Chapter 42 – Hope Has Descended

~ Moments After the Fight with Saibamen Started: A Small Distance from the Battlefield ~

Unbeknownst to all, from a concealed vantage point shielded by rocks, a camera crew worked frantically to adjust their lenses, attempting to zoom in on the chaotic scene unfolding in the distance. Their camera lenses strained to capture every detail without risking proximity to the intense battle. The crew members, their faces masked with a blend of awe and trepidation, exchanged hushed whispers as they observed the Z Fighters confronting the formidable aliens.

The camera panned to capture the ongoing skirmish: green monsters erupting from the Earth, and the mysterious warriors engaging in combat against them. The air was frequently thick with smoke and dust, remnants of the explosive clashes that regularly obscured the view.

Erason's jaw clenched as he received another urgent message from his station through his earpiece, telling him to withdraw. These messages had become a frequent occurrence since he had set up here with his crew, and they grated on his already very limited patience. However, despite the persistent pleas to retreat, he remained steadfast. He had no intention of interrupting the live broadcast for even a moment. He had unfinished business to settle with these son-of-a-bitch aliens.

Back when the aliens had landed, he counted his lucky stars for being literally around the corner from a hospital, and Erason's celebrity status had helped ensure his daughter got treatment immediately.

Erason's heart sank as he replayed his harrowing memories. His daughter's survival had brought him an equal mix of relief and despair because while she was alive, she had suffered serious head injuries that resulted in her falling into a coma. Ironically, his daughter's injury had occurred during the initial fall when he had intended to protect her, not from the large debris that fell around them. Any of that debris could have easily crushed them, but no! 

At the hospital, the doctors had painted a grim picture that left little room for optimism. In fact, the medical professionals were nearly certain that she would not regain consciousness because there was an almost negligible chance that a child her age would awaken from a coma induced by such severe brain injuries.

Erason wanted to laugh. The irony of it all felt like fate had thrust a knife into him and cruelly twisted it.

Erason knows he can't physically hurt the alien. He knows that now. Nothing he attempts will leave even a scratch on those aliens who can effortlessly walk through explosions unscathed. So, he'll leverage what he does best, and weaponize the only thing he can do. He'll document it. He'll narrate it. He'll memorialize it. He'll hope that the Earth's forces, whoever they may be, can kill these bastards because he will be here to broadcast the moment of their deaths to the entire world, and he'll make it his life's work to ensure that no one ever forgets it.

And if the forces of Earth fall, then none of it mattered anyway.

'Erason, withdraw already! This coverage is not worth your life! Think about your career, your future!'

The voice in Erason's earpiece and the background shouts from his colleagues in the studio that urged him to evacuate fell on deaf ears. A bitter smile played upon his lips as he pondered on the notion of the future—a concept that had lost its luster. What future does he have without his daughter in it? What use is his career to him if he couldn't use it to make his daughter smile?!

Erason's hands tightened around the controls, his gaze unwavering from the live broadcast feeds showcasing the intense battle between the mysterious warriors and the alien invaders.

No. He couldn't afford to turn away now. The scars of the past had etched a mark too profound for him to ignore, and he was determined to see this through, consequences be damned. He would stay here and report even if it meant facing his death—his final act of vengeance, if need be.

'Erason, I order you to return!'

Erason activated the communication channel on his earpiece. Then, on live television, in front of the entire East City and any other viewers, he spoke.

"Director, with all due respect. Go f*ck yourself."

'…what?! Erason–?!'

Closing the communication channel, Erason seamlessly transitioned into his role as a reporter and started to narrate with the finesse of a top-notch journalist.

"Here we bear witness to the relentless assault on our city and our world. As the invaders wreak havoc on everything we hold dear, let this be a testament to the strength of the human spirit…"

~ At the Same Time: Kame House ~

Bulma, stunned by the battle, slumped into the couch with an overwhelming wave of helplessness. Her eyes were glued on the television screen, witnessing her friends and Earth's final line of defense being crushed by the immense force of the Saiyan's overwhelming attack. As the images of Yamcha's demise and the Z Fighters' valiant struggle played out frame by frame on the TV, the room seemed to contract, enveloped in a heavy silence and saturated with the heavy sense of impending doom.

