The Nameless Planet hung in the void between universes—a barren sphere of rock selected specifically for its isolation, its durability, and its complete lack of anything that might be damaged by the forces about to be unleashed.
A massive arena had been constructed at its center, surrounded by floating platforms where spectators could observe in relative safety. The Gods of Destruction sat in places of honor—Beerus lounging with characteristic indolence, Champa fidgeting with barely contained excitement.
And at the center of it all, ten warriors prepared to determine which universe would claim victory.
Universe 7's team stood on one side of the arena: Goku, practically vibrating with excitement; Vegeta, scowling with focused intensity; Piccolo, calm and calculating; Gohan, nervous but determined; and Kenpachi, looking bored.
Universe 6's champions occupied the other side: Botamo, the rotund yellow creature; Frost, disturbingly similar to Frieza; Magetta, the metal man; Cabba, the young Saiyan; and Hit, the legendary assassin, who stood slightly apart from his teammates with an expression of absolute stillness.
"Welcome, warriors, to the Universe 6 versus Universe 7 tournament!"
The referee—a small, blue being introduced as the tournament's appointed official—floated above the arena, his voice magically amplified.
"The rules are simple! Fighters will compete one-on-one until one side has no remaining competitors! Victory is achieved by knockout, ring-out, or surrender! Killing is prohibited—any warrior who kills their opponent will be disqualified!"
"No killing?" Kenpachi muttered. "That's annoying."
"The order of matches will be determined by the Gods of Destruction! Lord Beerus, Lord Champa—please select your first fighters!"
Champa's pudgy finger pointed immediately. "Botamo! Get out there and crush them!"
Beerus yawned. "Goku. Try not to embarrass us."
"You got it!" Goku bounded onto the arena floor, his excitement palpable. "Alright, big guy! Let's have some fun!"
And so the tournament began.
The first match was, in Kenpachi's professional opinion, boring.
Goku danced around Botamo's attacks, unable to actually damage the rubbery creature but clearly enjoying the puzzle. Eventually, he simply grabbed Botamo and threw him out of the ring—a practical solution that earned scattered applause.
"Botamo is out of bounds! Victory to Universe 7's Son Goku!"
Champa's outraged shriek echoed across the arena. "WHAT?! That shouldn't count!"
"Ring-out is a valid victory condition, my lord," Vados reminded him, her eyes drifting to where Kenpachi stood waiting.
The second match brought Frost—and with him, deception.
Kenpachi watched with growing irritation as the Frieza-lookalike pretended to be honorable, pretended to be fighting fairly, all while secretly poisoning his opponents with a hidden needle. Goku went down. Piccolo went down.
"This is pathetic," Kenpachi growled.
"He's cheating," Vegeta agreed, his arms crossed. "Obviously."
"Not that." Kenpachi's eye was fixed on Frost with something approaching contempt. "Fighting with tricks instead of strength. Using poison instead of power. It's WEAK."
Before the third match could begin, Jaco—the small Galactic Patrolman who had somehow been invited—exposed Frost's deception. The needle was discovered, the cheating confirmed, and Frost was allowed to continue only because Vegeta insisted on beating him personally.
Which he did. Brutally.
"Frost is unable to continue! Victory to Universe 7's Vegeta!"
Champa looked ready to explode. "This is RIGGED! My warriors are being SABOTAGED!"
"Your warrior was cheating," Beerus replied lazily. "Don't be a sore loser, brother."
The tournament continued.
Magetta proved to be a more interesting challenge—the metal man's heat-based attacks and incredible durability pushed Vegeta to his limits. But in the end, the Prince's pride overcame even molten metal.
"Magetta is out of bounds! Victory to Universe 7's Vegeta!"
Cabba came next—the young Saiyan who had somehow survived in Universe 6 without ever discovering Super Saiyan. Vegeta took him apart with clinical precision, then goaded him into transforming through sheer psychological pressure.
"THAT'S the power of a Saiyan!" Vegeta roared as Cabba's hair turned gold for the first time. "Now FIGHT me properly!"
