Chapter 8: Blood and Gore (II)
High in the sky, among the perpetually swirling clouds, Kakarot found his next target: a series of intricate floating islands, tethered together by glowing energy fields, home to a winged race. These beings were avian, with feathered limbs and strong, hollow bones, their homes built from light, durable materials. They flew on currents of air, their movements agile and free.
As he approached, a squadron of their warriors, armed with energy lances, met him, attempting to defend their aerial haven. "Invader! Retreat, or face the fury of the Sky-Born!"
Kakarot simply smirked, a flash of red energy erupting from his hand, incinerating the lead warrior and sending a chain reaction through the squadron, causing them to explode into a shower of feathers and charred flesh. He landed on the central island, the air thrumming with the cries of the terrified Sky-Born.
Their Patriarch, a venerable being with magnificent, multi-hued wings, floated down to meet him, his face etched with ancient wisdom and profound sorrow. "Why do you bring such destruction upon us, stranger? We have no quarrel with you."
"No quarrel?" Kakarot mimicked, his voice laced with venom. "Your existence is a quarrel with the universe. Frieza wants this planet, and that means you are… superfluous." His eyes, however, were already scanning the graceful females of their race, their feathered bodies slender and elegant. "However, I appreciate beauty. And I do enjoy a good spectacle. Bring forth your most comely women. Let them show me their wings. Let them soar for me, dance for me. If their performance is… satisfactory, I will consider a swift, painless end for them. And perhaps, for the rest of you, a slightly less messy one."
The Patriarch's eyes, normally filled with calm, now blazed with a fierce, defiant fire. "You insult us! We are not livestock to be paraded! We will fight to the last feather!"
"Then you will die painfully," Kakarot repeated, his patience worn thin. He moved, a blur of motion, tearing through the Sky-Born. He ripped their majestic wings from their backs, leaving them to plummet screaming to the earth below. He crushed their hollow bones with bone-chilling ease, their bodies exploding in clouds of feathers and blood. He found the females, their pleas and screams ignored as he stalked them. He made them soar once more, but this time it was a forced flight of terror, before he launched energy blasts that tore through their feathered bodies, shredding them in mid-air. He made them crash into their own homes, leaving fiery craters where their delicate structures once stood. He delighted in making them fall, watching their desperate attempts to fly with shattered wings, only to meet their end in a messy impact on the land below. The sky itself became a canvas of death, filled with falling bodies, burning debris, and the suffocating scent of scorched feathers and blood. He had left a wake of destruction, a sky of broken angels.
His final stop on the southern continent was a vast, arid plain, where nomadic tribes roamed, their settlements mobile, constantly moving with the sparse herds of grazing beasts. Kakarot spent a perverse half-hour hunting them down, one encampment at a time, relishing the chase, the desperate attempts of their crude, sand-colored land-crafts to outrun him.
These people were hardy, rough beings, with thick, leathery hides and stoic expressions. They were armed with heavy, blunt instruments, and though their power levels were low, their determination was somewhat more pronounced. Yet, it was pointless.
He landed in the center of their largest mobile camp, shattering their lead vehicle. Bodies, already hardened by a life of hardship, were thrown like ragdolls. Their chieftain, a grizzled old warrior, stood defiant, clutching a blunted club, his eyes narrowed. "You bring death, outsider. But you will not break our spirit!"
Kakarot simply chuckled. "Spirit? What is spirit against overwhelming power? Nothing but a pretty sentiment for fools." He didn't bother with the drawn-out charade this time. He was growing bored with the theatrics. He wanted to finish. He caught the chief's club, twisting it until the warrior's arm snapped with a sickening crack, then he casually vaporized the old man with a ki blast directly to the chest, leaving only a smoking hole where his heart had been.
He singled out a group of females, their expressions grim, their eyes showing no hope, only a fierce, resigned defiance. "Let's see if your defiance extends to your flesh," he sneered, grabbing one, her coarse garment ripping easily. He made no promises of mercy, offered no false hope. He simply tore through them, a whirlwind of fists and energy. He pulled them limb from limb, their leathery hides stretching and tearing with wet thuds. He crushed their skulls, their brains splattering against the dusty ground. He used focused blasts to cauterize wounds as he inflicted them, prolonging their pain, making them scream as their flesh cooked. He reveled in the stench of burning hide and fresh blood. He ripped open a gravid female, spilling her unborn child onto the dust, then ground it under his heel, watching the life drain from its tiny, undeveloped form. The plains, which had once echoed with the rumble of their mobile homes, now bore witness to a silent, bloody massacre, a wasteland of torn bodies and shattered hope.
Finally, Kakarot stood alone amidst the ruins of the last encampment, his armor splattered with a mosaic of alien blood and viscera. He closed his eyes, his scouter sweeping the vast expanse of the southern continent one last time. No living trace. Utterly, irrevocably, gone.
A deep sigh escaped him, not of satisfaction, but of a profound, simmering frustration. These creatures were too weak. Their fear was fleeting, their resistance negligible. There was no real challenge, no true test. Just… culling. Like vermin.
Vegeta's sneer, Raditz's condescending tone, Frieza's cold, dismissive gaze – they all flashed through his mind, igniting a silent, internal inferno. He had slaughtered with ruthless efficiency, with a perverse joy in the power he wielded, but it felt hollow. It felt like playing a game against children.
"Weak," he muttered, his voice a low growl, echoing over the silent plain. "They were all so weak." A primal rage began to burn in his core, a molten fury against the universe itself for not providing worthy adversaries. "They think I'm just a low-class grunt. They think I'm nothing but Raditz's pathetic little brother, a mere tool for Frieza's Empire."
His fists clenched, his knuckles white. The image of Vegeta, arrogant and smug, flashed vividly in his mind. "Prince Vegeta, you call yourself? You will see. One day, you will all see. I will show you what true power looks like. I will surpass you. I will surpass Frieza. I will shatter your arrogance, your contempt, and I will show you just how strong a Saiyan I can be. This… this is just practice. Just a taste of what's to come. They will all regret ever looking down on Kakarot."
He launched himself into the sky, a dark, solitary figure against the reddening sunset, leaving behind a continent bled dry, and carrying with him a burgeoning, terrifying promise of untold power and vengeance.