In her arms, Bulma tightly embraced Puar, who wept inconsolably at Yamcha's demise, echoing the anguish that gripped her own heart. A tear slid down her cheek as the television broadcasted the tragic events.

Even Master Roshi, usually the epitome of calm and wisdom, found himself unusually speechless, his cane creaking under the pressure of his tight grip. The gravity of the situation had etched lines of concern into his face. Beside him, Turtle covered his eyes with his flippers, unable to endure the ongoing devastation displayed on the screen.

Bulma's eyes dropped from the TV screen, tracing the worn pattern of the wooden floorboards beneath her feet. Like Turtle, she could no longer bear to watch the painful spectacle developing on television. Belatedly, Bulma felt the dampness of Puar's tears seeping through her sleeves as she cradled him.

She only vaguely registered some hotshot reporter, Erason, or whatever his name is, providing commentary on how the mysterious fighters, her friends, were being overwhelmed. Given the circumstances, Bulma found it challenging to focus on anything at the moment.

Bulma, grappling with the shock, distinctly sensed herself dissociating as her brain struggled to cope and reconcile with the current situation. In this state, she suddenly became hyperaware of the insignificant minutiae around her. Though she could barely pick up the reporter's words, the blend of agony and anger in each inflection in his tone suddenly seemed extraordinarily clear.

'Everyone must be hurting right now,' Bulma thought to herself.

The reporter continued to report on the military's response, highlighting the army's mobilization and the air force being prepared for engagement. The fact that the authorities were taking action might have offered a faint glimmer of hope to everyone else, but it provided nothing to the people in this room.

"Direct hit!" blared the TV.

"WHAT?! It had no effect!" the TV faithfully continued the broadcast.

Bulma's gaze remained fixed on a spot beyond the floor. The news of the military's ineffectiveness did not surprise her one bit. After all, the people capable of making a difference had already been defeated. Moments later, she heard the reporter narrate that all aerial forces had been decimated and the army had received the disheartening order to retreat. With that statement, the world had learned what she had known all along.

The weight of despair bore down on her chest, prompting a subdued sob to escape her lips.

Master Roshi, leaning heavily on his cane, glanced at Bulma with a mix of concern and sorrow.

"Is this the end? Are we all going to die?" Bulma sobbed quietly.

"Not yet! Goku hasn't arrived!" Master Roshi erupted passionately next to her, infusing hope into his words.

Bulma shrunk in on herself. "Are we even going to survive until he does?"

Despite Master Roshi's fervent attempts to kindle hope, he genuinely could not say with certainty that they would and was unable to provide reassurance. So, in response, there was only silence.

~ At the Same Time: Battlefield ~

Nappa reveled in destroying those airborne toys, his broad grin widening as he surveyed the wreckages below. This planet's military's attempt to engage him had been nothing more than a fleeting distraction and took no more effort than swatting away pesky insects.

Instead of instilling fear in him, the military's futile attempt had only fueled his amusement. It was like a game, facing off against opponents armed with toys that posed no real threat. He felt like the big bad predator, smashing apart a house of straws to reveal the terrified prey within.

Nevertheless, a faint trace of guilt crept into him. Nearly every planet he and Vegeta "visited" had some level of interaction with the broader Universe and wielded far more formidable weaponry. These... did nothing? To him, this was, in essence, the same as bullying a pitifully weak child, a behavior not exactly honorable or praised as virtuous in Saiyan culture.

"Hey, Gohan. Now that there are no more interruptions, let's get back to the practical demonstration of Lesson Five, shall we?" Nappa gave Gohan a wink.

Wide-eyed, Gohan struggled to stand but could only watch in horror as Nappa shifted his attention to Tien.

As Nappa slowly made his way to Tien a short distance away, the ground began beneath him to tremble as silver energy enveloped his clenched fist, the manifestation of a devastating attack. He intended to make it quick for three-eyes; that would be the last mercy he would grant.

Tien gritted his teeth in desperation as he defiantly faced Nappa. Despite the odds stacked against him, he refused to cower. He was not going to die pathetically! Even if he were to die, he would go down fighting!

Gathering the dwindling vestiges of his strength, Tien unsteadily raised his remaining hand, forming the familiar signs for the Kikoho. His muscles strained, and droplets of sweat appeared on his forehead as he readied himself to unleash his final, desperate attack.

