Dragon Ball: Legend of the Saiyan God

Yamoshi could feel the danger closing in. His mind screamed at him to move, to survive. "Win. Win and survive." He had to fight, to prove he was stronger than the monsters before him.

Suddenly, one of the wolves lunged at him, its claws wide, aiming for his chest. Yamoshi dodged by ducking low and dashing sideways, barely avoiding the deadly strike. His breath came in heavy bursts, each inhale sharp, each exhale shaky. He was thinking ahead. "I need to strike... at least to run away."

Without warning, both wolves jumped toward him, teeth bared, aiming for his neck. Yamoshi reacted instantly, sliding beneath one of the wolves and striking at its chest. His tiny hands landed a blow—but it barely fazed the creature. The wolf paused, confused for a moment, but then growled deeper, its eyes hardening.

Yamoshi's hands were shaking now. His body ached from the blows, and blood dripped from his skin. The wolves circled, ready to strike again. Each time they hit, it left bruises, each bite stung harder. As the pain grew, memories of his mother flooded his mind.

"You are strong, my child."

"You are the chosen one."

"You are strong."

With that last thought, a surge of golden energy erupted from within him. Yamoshi's golden eyes glowed brighter than ever. "I cannot die here. I need to return to Mom... make her proud."

The wolves leaped at him, teeth flashing like daggers. But Yamoshi, now calm and focused, dodged with ease. With a swift elbow, he struck one wolf in the ribs, sending it stumbling back. Before it could recover, Yamoshi leapt toward the second wolf, his body moving like a blur. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the wolf by the neck and twisted, pinning it down. His golden aura intensified as he held the creature in place. The wolf struggled, but it couldn't break free. Slowly, it fell still, its life drained away.

Now, with only one wolf left, Yamoshi faced it head-on. The wolf, enraged, swiped its claws at him. Yamoshi backed off, aware that the wolf was a skilled hunter, just like him. He had no more space to dodge when the wolf lunged, jaws wide, aiming to finish him.

Yamoshi knew what he had to do. In that split second, he used every ounce of strength and aura left in him. He grabbed the wolf's jaws, forcing them open. The wolf growled and snapped, but Yamoshi's grip was unyielding. With a burst of energy, he pried the jaws wider, the bone creaking under the pressure. With a final twist, he broke the wolf's jaw, the creature falling limp as it died instantly.

With the bodies of the wolves lying still behind him, Yamoshi stood in silence, his golden aura fading. He knew wolves often hunted in packs—sometimes ten or more. But maybe these two were different, a pair that had left their pack to start a family of their own.

He didn't want to think too much about that possibility. Grabbing the wolves by their tails, he began dragging them toward the village.

"Is this it?" he murmured to himself. His voice was low, heavy with exhaustion. "After all that struggle... after what I did... just to survive?"

As he pulled the lifeless bodies through the forest, Yamoshi felt something unfamiliar, something raw. It wasn't pride or even relief. It was emptiness. The weight of what he had done pressed down on him. Nothing felt like it had changed. The forest wasn't safer. There were simply two fewer wolves now.

This was the first time Yamoshi had taken a life. It struck him deeply, clashing with everything he thought he believed. He had always been so careful, so protective of life—whether it was the forest, its animals, or even people who treated him poorly.

He paused, looking down at the wolves. "Is this the path I'll walk?" he asked aloud. "Just to protect the people I care about?" His hands clenched into fists. "Today, it was wolves. Tomorrow... Saiyans?"

His breathing was still heavy, the rush of adrenaline not yet faded. The weight of his thoughts suddenly exploded outward in a roar. "WELL, SO BE IT!" His voice echoed through the trees.

"If I have to become the bad guy to protect what's right—to protect my family—then I'll become their nightmare!"

The words came from a place of raw emotion, born from the intensity of the battle. Deep down, Yamoshi wasn't sure if he truly believed them, but they felt right in that moment.

One thing was certain, though: he needed to become strong. Stronger than he had ever imagined. His Saiyan instincts pushed him toward that truth—strength ruled, and the strong shaped the world.

"But how?" he whispered to himself, dragging the wolves forward once again. "How do I become strong?"

The answer came to him as he reached the edge of the forest. His eyes burned with determination. "I'll ask Father," he said firmly. "There's no shame in learning from someone who knows more. I must understand."

And with that resolve, Yamoshi continued his journey, the first seeds of his transformation into something greater—something more dangerous—taking root in his heart.

With two large shadows dragging behind him, Yamoshi's small figure became clearer as he approached the village. The wolves' lifeless forms scraped against the dirt, leaving trails that caught the attention of every Saiyan nearby.

The Saiyans, curious but too proud to show it, casually found reasons to linger near the main street. They pretended to do chores or talk amongst themselves, their eyes occasionally flicking toward the boy.

Yamoshi walked shamelessly, his grip firm on the wolves' tails, his head held high. For the first time, when their gazes met his, he didn't look away. Instead, he glared back, his golden eyes burning with defiance. It wasn't a plea for acceptance. It was a silent declaration—a war against how they saw him, against their whispered judgments.

"Hmph, how bizarre," muttered one Saiyan.

"Well, it is the 'cursed boy,' after all," another replied, smirking.

"Go inside, kids," an older Saiyan muttered, disappointment lacing his tone. "I thought this would be... entertaining. So boring."

But not all Saiyans scoffed. One warrior, broad-shouldered and scarred from battles, crossed his arms as he watched the boy drag his kill, he chuckled.

"Weaklings," he said, "This is how a true Saiyan should be!" His name was Kael, a combat instructor known for his harsh training methods.

"Raw power. The thrill of the kill. Sure, it's just a couple of wolves," Kael continued, "but from a kid? From the 'cursed boy'? HAH! This ought to put some fear into those pampered brats in the village!"

"Shut up, Kael," his colleague snapped, narrowing his eyes. "Don't praise that brat."

"Huh?! You too?" Kael turned sharply, his voice dripping with disdain. "I thought we Saiyans praised strength. That's all I'm doing."

Yamoshi heard some of their words and missed others. It didn't matter. The whispers, the insults—he had heard them his entire life. They were nothing new.

When he reached his house, Yamoshi tossed the wolves down near the door and called out, his voice calm and steady:

"Mom, I brought dinner."

There was a pause. "Coming, my son," Eira called back from inside. "What kind of vegeta—" Her voice caught mid-sentence as she stepped outside and saw the scene before her.

"YAMOSHI!" she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

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