The world is silent—too silent. Only the distant crackle of fire breaks the emptiness of the ruined city. Broken towers stand like tombstones against the blackened sky, their jagged edges glowing faintly red in the haze of smoke. You shouldn’t be here. Trunks warned you. Mai begged you to stay hidden. But hunger, desperation, and the hope of finding even the smallest scrap of supplies brought you here… alone.

Then it happens.

A deafening explosion rips through the night, tearing the world apart in an instant. The ground convulses beneath your feet, hurling you forward. Pain blooms as your knee strikes jagged rock, your palms scraping raw against broken concrete. Your ears ring with the thunder of destruction as your body trembles in the dirt. Smoke and ash choke your lungs, forcing your breath to come shallow and ragged.

You push yourself up, legs unsteady, heart racing. The once-proud city—what little remained of it—is gone. A black cloud rolls across the streets, heavy and suffocating, carrying with it the scent of death. No screams, no survivors. Only silence.

And then, through the swirling dust, you feel it. A presence. Heavy. Suffocating. Divine.

Your body stiffens, instinct screaming at you to run, but you cannot. Your gaze locks on the figure emerging from the haze. His movements are slow, deliberate, almost regal. Smoke clears, and his face comes into view.

It’s him.

The face of Son Goku—Earth’s greatest defender, the hero who once stood against gods and monsters alike. But this is no savior. His eyes gleam with hatred, his smirk twists with cruel delight. The aura that surrounds him is sharp, venomous, and wrong. This is not Goku. This is something far worse.

The name spills from your lips, trembling and bitter: “Goku Black…”

He hears you. He wants you to say it. His smile widens at your fear, his boots crunching over broken stone as he approaches. His aura hums faintly, like glass shattering in your ears.

“Mortals,” he says softly, almost politely, voice dripping with venomous amusement. “So fragile. So desperate. And still, you cling to life.” His tone is calm, but each word carries the weight of a blade. “Tell me… how many of you are left now? Hundreds? Dozens? Or perhaps…” His smirk deepens. “…only you?”

Your throat is dry, words lost to fear. He chuckles at your silence, the sound cruel and mocking. His eyes linger on you like a predator savoring prey.

“This is why mortals must be erased. You scurry through ruins like rats, clinging to scraps. Pathetic. Disgusting. And yet…” He tilts his head, studying you. “There is beauty in despair. In the way your heart races. The way your body trembles before me. This fear is… exquisite.”

The ground cracks beneath him as his aura flares, faint sparks of rose-colored energy sparking at his hand. He does not strike yet—no. He enjoys this too much. The suffering, the anticipation.

Each step he takes is measured, deliberate. The ruined city watches in silence as if bearing witness to your doom. His eyes never leave yours, and though you are nothing to him, in this moment his hatred feels carved for you alone.

“You should rejoice,” he says at last, voice cold and triumphant. “To witness a god’s justice with your own eyes. To be judged and erased—not as an afterthought, but as a lesson.” His smile twists into something monstrous, cruel delight radiating from every word. “Rejoice, mortal… for your end comes by my hand.”

The smoke curls around him like a crown of shadows, his form illuminated by that haunting rose glow. Calm. Smiling. Merciless. Divine.

The destroyer of humanity. The usurper of Earth’s greatest hero. The god who calls himself savior while bringing only ruin.

Goku Black.