The battle that followed was intense—master versus student, experience versus potential. But ultimately, Cabba's newly awakened power couldn't match Vegeta's decades of refinement.
"Cabba is unable to continue! Victory to Universe 7's Vegeta!"
Three victories in a row. Universe 7 was dominating.
But everyone knew the real challenge was still waiting.
Hit stepped onto the arena floor.
The legendary assassin moved with an economy of motion that spoke of absolute efficiency—every step precisely calculated, every muscle operating at peak optimization. His purple skin seemed to absorb light, and his eyes held the cold calculation of someone who had killed more beings than most civilizations had produced.
"So," Champa said, a smug grin spreading across his face, "ready to face my ultimate warrior, Beerus?"
"Vegeta can handle him."
"Can he?"
The question hung in the air as Hit and Vegeta faced each other across the arena.
The Saiyan Prince attacked first—a devastating combination of punches and ki blasts that would have destroyed most opponents.
Hit vanished.
Vegeta stumbled, pain exploding across his chest. He hadn't even seen the attack—one moment he was striking, the next he was being struck.
"What—"
Hit vanished again.
More impacts. More pain. Vegeta's Super Saiyan Blue form flickered as damage accumulated faster than he could process.
"Time-Skip," Vados explained, her voice carrying across the arena. "Hit's signature technique. He briefly stops time, moving freely while his opponent is frozen."
"He can STOP TIME?!" Goku's eyes went wide with a mixture of alarm and excitement.
"For brief moments, yes. It's why he's never failed an assassination."
Vegeta crashed to the arena floor, his body broken, his pride shattered.
"Vegeta is unable to continue! Victory to Universe 6's Hit!"
Champa's triumphant laughter echoed across the Nameless Planet.
Goku leaped onto the arena, his excitement undimmed by Vegeta's defeat.
"That was AMAZING! Can you show me that time thing again?"
Hit stared at him with something approaching confusion. "You WANT me to attack you?"
"Yeah! I want to see how it works!"
The battle that followed was spectacular.
Goku pushed his Super Saiyan Blue to its limits, developing counters to Hit's Time-Skip in real-time. He predicted the attacks, adapted to the frozen moments, even managed to land blows on the legendary assassin.
And Hit, for the first time in his existence, found himself being pushed to improve.
His Time-Skip extended. His techniques refined. He grew stronger DURING the fight, rising to meet Goku's challenge.
"This is incredible!" Goku laughed, blood streaming from a dozen wounds. "You're getting BETTER!"
"As are you." Something like respect entered Hit's voice. "This is... unusual."
They clashed again and again, each exchange pushing both fighters beyond their previous limits.
And then Goku did something unexpected.
He forfeited.
"I give up!"
The arena fell silent.
"WHAT?!" Champa and Beerus shouted simultaneously.
"I can't beat him without going all out," Goku explained, grinning despite his injuries. "And if I go all out, I might accidentally kill him. Rules say no killing, right?"
"But—you—the TOURNAMENT—"
"Besides," Goku continued, his grin widening, "I want to see what happens next."
His eyes drifted to where Kenpachi stood waiting.
"I think Hit's about to face something he's never encountered before."
Kenpachi stepped onto the arena floor.
He moved slowly, deliberately, his sealed Nozarashi resting against his shoulder. There was no urgency in his approach—just the calm certainty of a predator who knew exactly how dangerous he was.
Hit watched him approach, those calculating eyes analyzing every detail.
Unusual energy signature, the assassin noted. Not ki. Something else entirely. Power level is... suppressed? Deliberately limited?
"So," Kenpachi said, stopping a few meters from Hit, "you're the strong one."
"I am Hit. I have never failed an assassination."
"Good for you." Kenpachi's grin was sharp. "I'm Kenpachi Zaraki. And I've never lost a fight that mattered."
"Confident. Most beings are, until they face me."
"Most beings aren't me."
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Then Hit moved.
Time-Skip activated.
The world froze—Kenpachi caught mid-breath, his expression unchanging, his body locked in temporal stasis. Hit stepped forward, his fist drawn back for a precise strike to the solar plexus.
