do you know about—never mind. I don't want to know."
The mental connection faded.
A new energy signature appeared in the distance.
It was massive—far greater than anything that had been on the battlefield before—but also warm. Familiar, somehow, in a way that made Nika's heart (did he have a heart?) swell with recognition.
A golden streak crossed the sky, moving at incredible speed.
"That ki," Piccolo said, his eyes widening. "That's—"
"GOKU!" Krillin shouted, his battered face splitting into a grin. "GOKU'S BACK!"
The streak resolved into a figure—a man in an orange gi, wild black hair, landing in the midst of the gathered group with a confused expression.
Son Goku looked around at the devastated battlefield, the injured fighters, the strange white creature standing at the center of everything.
"Uh... did I miss something?"
"Dad!" Gohan rushed forward, throwing himself into his father's arms. "You're okay!"
"Of course I'm okay, buddy!" Goku hugged his son tightly, still looking around with bewilderment. "King Kai trained me, and I came back as fast as I could. But... where are the Saiyans? And who's the—"
His eyes met Nika's.
And Son Goku stopped.
His body went rigid. His eyes went wide. His arms tightened around Gohan, not in fear but in something like recognition.
"That..." Goku whispered. "That presence..."
The dream Goku had never told anyone about.
Every night since he could remember—every single night since Grandpa Gohan had found him as a baby—he'd had the same dream.
A figure made of sunshine, dancing across an endless plain. Laughing, always laughing, the sound like music and freedom and everything good in the world.
Goku would try to catch him. Try to join the dance. But no matter how fast he ran, the figure was always just out of reach.
And every morning, he'd wake up with the rhythm of drums fading from his mind.
Dum-da-da-dum-dum.
He'd never told anyone. It seemed too personal. Too IMPORTANT.
But now—
"You're real," Goku breathed. "You're REAL. I've dreamed about you my whole LIFE."
Nika tilted his head, his grin warm.
"Hello, Goku. I've been waiting a long time to meet you properly."
"But... but how? Why? Who ARE you?"
Nika stepped forward.
And when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of eight hundred years.
"I am Nika. The Sun God. The Warrior of Liberation. A long, long time ago, I visited a planet called Sadala—the original homeworld of your people, before they renamed it Vegeta. The Saiyans were different then. Wild and free, living for the joy of battle, bowing to no one."
Goku listened, transfixed.
"I danced with them under their twin moons. I laughed with their children. I felt the rhythm in their hearts—the same rhythm that beats in YOU, Goku. The Drums of Liberation."
Dum-da-da-dum-dum.
Goku's hand went to his chest.
"I hear it," he whispered. "I've ALWAYS heard it. Ever since I was little. I just... I never knew what it was."
"It's ME. It's US. The connection between the Sun God and everyone who yearns for freedom." Nika's voice dropped. "I tried to save your people, Goku. When the darkness came—when kings and class systems rose and the joy of battle became the cruelty of conquest—I tried to liberate them. But I was sealed before I could finish."
"Sealed?"
"By beings who feared what I represented. They locked me away for eight hundred years, and in that time, your people fell. They became slaves to Frieza. Slaves to their own rage and pride."
Nika's grin faltered—for just a moment—genuine sorrow flickering across his white features.
"I failed them. I failed YOU. The Saiyans should have been free. Instead, they became chains for others to wear."
Silence fell across the battlefield.
Goku stared at the Sun God—this impossible, laughing figure who had apparently been watching over his people since before history began.
And then Son Goku smiled.
That pure, radiant, impossibly warm Son Goku smile.
"You didn't fail."
Nika blinked. "What?"
"You didn't fail," Goku repeated. "I'm here, aren't I? I'm a Saiyan. And I'm not like the others. I don't conquer. I don't enslave. I just... I fight to get stronger. I fight to protect people. I fight because it's FUN."
He tapped his chest.
"Whatever you did back then—whatever you put in the Saiyans—it's still HERE. In me. In Gohan. Maybe even in Vegeta, if he ever gets his head out of his butt."
"Language, Goku," Piccolo muttered.
