Chapter 95 – The Fastest Man Alive! Kind Of…?

~ At the Same Time: Piccolo ~

The scouter clicked sharply as the call ended. After a few moments, Burter's laughter at Vegeta's misfortune gradually died down. He then turned his attention back to the visibly irritated Piccolo.

Burter flashed a sheepish grin, attempting to mask his embarrassment with his roguish, laid-back charm. He clapped his hands together in an apologetic gesture, much like how a harem protagonist would beg his "main girl" for forgiveness.

"Sorry about that, buddy. I'm gonna formally apologize for both the call and, well, trying to misappropriate your balls," Burter said as politely as he could. He then tilted his head slightly and added, "But since we're here, could you do me a solid and just tell me where these Dragon Balls are?

"No."

Burter exhaled a long, resigned sigh, his shoulders sagging with exaggerated exasperation.

"Oh, come on. I'm on a tight schedule here. I suppose I could always beat the information out of you, but do we really need to go through all that hassle?"

Piccolo remained unmoving, his expression as stoic and serious as a statue.

"Seriously, though, it would be much easier for both of us if you just cooperated." Burter tried once more, but it was obviously of no use. His smile faded, and he shrugged in resignation. "Alright, fine. If you want to play tough, then I'll get rough. The old-fashioned way it is!"

Burter rolled his shoulders, stretching his muscles before cracking his knuckles. "Let's get this shit over with. But don't say I didn't warn you, Namekian."

With that, Burter unleashed his full power, blue energy swirling around him. The energy flared out in a dazzling display, casting a deep azure glow over the landscape like a Kamehameha.

Piccolo scowled at the released energy, his eyes narrowing as he assessed his opponent's strength. The gap wasn't hopelessly vast, but it was evident. Since his potential unlock, Piccolo's power had risen significantly, exceeding 60,000 at this very moment. However, Burter's energy reading was alarmingly higher—nearly a fourth stronger. Piccolo estimated Burter's power level to be around 75,000, give or take a few thousand.

Piccolo was now convinced of Vegeta's claim that Burter was an elite among elites. Vegeta had already proven to be an insurmountable foe for most planets, capable of overwhelming and annihilating entire civilizations by his lonesome. And yet, here was another elite over four times stronger, and not even the strongest of the squad, based on Nappa's intel.

However, Piccolo was no stranger to fighting opponents stronger than himself. Somewhere along the line, it had become the rather depressing norm.

Piccolo's eyes moved to Burter, who wore a confident smirk. It was obvious that the alien viewed this fight as nothing more than a warm-up, a chance to enjoy himself and have some fun. Piccolo tensed, mentally preparing for the fight ahead by focusing on steadying his breath to calm his nerves.

To test his opponent, Piccolo chose to fire a light ki blast. It was intended more to gauge Burter's reaction than to inflict any real damage.

As the blast neared, Burter's form seemed to blur, his body vibrating at astonishing speeds. Surreally, the ki blast passed straight through him as if he were made of air. The energy blast continued on its path without so much as a hint of resistance.

Piccolo's eyes widened, and a sudden tightness gripped his chest. His mind raced to understand what he had just witnessed. Intangibility? This...how does he even counter that? This technique—can it nullify all of his attacks?!

Burter wore a smug smirk at Piccolo's visible distress. He spoke in a taunting voice.

"Tell me, what makes a punch truly powerful, Namekian? Is it physical strength? Technique? Or perhaps energy?"

As he spoke, Burter wagged his finger back and forth dismissively, his grin broadening. His body began to vibrate more intensely, and his form became increasingly blurred. The distinctive features of his frame grew less defined, as if he were dissolving into the very fabric of space around him.

"No, no, and no. Of course, they all matter to some degree, but none of those is the correct answer," Burter said patronizingly, shaking his head. As he spoke, his voice became eerily distorted, and his eyes began glowing a menacing blue. "So, what makes a punch truly powerful?"

He paused, his eyes focusing on Piccolo like a ravenous predator.

"It's speed."

Burter's form blurred, the air exploded—

—and Piccolo jolted awake, buried under a pile of boulders miles away.

Piccolo groaned as he shifted amidst the rubble, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue as he spat out a mouthful of it. A sharp, stabbing pain radiated from his stomach, a fiery agony that almost paralyzed him, but he forced himself to rise regardless. What the bloody hell happened?