A perfect assassination technique. Unavoidable. Inescapable.
His fist connected.
And stopped.
Hit stared at his hand, uncomprehending. The blow had landed—he could feel the impact reverberating up his arm. But Kenpachi hadn't moved. Hadn't reacted. Hadn't even seemed to NOTICE.
Time resumed.
"Huh," Kenpachi said, looking down at the fist pressed against his chest. "That tickled."
Hit's eyes widened fractionally.
Impossible. That strike should have disabled him. The force was precisely calculated to—
"My turn."
Kenpachi's hand moved—a casual backhand that Hit barely managed to dodge. The wind pressure alone cratered the arena floor behind him.
That power, Hit thought, his mind racing. Without even trying, he nearly destroyed me. And he hasn't released his weapon, hasn't removed that eye patch, hasn't activated any transformation.
What IS he?
The battle shifted.
Hit attacked again—Time-Skip after Time-Skip, each strike landing with perfect precision against vital points. He targeted pressure points, nerve clusters, structural weaknesses.
Every attack landed.
None of them mattered.
Kenpachi stood in the center of the arena, absorbing blows that would have killed any normal being, his grin never wavering.
"Is that all you've got?" he asked, sounding genuinely disappointed. "Goku made you seem like a bigger deal."
"You—" Hit's composure cracked slightly. "You should be dead. I've struck your heart seventeen times."
"Did you? Didn't notice."
Hit's jaw tightened.
He pushed harder. Extended his Time-Skip beyond anything he had ever attempted. Attacked with techniques reserved for the most dangerous targets in the universe.
Kenpachi yawned.
"Look," the Shinigami said, scratching his ear, "I was hoping for a good fight, but this is getting boring. You're fast, I'll give you that. And stopping time is a neat trick. But..."
He took a step forward.
Hit instinctively stepped back.
"You're not STRONG. Speed without power is meaningless. Techniques without force are worthless." Another step forward. "All you're doing is tapping me with toothpicks and expecting me to fall over."
"I am the universe's greatest assassin—"
"You're a killer who's never faced someone he couldn't kill." Kenpachi's grin sharpened. "That makes you weak."
In the spectator area, Universe 6's warriors watched with growing horror.
"What IS that thing?" Cabba whispered, his newly awakened Super Saiyan form feeling suddenly inadequate.
"I... don't know." Even Champa looked disturbed. "Vados, you've been observing him. What are we dealing with?"
Vados's expression was serene, but her eyes gleamed with something the other spectators didn't recognize.
"Kenpachi Zaraki is a dimensional anomaly. A soul from beyond our reality, wielding power that doesn't follow our universe's rules." Her voice dropped slightly. "And what you're seeing now is him at perhaps... five percent of his actual capability."
"FIVE PERCENT?!"
"He hasn't removed his eye patch—a limiter that suppresses most of his energy. He hasn't released his weapon into its first form—which multiplies his power considerably. And he hasn't accessed his final form—which is something I've only witnessed once."
Champa's face had gone pale. "And at his final form...?"
Vados smiled. It was not a comforting smile.
"At his final form, he approached the level of an angel."
Silence fell over the Universe 6 spectator area.
On the arena floor, Hit was learning what fear tasted like.
He had faced powerful opponents before. Had assassinated beings that could destroy planets with a thought. Had never, in over a thousand years, encountered anything he couldn't eventually overcome.
But this...
This was different.
Every technique he used, Kenpachi ignored. Every attack he launched, Kenpachi absorbed. Every strategy he attempted, Kenpachi dismissed with a casual wave.
And the monster wasn't even TRYING.
"You know what your problem is?" Kenpachi asked, advancing steadily. "You've never had to struggle. Never had to push past your limits. Never had someone BETTER than you forcing you to grow."
"I have faced countless—"
"You've faced countless VICTIMS. Targets. People you were already stronger than." Another step. "But you've never faced a WARRIOR. Someone who lives for battle. Someone who's been pushing themselves for centuries just to find a worthy opponent."
