Chapter: 2 The Desert of Mercy

Planet Xarrack, Northern Hemisphere.

How long has it been?

Long enough for the moon projectors to lose power.

Acala lay still on the cold, cracked earth, staring at the infinite starry sky that flickered above the wasteland. It wasn't the sky she remembered—not the yellowish-red skys of the harsh desert world she grew up on. The light from the moon projectors had long since vanished, and now, the poisonous fumes had parted to reveal the sea of stars.

She groaned, struggling to move, her ribs felt as though they'd been shattered into a thousand pieces, and a sharp pain reminded her of the cauterized wound in her side where she had lost a chunk of her flesh. She didn't know what had hit her like that—no, she was sure it wasn't a worm, at least. The worms couldn't use energy blast and their acids would have burned right through a Saiyan's flesh and bones, leaving nothing behind. It had to be something else... or someone.

What a humiliating end after all the horrors she has had to endure. Exsanguination sounded like a pathetic way to go.

"Pathetic,"

She muttered under her breath, pain searing through her chest.

With an effort, she shifted to her side, the world tilted violently for a moment before her vision began to settle. All she could see was a field of craters, mangled bodies, and the enormous carcasses of Xarrack's infamous worms.

Her crimson eyes surveyed the destruction with indifference, she had seen worse, not a shred of emotion as befitting a cold Saiyan heart. The bodies of her slain kindred meant nothing to her, especially since Saiyans tend not to cannibalize. The worms, on the other hand, were fresh and delicious meat.

Life as a Saiyan had two rules: Survival of the fittest and weakness is paramount to death.

And being wounded didn't do much for either of them.

Acala forced herself to sit up, her fingers gripping the torn and bloodied fabrics of her ruined battle suit. The elastic armor had been obliterated, leaving her exposed with nothing more than the bodysuit that clung to her like a second skin, soaked in blood, sweat, and fur from her transformation. 

All she could recall was the sound of howling wind, the roars of Oozaru, and the piercing screams of children—her kin—being torn to shreds. They were all just children. Young, untrained Saiyans, were tossed onto this death world to die in agony. 

Acala staggered to her feet, forcing herself to ignore the pain. Her side burned, and her muscles screamed in protest, but she couldn't afford to stay in there any longer. She was out of energy, the transformation and ensuing battle had drained her severely. 

She coughed, spitting crimson into the dust.

The faint outline of a wrecked attack pod was visible in the distance, visible, but not entirely comforting. Her pod, or at least what was left of it, had been duly smashed last night. This one looked brand new except for the torn hatch and it being half buried in the sand. 

Not entirely useless.

She needed to get inside. Medical supplies and an automated repair system would make sure she didn't bleed to her death and had a roof over her head.

Acala squinted, trying to make out what she was seeing as she trudged towards the pod. There, crawling through the filth, was another child. A Saiyan, barely alive and covered in blood. The child's small, bloodied form struggled to drag itself forward, limbs trembling from pain or exertion. It's spine exposed, skin flayed open, and muscles torn apart. And yet, somehow, the child was still moving. 

Barely.

As she drew closer, she recognized the child from the pod. What was her name again? She remembered the A.I. repeating it constantly. Spina. The younger girl was barely moving, not with a back carved open. If she didn't receive immediate treatment, she would die.

Well... too bad...

Survival, above all else.

Acala's eyes swept over the dying child once more. Should she end it? A quick energy blast to the head would be a merciful ending for her wounds. But she could hardly afford to waste any more energy, but still... leaving a potential threat alive was a risk she couldn't afford to take. 

But as she watched Spina crawl through the gore, she realized there was no need for mercy or precaution. The child wouldn't last much longer. That much was pretty clear.

Let her die.

Acala turned, intent on heading for the attack pod, when something suddenly tugged at her ankle, nearly making her trip. She looked down to see Spina's tail gripping her ankle, the girl's eyes were wide with separation, tears forming in them.

"Please..."

Came the girl's broken, whispering voice

"I don't... I don't wanna die..."

She was a stubborn one, Acala would have to give her that. But it was a weakling's plea, rousing no pity but a bubbling rage in her chest.

"Fool!"

