The blinding flash of Razor's final blast faded into the horizon, leaving behind only silence and a sky torn apart by fire and smoke. The battlefield, once echoing with the roars of battle, now stood eerily quiet. The scorched earth trembled under the aftershock of power far beyond comprehension.
Razor's ship streaked upward, vanishing into the endless blue. The Z-Fighters could do nothing but watch — battered, drained, and powerless.
"Damn it…" Vegeta muttered, clenching his fists until blood ran from his palms. "He got away." His aura flickered weakly before fading completely.
Piccolo's cape fluttered in the dying wind. "We'll worry about him later," he said grimly, eyes narrowing as he sensed a lingering, distorted energy behind them. "Right now, we've got a bigger problem."
Gohan, still on one knee, turned sharply — his heart dropping. From the smoking crater behind them, a twisted, pulsating form was forcing itself upright. Cell — half-regenerated, grotesque, his perfect form broken and crumbling — let out a guttural roar. His aura surged violently, the air vibrating with his rage.
"Not… yet!" Cell bellowed, voice thick with fury and desperation. He raised both hands, charging a desperate energy sphere bright enough to blind. "If I'm going down—"
"—you're going alone!" Goku shouted, appearing beside his son, his eyes burning with determination as he placed a hand on his shoulder.
Father and son stood side by side, the golden glow of Super Saiyan 1 and 2 merging into one breathtaking light. "Let's end all this son. Just one final push."
"Kamehame—HA!!!"
The twin beams roared forth as one colossal torrent of energy, swallowing Cell's blast like a tidal wave. His scream was short-lived, cut off as his body vaporized under the sheer force.
When the explosion cleared, nothing remained of Cell — no dust, no ki, no echo. Only silence.
Gohan collapsed, his energy spent, shoulders heaving. Goku beside him placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's over Gohan... Earth is saved because of you. You are its hero."
The rest of the team gathered slowly — Piccolo, Tien, Yamcha, Krillin. Their clothes were torn, their bodies battered, but their eyes remained sharp.
Then Goku's expression hardened. He pressed two fingers to his forehead, searching the vast reaches of space for any sign of Razor's ki. His brows furrowed.
"I can't find him," he said finally, lowering his hand. "His energy's almost gone. Barely a flicker… fading fast."
Krillin stepped forward, voice trembling with quiet urgency. "What about 18? Can you sense her?"
Goku looked at him, guilt flickering in his eyes. "She's… an android, Krillin. She doesn't have a ki signature."
For a moment, Krillin didn't respond. His face went blank — like his mind couldn't process the words. Then, slowly, his shoulders slumped. "So she's really gone…" he whispered, eyes drifting to the horizon where Razor's ship had vanished.
Vegeta scoffed, looking away. "You're better off. That woman was nothing but trouble."
Krillin didn't reply. He just stared into the distance, jaw tightening looking towards the sky as if he could still see last trace of Razor's ship disappearing from view. The rest of the team said nothing — even Vegeta's harshness faded into the heavy silence.
The wind howled across the broken landscape, carrying away the ashes of the battle that had decided Earth's fate. The victory was theirs… but none of them felt like celebrating.
Weeks Later — In the Depths of Space
The stars stretched infinitely in all directions, a canvas of quiet eternity. Razor's ship drifted through the void, its engines whispering softly against the silence of the cosmos. Inside, the only signs of life were the rhythmic hum of machinery and the faint hiss of air circulation.
Android 18 sat near the glass chamber in the ship's medical bay. Inside it floated Razor — unconscious, suspended in glowing blue liquid, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. The faint pulse of ki still flickered around him occasionally, a fragile heartbeat against the endless dark.
She leaned back in her chair, chin resting on her hand. "You've been asleep for weeks," she muttered. "Do all Saiyans take this long to nap?"
Her voice echoed faintly off the metal walls, unanswered as always.
She'd explored nearly every part of the ship by now. The design was minimalist — efficient. Not a speck of dust, not a scratch on the walls. It was built for function, not comfort.
The corridors stretched in perfect symmetry, illuminated by soft white light. The training chamber was sealed tight — a digital lock with a language she didn't recognize. The storage bay was lined with metallic crates and shards of battle-worn armor, clearly alien.
In what passed for a kitchen, food capsules dispensed tasteless nutrient bars — barely edible, but effective. She'd stopped complaining after the first few days.
The living quarters were small but sufficient. She'd found spare clothes — black combat gear with strange fabric that adjusted to temperature and size. She wore it for now, sleek and light, far more comfortable than her torn outfit from the battlefield.
But what unsettled her most wasn't the silence — it was the stillness. No motion. No purpose. No orders.
For the first time since awakening, Android 18 had nothing to do.
Sometimes she wandered the ship aimlessly, her boots echoing down empty corridors. Other times she stood at the observation window, watching the distant glow of stars. The view was breathtaking — infinite, lonely, cold.
"Guess this is what freedom feels like," she murmured once, her reflection faint in the glass. "Doesn't feel as great as I thought."
She often found herself returning to the med-pod. Watching him. The mysterious Saiyan who'd caught her in the chaos before darkness claimed her. Even unconscious, Razor's presence filled the room — that same dangerous calm, the kind that only came from warriors who'd seen death up close.
"You saved me by accident, didn't you?" she said one day, leaning closer to the pod. "You didn't even know who I was."
Her lips quirked faintly. "Typical Saiyan. All brawn, no brain."
The ship had some kind of autopilot system — she'd learned that early. It adjusted course occasionally, thrusters firing without her input. When she tried the control console, the screen lit up with symbols she couldn't read, and a robotic voice scolded her in a language she didn't understand. After that, she decided to stop touching things.
At least there was power. The lights never dimmed, the air never faltered. Whoever designed this ship had thought of everything.
At "night" — or what she imagined as night — she'd sit by the window, hugging her knees, staring at the stars. Sometimes she'd catch herself thinking of Earth — of her brother, of Krillin's awkward smile, of the strange sense of belonging she'd felt among the Z Fighters, even if she never admitted it.
Then she'd shake the thought away. "No point thinking about what's gone," she whispered.
Still, her gaze always drifted back to the pod. To the Saiyan floating in that healing liquid, breathing, alive.
"You better wake up soon," she said one cycle, arms crossed. "I'm not built for nursing."
The engines hummed softly. Stars drifted by in silent procession.
And deep within the healing chamber, unseen by her, Razor's fingers twitched — once, twice — as faint light rippled across the surface of the liquid.