"There you go, that's the spirit! Don't make this too easy for me!"

Piccolo's head snapped to the left, his senses on high alert at Burter's mocking voice. There, leaning nonchalantly against the shattered rock wall Piccolo had been slammed into, was Burter. The blue alien's posture was relaxed, almost bored, as he ignored Piccolo in favor of buffing his nails.

Their eyes met.

"Hey there!" Burter greeted with an unexpectedly friendly smile. "Ready to talk yet?"

Piccolo responded with a deep, fierce scowl. He immediately blurred backward, attempting to distance himself from Burter. But once again, his efforts were futile. Before he could even assess his new position, he was violently punched into another pile of rocks. The impact left him dazed, and once again, Piccolo was unable to perceive or comprehend Burter's speed. He hadn't even caught a glimpse of Burter's movement.

With a sharp inhale, Piccolo forced himself free from the debris, rocks tumbling and shifting around him. He shook his head vigorously to clear the choking dust from his vision.

Nappa's warnings about Burter had not been exaggerated in the slightest.

"You're quite stubborn," Burter observed neutrally as if making an everyday observation. He stood casually about ten meters away, arms crossed over his chest.

"And you talk too much."

Burter shrugged in amusement at Piccolo's sharp comeback. "Why so serious, man? You're just moments away from speeding through the last minutes of your life."

Piccolo maintained his stoic silence. It was time to get serious.

With careful movements, Piccolo began to remove his gear. First, he took off his turban, letting it drop to the ground. The impact of the heavy cloth caused a slight tremor in the earth.

Next, he removed his shoulder guards and cape with a practiced flick of his shoulders. The flowing cape fell heavily, producing a deep thud that further shook the ground. The earth beneath him trembled slightly, showing visible cracks spreading from the points of impact where the armored pieces had landed.

Though the weighted clothing had lost its practical effects after his training with Ajax in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, Guru had worked his magic, quite literally, to restore their usefulness. Now, the garments automatically adjusted to match his strength.

Piccolo rolled his shoulders, finally unburdened by the weight of his clothing.

Meanwhile, Burter's eyes shot wide open in astonishment as he stared at the cracked ground, utterly gobsmacked by the immense force produced by such a seemingly minor drop.

"What the fuck, man? Are you some kind of masochist? Wearing weights this heavy is practically perverted!"

Piccolo didn't respond with words. Instead, he rolled his neck with a sharp crack. Though his expression remained calm, his mind was racing. For an opponent as fast as Burter, distance offered no advantage. He needed to close the gap!

Piccolo formulated his plan in an instant, and without revealing any hint of his intentions, he launched himself forward with lightning speed, closing in on Burter in a heartbeat.

Piccolo initiated his assault with three rapid, blurring punches aimed straight at Burter's torso. However, Burter's reflexes were faster than lightning. He skillfully wove and danced around each strike with infuriating ease, his expression growing increasingly bored with every passing second.

Piccolo's frustration grew, but he didn't give up. He launched a fierce series of attacks, fists and kicks moving in a high-paced but precise combination.

A green fist shot toward Burter's midsection with explosive speed, and for a moment, it seemed to connect. But in the next instant, Piccolo's eyes widened in shock as he realized the impact never landed—his fist had passed right through Burter.

Intangibility? No, something else...

Up close, Piccolo's Ki sense revealed the truth. It wasn't intangibility—it was an after–!

Before Piccolo could even finish the thought, Burter's hand had already clamped onto his face. The blue alien leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, almost soothing murmur in Piccolo's ear.

"Let's go for a run."

Blue electricity crackled to life.

In a flash, Burter exploded into his maximum speed, and the world around Piccolo warped into an incomprehensible blur of colors. It felt as though he was being pulled through a spiraling tunnel of green and blue that severely distorted his perception of reality.

Then the pain started.

As Burter unleashed his full speed, he forcefully drove Piccolo's face into the rocky surface of Namek, dragging him along. Piccolo's face gouged a narrow trench into the ground, sending fragments of rocks and dirt in every which direction.

For the next minute, Burter took grim satisfaction in using Piccolo as a dirty rag, using him to "clean" the surface of Namek.