She growled, her boot came down hard on the tail, crushing it under her heel. Spina let out a sharp cry of agony, collapsing to the ground, her hand still reaching out in desperation. Acala felt nothing—no remorse, no hesitation, only cold apathy. The girl was weak... the weak had no place in a world like this.

She stepped over the dying child, her mind was solely focused on self-preservation. Reaching the pod, she climbed inside, bloodied hands fumbling with the controls. The interior was wrecked, 

[Critical Systems Compromised!]

She didn't need flight control or artificial environment generator modules, all she needed was for the emergency repair sequence to be intact. That would be more than enough for her current situation.

The secondary hatch hissed shut, and a thin mist of vaporized healing agents flooded the pod's small interior. It wasn't much, but it would stabilize her wounds, and probably return her to full combat capacity. Submerging in the liquid would have been more efficient, but these were attack pods, designed for quick insertion and rapid maneuverability.

The pain in her ribs dulled slightly, and exhaustion clouded her mind once more.

Acala leaned back, her crimson eyes unfocused as memories drifted to the front of her thoughts. She had been born into war, at least in this life, raised to be a warrior from her first cry. Her power level had been over 700 as a newborn, which meant she was a prodigy of sorts, easily an elite-class warrior. 

But none of that mattered in the end. Her family had been executed for standing against King Vegeta, and by extension, Lord Frieza. The price of their rebellion had been death, not just for the adults, but for the children too.

Her eyes dropped. So far she has had little time for sentiments. Everyone she had ever known was dead, and those her age had been sent to death worlds to die a slow and gruesome death. 

And yet, here she was... alive.

'Xarrack, Ulgash, Xhodon...'

She chanted in her mind, wondering if anyone she knew had survived their incursion of death worlds.

A soft beep pulled her from her thoughts. The pod's sensors had detected movements... signs of life. Acala's eyes narrowed as she turned her attention to the Viewport. Outside, through the dim light of the pod's reflection, she saw Spina crawling through the dirt, dragging her broken body inch by inch toward the pod.

Her lips curled in a snarl. What was this stubborn girl doing? How was she even alive!? Why couldn't she just die already!? The sight of a weakling's struggle disgusted her. 

Spina's face was covered in soot, sand, pain, and something more. She couldn't quite tell what it was... was it anger perhaps? Determination maybe? Instincts?

'Damn it...'

She mumbled, her fingers reaching for the control board. She could seal the pod shut with a single flick, and leave Spine to her fate. But no matter how much she tried herself to let it go, the girl's expression gnawed at her insides.

She waited... and waited... and waited... after what felt like an eternity of staring as the girl dragged her battered, flayed body inch by inch closer to the attack pod. It took her a while, but Acala realized what that expression was. It was sadness. Sadness, perhaps, at being, at being abandoned by a kin.

A single tear made its way down Spina's face and splashed into the sand.

"Damn it all!"

With a frustrated growl, Acala slammed her fist down on the release. The external hatch hissed open, and without answering another thought, she stormed out. Her body still screamed in protest at any movement, but she ignored the pain, grabbing Spina's tail and dragging the dying girl inside the pod.

Spina looked up at her, tears streaking her dirty face, eyes wide with wonder and pain. Adala scowled, pushing her back into the corner of the pod as the healing mist began to envelop the girl.

"Don't think this means anything,"

Acala growled, glaring down at the younger Saiyan.

"You're on your own after this."

Spina nodded weakly, too dazed to respond or comprehend what she said. But she looked grateful enough, that was something. Her breath steadied, her injuries slowly knitting together under the influence of the healing agent.

Acala glanced at the rapidly dwindling meter, the pod's supply of healing agents wouldn't last much longer, but Acala wasn't too worried. She had seen plenty of dead bodies outside. They won't be needing their pods anymore, she could scavenge them with ease.

The pods were meant for a lone individual's comfort, the place was cramped with two children trying to fit in. Thankfully, Spina was small for her range and didn't seem whole enough to crawl out of her corner.

Maybe... it was a mistake.

Taking a weakling under her wings would get her killed. Perhaps she ought to simply kick the girl outside now that basic first-aid was over... but it wouldn't matter much now.

She needed to find more pods, spare hands would be good, especially if the owner is weak enough to be cowed into submission. For now, she could rest... just for a moment.