"Sorry, Mr. Piccolo." Goku returned his attention to Nika. "My point is—you tried. You TRIED. And because you tried, I exist. Gohan exists. Everything I've done, everyone I've saved—that's because of YOU."
Nika was silent.
In his mind, Marcus felt something shift.
The ancient god—this being who had existed for millennia, who had liberated worlds and challenged divine hierarchies—was CRYING.
Not sad tears. Happy tears.
The kind of tears you cried when you finally, FINALLY saw that your efforts had meant something.
"He..." Nika's voice was thick with emotion. "He's..."
"Yeah," Marcus agreed silently. "He's something special, isn't he?"
"He's EVERYTHING. He's the dream I've been dreaming for eight hundred years. A Saiyan who fights for FREEDOM."
"Then let's make sure he gets to keep doing that."
Marcus—Nika—they—stepped forward and placed a rubber hand on Goku's shoulder.
"Thank you," they said, and the voice was both ancient god and young man, merged into something new. "You have no idea how much that means."
Goku's smile widened.
"So... does this mean you're gonna stick around? Because I gotta say—" His eyes lit up with that familiar, terrifying battle-lust. "—I REALLY want to fight you!"
"Shishishi~" Nika's grin matched Goku's. "I was HOPING you'd say that!"
"Can we PLEASE focus on the fact that the universe might be destroyed?!" Krillin shouted.
Both Goku and Nika turned to look at him.
Then they looked at each other.
Then they looked back at Krillin.
"Later," they said in unison.
Krillin threw his hands in the air. "WHY AM I FRIENDS WITH BATTLE MANIACS?!"
The sound of an approaching hover-car made everyone tense.
Then Goku went pale.
"Oh no."
"What?" Nika asked. "What's—"
The hover-car screamed onto the battlefield, skidding to a halt in a cloud of dust. The door flew open, and a furious woman stormed out.
Chi-Chi.
Hair disheveled. Eyes wild. Wooden sword in hand.
"WHERE," she thundered, "IS MY SON?!"
"Mom!" Gohan ran to her, and Chi-Chi's fury instantly transformed into maternal concern as she checked him for injuries.
"Baby! Are you hurt?! Did those horrible aliens—"
Her eyes found Nika.
She froze.
"YOU."
Nika waved cheerfully. "Hi again!"
"You—you WAVED at me! From across the CONTINENT! With a disembodied ARM!"
"Yeah, sorry about that! I was falling from the sky and my arm kind of did its own thing!"
Chi-Chi's eye twitched.
"And then you said—" She mimicked his voice with disturbing accuracy. "—'Tell Goku his son's doing great!' How did you KNOW about my son?! How did you know about GOKU?!"
Nika considered the question.
"Should I tell her the truth?" he asked internally.
"Probably not the WHOLE truth," Marcus advised. "Let's keep the 'I'm from another dimension where your life is a manga' thing on the down-low."
"I'm the Sun God Nika!" he announced cheerfully. "I know lots of things! Also, I saved your son from evil aliens!"
Chi-Chi stared at him.
Then she looked at Goku.
Then back at Nika.
Then at her son, who was clinging to Piccolo's leg.
"Goku," she said slowly. "Explain. NOW."
Goku scratched the back of his head. "Well, uh, it's kind of a long story..."
"Then START TALKING."
What followed was possibly the most chaotic explanation in the history of explanations.
Goku tried to summarize the Saiyan invasion. Piccolo kept correcting his mistakes. Krillin added increasingly hysterical commentary. Gohan tried to help but mostly just made things more confusing.
And through it all, Nika stood there grinning, occasionally interjecting with cheerful observations.
"—and then the big bald one was about to blow up Gohan, but then THIS guy fell from the sky—"
"I actually fell from SPACE! Much higher!"
"—and he punched Vegeta across the planet—"
"It was only half the planet, technically."
"—and then he turned into a GIANT BALLOON—"
"Gum-Gum Balloon! It's very useful!"
"—and then he CUT OFF Vegeta's TAIL—"
"Gum-Gum Scythe! That one's new, actually. I'm pretty proud of it."