Burter sped through the rugged terrain with Piccolo in tow. He crashed through towering cliffs and ancient pillars, using Piccolo's body as a shield against the obstacles in his way. Occasionally, Burter would throw in a few punches just to spice things up.

At last, after what seemed like an eternity, Burter came to a stop and roughly threw Piccolo aside.

Piccolo's body skidded and scraped along the rocky ground due to the lingering momentum before coming to a stop, face-up. His form was smeared with dirt, and his breaths came in ragged gasps, but despite the pain, Piccolo's eyes remained resolute with a staunch refusal to surrender.

As he lay there, Piccolo made an intriguing observation. The immense momentum Burter could generate aside, the actual damage from the punches during their "run" hadn't been as severe as he anticipated. The observation sparked a new line of theory—that perhaps Burter's raw physical strength, without his speed, was lacking.

Fascinating.

A few meters away, Burter watched with mild surprise as Piccolo staggered to his feet. The Ginyu Force elite looked impressed.

"You really are tough, you masochist. That wasn't enough punishment for you, was it? Fine, if physical discipline isn't doing the trick, let's try something more unconventional!"

Piccolo's muscles tensed as Burter vanished from sight. He was bracing for another brutal attack, but instead he was met with an eerie silence, as if Burter had truly vanished. Of course, that wasn't the case, as moments later, the air around Piccolo began to churn violently.

Burter began running in circles around Piccolo at such incredible speed that he seemed like a continuous wall of blue. The sheer velocity of his movement created a swirling vortex of wind that quickly enveloped Piccolo.

The cyclone of wind and debris swirling around Piccolo was so ferocious that it created a solid barrier of air, obscuring everything within its center. As the tornado tightened, Piccolo suddenly stumbled with a look of alarm. He instinctively clutched his throat, his breath coming in shallow, labored gasps.

Something was very wrong.

Somehow, the air inside the tornado was thinning at an alarming rate, causing oxygen levels to plummet. Piccolo knew he had to find a solution fast. If he couldn't, oxygen deprivation would impair his ability to think, and once that happened, it was over.

Piccolo gritted his teeth. He quickly channeled his energy and concentrated his Ki around himself, forming a protective barrier to stabilize the dangerously low air pressure.

This was only a temporary solution, as the Ki barrier couldn't defend against a vacuum if Burter succeeded in creating such a state in the eye of the storm. The immense difference in air pressure would cause catastrophic internal damage to Piccolo, barrier or not.

He staggered.

How much time was left before the last breath was torn from his lungs? How long before his blood began to boil in his veins? How long before every organ within him ruptured violently?

If this pattern continued, he likely had less than a minute.

Without wasting a moment, Piccolo braced his feet against the ground, creating a crater as he flew upwards to escape the encircling tornado. However, as he ascended, the blue wall of the tornado abruptly shifted and solidified in his path.

A blue leg suddenly crashed into Piccolo's torso, propelling him violently back toward the far side of the tornado's interior.

Before Piccolo could stop his momentum, he reached the opposite edge of the vortex, and the same phenomenon occurred. As he approached, the blue wall of the cyclone seemed to shift and realign itself, and another leg struck him in a different direction.

Like a pinball, Piccolo ricocheted within the swirling storm, each collision with the blue walls jarring his body and further disorienting him.

Somehow gathering his wits, Piccolo managed to jerk to a sudden halt mid-air. He hung suspended in the middle of the vortex, struggling to breathe. Despite his desperate attempts to inhale, the thinning atmosphere felt like he was losing what little air there was in his lungs.

45 seconds.

With his mind racing, Piccolo quickly reassessed the situation. If he couldn't physically penetrate the barrier, he would disrupt it instead! Piccolo unleashed a wild and chaotic barrage of ki blasts at the surrounding blue wall of the tornado, hoping to either hit Burter or at least disrupt him.

Unfortunately, the blasts seemed to pass through the wall as if they were intangible, traveling harmlessly into the swirling blue and exploding somewhere in the distance.

35 seconds.

Shit.

Realizing that his current approach wasn't working, Piccolo decided to change tactics again. He focused his energy and fired a silent but powerful Masenko straight downward. The beam struck with tremendous force, shattering the earth and sending chunks of rock flying into the air.