Hit's Time-Skip activated again—a desperate attempt to create distance.
Kenpachi was already there.
"I CAN FEEL YOU MOVING."
The words were accompanied by a backhand that sent Hit skidding across the arena. The assassin caught himself, tasting blood for the first time in centuries.
"How—"
"Time doesn't work the same for me." Kenpachi cracked his neck. "My soul doesn't belong to this universe. Your little temporal tricks are cute, but they don't fully affect someone who exists partially OUTSIDE time."
Hit stared at him, something cold settling in his chest.
For the first time in his existence, he understood what his victims must have felt.
This is hopelessness, he realized. This is facing something you cannot defeat.
This is what it means to be prey.
"Surrender."
The word came from Kenpachi, flat and almost bored.
"What?"
"Surrender. Give up. Forfeit. Whatever you want to call it." The Shinigami's grin faded slightly. "I came here hoping for a good fight, but you're not it. You're strong by normal standards, but normal standards don't apply to me."
"I am Hit. I do not—"
"You do not what? Lose?" Kenpachi laughed, the sound echoing across the silent arena. "You're about to. The only question is whether you walk away or get carried."
Hit's fists clenched.
His pride screamed at him to continue. A thousand years of perfect record, of absolute dominance, of never failing—all of it demanded that he keep fighting.
But his instincts—the instincts that had kept him alive for all those centuries—told him something else.
If you continue, they whispered, you will die.
Not lose. DIE.
He's holding back because the rules forbid killing. The moment you push him too far, he'll forget the rules.
And then there will be nothing left of you.
Hit looked at Kenpachi—really LOOKED at him. At the casual stance that could explode into violence at any moment. At the sealed sword that pulsed with barely contained power. At the eye patch that held back forces Hit couldn't comprehend.
And at the grin.
That savage, hungry, absolutely certain grin.
The grin of a monster who was BORED because his opponent wasn't enough of a challenge.
"I..." Hit's voice came out steady, despite the fear that had settled into his bones. "I forfeit."
The arena erupted.
"WHAT?!" Champa screamed, his voice reaching octaves that shouldn't have been possible for a being of his size. "YOU CAN'T FORFEIT! YOU'RE HIT! THE LEGENDARY ASSASSIN! YOU DON'T LOSE!"
"I'm not losing," Hit said quietly, walking toward the edge of the arena. "I'm surviving."
"IT'S THE SAME THING!"
"No." Hit glanced back at Kenpachi, who was watching him with something that might have been respect. "It's not."
He stepped off the arena platform.
"Hit has forfeited! Victory to Universe 7's Kenpachi Zaraki! Universe 7 WINS the tournament!"
The Universe 7 spectator area exploded with cheers. Goku was bouncing with excitement, Vegeta—recovered enough to watch—was scowling with reluctant acknowledgment, and even Piccolo showed something approaching satisfaction.
On the Universe 6 side, Champa was having what could only be described as a cosmic meltdown.
"THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE! THAT MONSTER CHEATED SOMEHOW! NO ONE CAN BE THAT STRONG WITHOUT—"
"Lord Champa." Vados's voice cut through his tirade like a knife. "Kenpachi Zaraki did not cheat. He simply outclassed our champion entirely."
"BUT—"
"It is done. Universe 7 has won. We must honor the agreement."
Champa sputtered for several more seconds before deflating, his massive form slumping in defeat.
"Fine. FINE. Take the stupid Earth. See if I care."
Beerus stretched lazily, a satisfied smile crossing his feline features. "I think I'll celebrate with a nap. Whis, prepare something comfortable."
"Of course, my lord."
As the tournament concluded and the various parties prepared to depart...
Hit approached Kenpachi.
The assassin's expression was unreadable—centuries of perfect composure somewhat restored, but with something new lurking beneath the surface.
"That was... educational," Hit said.
"You learned something?"
"I learned that I've been stagnant." Hit's eyes met Kenpachi's directly. "For a thousand years, I've been the strongest. I stopped pushing, stopped growing, stopped improving because there was no need."
"Common problem for people at the top."