Chi-Chi's face went through approximately forty-seven different expressions during this explanation.
Finally, she held up a hand.
"Let me get this straight," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "My husband is an alien. My son was nearly killed by other aliens. And THIS—" She pointed her wooden sword at Nika. "—this RUBBER CLOWN saved them?"
"Rubber JESTER, technically," Nika corrected. "Clowns are scary. Jesters are funny. Important distinction."
Chi-Chi stared at him.
Then, incredibly, she laughed.
It was a slightly hysterical laugh. The laugh of a woman who had just had her entire worldview shattered. But it was real.
"You know what?" she said. "Fine. FINE. My husband's an alien. My son fights monsters. And now we apparently have a rubber god on our side. WHY NOT."
She pointed her sword at Nika again.
"YOU. You're coming to dinner. And you're going to explain EVERYTHING. In DETAIL. Or I swear to whatever god you claim to be, I will find a way to hurt you."
Nika's grin widened.
"I LIKE you! You've got SPIRIT!"
"Don't push it, rubber boy."
"Shishishi~"
The group began making their way toward Chi-Chi's hover-car.
It was a tight fit—Piccolo refused to ride inside, opting to fly alongside instead—but somehow they managed. Nika's rubber body proved surprisingly compressible.
As the vehicle lifted off, heading toward Mount Paozu, Nika looked out the window at the receding battlefield.
Craters everywhere. Scorch marks. The remnants of a battle that had changed everything.
"How do you feel?" Nika asked internally—the god-aspect addressing the Marcus-aspect.
"Weird," Marcus admitted. "Good weird, though. Like... like I've finally become who I was supposed to be. Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense. That's what liberation feels like. Not becoming someone different—becoming MORE of who you already were."
"So I'm not losing myself? Becoming you?"
"You're not becoming ME. We're becoming US. Something new. Something wonderful." Nika's presence was warm, comforting. "Marcus Chen gave me a vessel. I gave Marcus Chen my power. Together, we're neither—and we're BOTH."
Marcus—Nika—they—smiled.
Not the permanent grin of their Gear 5 form, but a real smile. A choice.
"Thank you," they whispered.
"For what?"
"For answering my wish. For giving me an adventure."
"Oh, Marcus..." Nika's voice was soft. "The adventure hasn't even STARTED yet. We have a universe to explore. Villains to defeat. Friends to make. Chains to break."
"And gods to annoy?"
"Shishishi~ ESPECIALLY gods to annoy."
Outside the window, the sun was setting—painting the sky in shades of orange and gold.
The Sun God watched it with ancient, joyful eyes.
He was home. In this strange universe, with these wonderful people, in this impossible body—he was finally, truly home.
Dum-da-da-dum-dum.
Dum-da-da-dum-dum.
The Drums of Liberation beat on.
And somewhere, across the vast expanse of space, a prince in a healing pod dreamed of revenge—unaware that his next encounter with the laughing god would change him in ways he couldn't imagine.
Somewhere else, a tyrant on a throne received reports of a strange power on a distant planet—and felt, for the first time in centuries, a flicker of something that might have been unease.
And somewhere beyond time and space, in a realm where angels served and destroyers slumbered, a massive feline creature stirred in his sleep.
"...ngh... drums..." Lord Beerus muttered, rolling over. "...not again... five more centuries..."
Whis watched his master with a raised eyebrow.
"Dreaming of something, Lord Beerus?"
"...liberation... stupid... laughing..."
Whis's eternal smile flickered—just for a moment.
"Oh my," he murmured. "How interesting."
He looked toward a distant point in the universe—toward a small blue planet where something ancient had just awakened.
"It seems the Sun God has returned. This should be... entertaining."
The angel's smile returned.
And in his hand, his staff glowed with a light that wasn't quite observation.
It was anticipation.
TO BE CONTINUED...
NEXT CHAPTER: DINNER AT MOUNT PAOZU
In which Nika experiences Chi-Chi's cooking, Goku demands a sparring match, and the question of "what now?" finally gets addressed. Plus: Vegeta's recovery, Frieza's curiosity, and the beginning of preparations for Namek.