The Masenko had achieved its goal: destroying the ground and creating an uneven surface. Unfortunately, Burter was unfazed. He plowed through the debris and shattered ground with sheer momentum, his speed and force making the uneven terrain irrelevant. Even the shockwave from the explosion hadn't paused Burter for even a moment.

Piccolo's expression darkened.

25 seconds.

Fuck!

Piccolo had one last idea up his sleeve. He wrapped his arms around himself, preparing to use the Hyper Explosive Demon Wave. By making himself the epicenter of the explosion, the force would expand outward in a massive, concentric sphere. Burter wouldn't be able to evade such a devastating wall of energy—there would be nowhere to escape except away from the explosion!

As Piccolo's form began to glow, it seemed Burter had anticipated Piccolo's intent.

"BLUE RUSH!"

In an instant, an innumerable number of fists struck Piccolo's body simultaneously. Within a few seconds, Piccolo was pummeled hundreds, perhaps even over a thousand times. The glow around Piccolo faded as the Burter's lightning barrage forcibly beat the attack out of its initiation sequence.

Task accomplished, Burter resumed controlling the cyclone as Piccolo collapsed onto all fours, blood dripping from his mouth and forming a small pool on the ground. The tiny Ki barrier he had erected around himself shrank further, clinging tightly to his form. Piccolo, with blurred vision, watched as the small pool of his blood began to boil.

Oh, no…

15 seconds.

Piccolo struggled to get to one knee, his thoughts sluggish from the lack of air.

His attempts to physically escape the tornado were easily thwarted by Burter. The energy blasts he fired passed harmlessly through the cyclone's wall, and shattering the terrain only briefly disturbed the environment without affecting Burter at all. If he tried an area-of-effect attack, Burter would interrupt him before he could execute it.

What the hell else is there?!

10 seconds.

He was out of ideas.

As the seconds ticked by, the edges of Piccolo's vision began to blur and darken. The horrifying low pressure and increasing air deprivation were severely affecting his consciousness. His senses dulled, and he felt himself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

In this disorienting haze, Piccolo's mind was suddenly flooded with a rapid and disorienting reel of memories.

A whirlwind of his most significant battles and defining moments flashed before him in a blinding, accelerated montage. He saw his birth, his early struggles and triumphs while training to fight Goku. The Tenkaichi Budōkai, where he had fought Goku for the first time. Memories of fierce battles with Raditz, where he joined forces with Goku for the first time. And the brutal fights with Nappa and Vegeta, where he had to rely on Goku to save him for the first time.

"…"

Oh, Goddamnit!! Why the hell are so many of these about his first time with Goku?! FUCK!!

Piccolo gnashed his teeth. It was still far too early for some dramatic flashbacks of his past! He wasn't ready to give in, and he refused to accept this as his end! Why? It's because, among the annoying flashbacks, one memory in particular stood out: his battle against Vegeta.

Great Ape Vegeta.

Piccolo's eyes blazed with fiery resolve.

It was time to go big or go home.

By this point, the tornado had transformed into an awe-inspiring and terrifying force of nature, reaching up into the clouds. Trees were uprooted, large chunks of debris orbited around, and dirt was violently pulled into the cyclone. What had once been a clear tornado was now a dark, murky gray, densely packed with the remnants of the Namekian landscape.

Seconds later, an enormous green arm erupted from the swirling vortex, followed by another. The massive limbs destabilized the tornado's form as they forced their way from its center.

That was all it took.

With tremendous force, a colossal version of Piccolo burst out of the tornado, charging forward like a running back plowing through an opposing team.

It was Piccolo's final, desperate maneuver, so he had charged ahead blindly, unable to control his speed or direction. Consequently, he crashed into the surrounding cliffs. His gigantic form made the small rocky cliffs reach only to his midsection, and Piccolo leaned against the cliff, drawing in deep, grateful breaths of sweet, sweet air.

However, Piccolo was keenly aware that his enlarged size made him an easy target. Therefore, he quickly reverted to his normal size in just a few moments.

"Well, that's annoyingly creative," came a voice from an indistinct direction, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. "And also creatively annoying!"