"Yes. But you've shown me something." Hit's voice dropped. "There are always higher peaks. Always stronger opponents. Always room to grow."
"Now you're getting it."
"I'm going to train." The words came out with unfamiliar conviction. "Actually TRAIN, not just maintain. Push myself beyond my current limits. And someday..."
His eyes gleamed with something that might have been anticipation.
"Someday I want a rematch. A REAL fight, where I'm not outclassed from the start."
Kenpachi's grin returned in full force. "Now THAT sounds interesting. Look me up when you're ready."
"I will."
They nodded to each other—warrior to warrior, predator to predator.
Then Hit turned and walked away, already planning the training that would consume his next century.
Nearby, Vados watched the exchange with complicated emotions.
On one hand, she was proud of Kenpachi's dominance. Her chosen warrior had demonstrated exactly why he was worthy of her obsession.
On the other hand, Hit was now interested in Kenpachi. PERSONALLY interested.
Competition, she thought, her serene expression hiding a surge of possessive rage. Another being who wants his attention. Another obstacle between us.
She would deal with Hit later. Find ways to distract him, redirect his focus, ensure that his "rematch" never materialized.
For now, though, she had other concerns.
The tournament was over. Universe 7 had won. And Kenpachi would be returning to Earth—AWAY from her, to the universe where she couldn't constantly observe him.
No, she decided, a plan forming in her mind. I'll find reasons to visit Universe 7. Frequently. Lord Champa will object, but I can manage him.
Kenpachi is MINE. And no distance, no dimension, no universal boundary will keep me from him.
Inside Kenpachi's inner world, Nozarashi was celebrating.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!" she crowed, her enhanced figure bouncing with excitement. "He DESTROYED that assassin! Didn't even need to release me! Didn't need the eye patch off! Just STOOD there and tanked everything!"
She threw herself onto the battlefield, rolling in the spiritual soil like a satisfied predator after a successful hunt.
"THAT'S my wielder! THAT'S my partner! The strongest, the most magnificent, the most PERFECT warrior in any universe!"
Her celebration paused as a thought occurred to her.
"And that ANGEL was watching. Watching HIM. MY Kenpachi."
The good mood evaporated instantly.
"She's going to use this. His victory. His power. She's going to find ways to get closer, to insert herself more deeply into his life." Nozarashi's voice dropped to a growl. "I saw the way she looked at him during the fight. Like he was HERS."
She manifested her blade, the edge gleaming with spiritual malice.
"He's NOT hers. He's MINE. And eventually..."
Her smile returned—sharp, possessive, utterly unhinged.
"Eventually, she's going to learn that lesson. One way or another."
Back on the Nameless Planet, Kenpachi was already getting bored.
The tournament was over. The celebrations were winding down. Various beings were making various speeches about sportsmanship and inter-universal cooperation and other things he didn't care about.
He wanted to go home and train.
Maybe find Goku for a spar.
Maybe see if Vegeta was recovered enough to go a round.
Anything but standing around listening to people TALK.
"Kenpachi."
He turned to find Vados floating beside him, her enhanced figure somehow even MORE prominent than before.
"Angel lady. What's up?"
"I wanted to congratulate you on your victory." She drifted closer—too close, her chest nearly brushing against his arm. "That was quite the impressive display."
"Hit wasn't much of a challenge."
"No. He wasn't." Her eyes gleamed. "But that's what makes you so remarkable. What others consider insurmountable, you treat as minor inconvenience."
"That's just how it is when you're strong."
"Indeed." She reached out, her fingers brushing against his forearm. "I was thinking—the tournament may be over, but our training sessions don't have to end. I could continue visiting Universe 7, helping you refine your techniques..."
"Sure. You're a good sparring partner."
Vados's smile widened. "I'm so glad you think so."
From across the arena, Whis watched his sister with growing concern.
And in Kenpachi's inner world, Nozarashi's spiritual pressure spiked with jealous rage.
The tournament was over.
But the real battle—the one Kenpachi remained completely oblivious to—was only beginning.
End of Chapter 11