Nappa casually slapped Tien's hands aside.

Tien's expression turned ugly as his final gambit was thwarted, leaving him defenseless against Nappa's imminent strike. The Saiyan's fist, surrounded by dense energy, was reflected in Tien's eyes as Nappa raised his hand, the air crackling with intensity. At that moment, a flicker of fear flashed through Tien as he looked straight at his impending death.

"Any last words, three-eyes?"

Tien summoned just enough hope to give a tired, bloody smirk.

"Consequences! You're going to get it now, you arrogant asshole!"

~ Moments Before: A Small Distance from the Battlefield ~

Erason's gaze remained locked onto the evolving battle as he continued to report, capturing the attention of viewers worldwide. Not too long ago, he had confirmed the presence of the feared Demon King on the battlefield. And wasn't that a surprise? The terror that had gripped the entire world was now aligning himself with Earth's defenders against a mutual foe. How ironic that despite the unexpected alliance, the Demon King appeared inconsequential in the face of the overpowering might of the alien force.

Erason's vigilant eyes swiftly immediately tracked a new movement on the battlefield, and urgency seeped into his voice as he narrated a significant development. "Oh, the alien is making a move! He's approaching a downed fighter! Looks like he's going to deliver the finishing blow!"

Erason had to swallow down his apprehension as he continued his commentary. Though he maintained his composure on camera, the growing desperation in his voice betrayed him. His worst nightmare was coming to life before his eyes and that of the world.

Despite Earth's best efforts, nothing they threw at the invaders made a dent. Only these mysterious fighters, among them the Demon King, exhibited any signs of success against the aliens. Unfortunately, Erason doesn't need to be a genius to know that these mysterious fighters were on the verge of defeat.

Receiving a message, Erason pressed his hand to his head in a desperate gesture, straining to absorb every detail conveyed through the audio feed from the army representative.

"What's that about a supersonic bogey? Like Iron Man? Well, can we broadcast the details or not?"

He didn't give a damn whether it was Tony Stark, War Machine, or even f*cking Thanos himself. At this point, he was at the end of his rope, so Kami, please, all he wanted was a force capable of confronting and defeating the invaders who had taken his daughter from him!

If one were to inquire him about the events that transpired next, Erason could only say that, at that precise moment, the very air had exploded. The subsequent sequence of events that followed had occurred far too rapidly for Erason to comprehend or for the cameras to capture.

In reality, the unfolding events went like this: as Nappa swung down to deliver the killing blow against the fallen Tien, an unseen force abruptly yanked his enemy away. This unexpected intervention left Nappa swinging his fist downward at empty air, his intended target now mysteriously tens of meters away in another direction.

Immediately after the near miss, Nappa's instincts screamed, and with lightning speed, he pivoted around, arms crossed over his chest in a hasty defense.

Barely a millisecond later, traversing the entire battlefield in less time than it takes to blink, Ajax crashed into Nappa's guard with a drop kick filled with thunderous momentum. The impact was titanic, carving out a crater into the ground around them. Despite his formidable strength, Nappa slid backward, etching two deep grooves in the earth. The two adversaries found themselves locked in this struggle, suspended in a moment frozen in time, as Ajax's dark eyes bore into Nappa's.

"Hope has descended, bitch."

Nappa's eyes widened.

In the next instant, the laws of physics reasserted their dominance, launching Nappa ferociously backward and transforming him into a speeding projectile that carved a deep groove into the earth beneath him. The ground quaked with the impact as he smashed through a rock pillar—then another—culminating in a bone-rattling landing into a third.

Meanwhile, Erason, safely and strategically positioned across the battleground, hadn't witnessed the incredible display of force that had flung the alien through the air. He did, however, see the aftermath.

Across the expanse of the battlefield, a new figure emerged, commanding attention with an aura of confidence and authority. It was a child, or perhaps a teenager, clad in striking crimson and black pants. However, what caught Erason's attention the most was the unmistakable symbol of 'God' proudly emblazoned on the newcomer's back.

Erason's jaws trembled as he grappled with the enormity of what had occurred. Could it be that Kami had answered his pleas?

Perhaps Kami did because Ajax had finally arrived on the battlefield.