A blinding flash of blue interrupted the moment as Burter's fist slammed into Piccolo's gut with such force and momentum that he was sent hurtling miles away, spinning and tumbling uncontrollably through the sky.

And so Piccolo's struggle continued.

~ Frieza Force Mothership: Frieza ~

Frieza leisurely wiped the blood from his hands with a rag, the once-white cloth now nearly soaked in purple. His movements were deliberately unhurried as he meticulously cleaned away the evidence of his recent activities. Once finished, he folded the rag and set it neatly aside on a nearby counter.

After all, men without basic manners were no better than beasts.

With a satisfied smirk, Frieza cracked his neck, feeling his mood lift significantly. There was nothing quite like a torture session to brighten his spirits.

The Namekian Elder had managed to earn a sliver of respect from him. Despite his best efforts, the Elder had held out far longer than any other prisoner Frieza could recall. For hours on end, the Elder withstood torture, demonstrating a remarkable strength of will that Frieza had rarely encountered in his considerable memory.

But in the end, he broke just like the rest.

Curiously, the Elder had "cracked" and divulged the information in a rather sudden fashion. There was no gradual breakdown of resistance or descent into despair. It didn't seem like the act of someone at the end of their rope. In fact, Frieza had expected the session to drag on for hours more. One moment Moori had been resolutely silent; the next, he was spilling everything he knew.

It felt as though Moori had abruptly surrendered, as if Frieza had been granted an undeserved victory out of pity. This left a slightly unpleasant taste in his mouth.

However, this feeling was quickly overshadowed by the true reason for his pleasant mood.

Frieza's lips curled into a calculating smile as he contemplated the new information. The Namekian Dragon, named Porunga, was summoned with a specific password in the Namekian language, and during the summoning, the sky would darken. Most enticing of all, this mystical creature could grant three wishes in a single session.

Absolutely delightful.

Frieza's cruel smile widened as he considered the tantalizing possibilities. He could wish for immortality, and once that long-desired ambition was achieved, his next priority would be to use the second wish to revive Zarbon. Even after all that, he'd still have one wish left to use as he pleased. Choices, choices…

Frieza pivoted on his heel and exited the holding cell. As he stepped into the corridors, a lowly grunt stationed nearby looked up in trepidation.

In his second form, Frieza towered over the grunt. His more muscular and menacing appearance cast a shadow that seemed to engulf the poor soldier. The grunt's shoulders stiffened reflexively, and he bowed his head in respect, scarcely daring to raise his gaze above Frieza's knees.

"Lord Frieza, reporting!" The grunt's voice quivered slightly as he delivered the urgent news. "We've just received reports of an unknown spacecraft entering Namek's atmosphere. Following General Zarbon's standing order, we engaged and destroyed the craft. However, the response team we sent to investigate the wreckage has not returned. We lost their scouter signals and don't know their current status!"

The grunt tensed, fearing he might face severe consequences for their collective failure.

Frieza's expression darkened, a displeased grunt escaping his lips, but he stayed his hand.

"And what of the power level detected from the spacecraft?"

"That's just the problem, sir. At the moment of the explosion, our main computer registered a power level of 90,000. However, we believe this reading may have been distorted by the explosion itself, so the data might be unreliable."

Frieza scoffed and waved his hand dismissively.

"A power level of 90,000 is indeed impressive," he acknowledged. "However, Captain Ginyu has faced opponents of far greater strength before. Relay this information to him immediately and instruct him to handle the situation."

The grunt's eyes widened slightly as he sensed the silent dismissal within Frieza's command. Although puzzled by his Lord's unexpected leniency, he wisely chose not to question it.

"Yes, sir!" he responded quickly. Without delay, he turned on his heel and hurried away.

Frieza watched the grunt depart. Once the soldier was out of sight, Frieza walked purposefully toward the spaceship's exit. Stepping outside, he was greeted by the cool Namekian air. His gaze swept across the horizon, taking in the vast, alien landscape. The sky, streaked with green and ashen gray smoke, served as a reminder of his recent victory over the greatest threat in this campaign.

Without another moment's pause, Frieza shot into the sky with speed that belied his bulky form. The ground below quickly receded as he ascended, his sharp eyes locked onto his destination.

It was time for him to visit this Guru.

And he knew precisely where this "Grand" Elder was.