Shadows of Valor

The battlefield stretched out in a desolate sprawl, a graveyard of cracked earth and smoldering craters, the air heavy with the scent of scorched stone and fading energy. Mr. Satan stood frozen, his garish robe flapping in the wind, his wild curls plastered with sweat as he faced me and Krillin, our gazes sharp and unforgiving. A chill ran down his spine, his thick skin prickling as the weight of eight years of stolen glory pressed against him, shame warring with the terror of being caught out here, now, by those who knew the truth.

He'd built an empire on lies, claiming the victories of Goku and Gohan as his own, spinning tales of heroism to a world eager for a savior. Yet, beneath his bluster, he understood the raw power we wielded; no trick mirrors or smoke could carve the earth like this, a fact his bravado couldn't bury. His eyes darted, searching for an escape, when they landed on Cell's severed head, its lifeless stare a grotesque trophy amidst the rubble, and a manic grin split his face.

"Cell? That's Cell, right?" Satan exclaimed, his voice pitching high with a mix of shock and glee, his hands trembling as he pointed at the grisly remains. Relief flooded him; the monster was dead, meaning no fight, no risk, just another chance to play the hero without lifting a finger. He spun toward the reporters hovering near the helicopter, waving them over with frantic energy. "Hey, everyone, get over here quick; Cell's been taken out!"

The news crew scrambled forward, boots crunching over the shattered ground, cameras swinging as they took in the scene, their faces a gallery of confusion and awe. "What happened here?" one host stammered, her microphone trembling as she glanced between Satan and the devastation. "Mr. Satan hasn't even fought yet; who did this? Was it these two?" The photographer beside her squinted at us, recognition flickering, adding to the growing murmur of doubt rippling through the group and the millions watching live.

Satan seized the moment, throwing his head back with a booming laugh that echoed over the plains, a sound dripping with false confidence. "Ha, who else but me?" he bellowed, puffing out his chest, his golden belt glinting as he struck a pose. "Cell heard I was coming, knew he couldn't win, so he offed himself in a panic; classic Satan victory!" The absurdity rolled off his tongue, and the reporters ate it up, nodding as cheers erupted across the globe, the name "Satan" chanted by a deceived world.

Krillin's fists clenched, his cybernetic frame tensing as he glared at the fraud, disgust twisting his features. "This guy's got no shame," he growled, his voice low and bitter, turning to me with a scowl. "Goten, we can't let him pull this again; he stole everything from Goku and Gohan eight years ago, and now he's grabbing your win too!" His anger burned, a fire stoked by years of watching their sacrifices painted over with Satan's cheap theatrics, a peace bought with blood credited to a coward.

I stepped forward, my boots crunching against the gravel, my expression cold as I closed the distance to Satan, each stride deliberate, heavy with intent. He flinched, sweat pouring down his face, his bravado crumbling as he stumbled backward, his legs tangling in his cape. Our faces might echo Goku and Gohan's, but my eyes held none of their warmth, only a steely resolve that pinned him like a bug under glass; he'd misjudged this encounter badly.

He tripped, collapsing onto the dirt with a yelp, his hands scrabbling as he stared up at me, terror widening his eyes. "Mr. Satan," I said, my voice a blade of ice cutting through the chaos, "I don't care about your past lies; they're not my fight." I leaned closer, my shadow falling over him, my tone dropping lower. "But today, you crossed a line, trying to claim what I bled for, and that's a mistake, even if glory means nothing to me."

Satan shivered, his breath hitching as if death itself loomed over him, my stare a silent promise of consequences he couldn't fathom. The cameras whirred, capturing every second, and I turned to them, my voice rising, sharp and unyielding. "You fools watching, open your eyes; does this trembling clown look like he could beat Cell? Use your heads; no trick explains the carnage from eight years ago or today!"

The words hung in the air, a challenge to the world's delusion, and I pivoted to Cell's head, its green flesh stark against the ash. With a single, deliberate stomp, my boot crushed it into a pulpy mess, fragments scattering as the crowd gasped, the sound a thunderclap of reality shattering Satan's myth. I fixed my gaze on him again, his body quaking, and added, "Keep this up, and you'll end up just like him; that's your warning."

Satan's jaw dropped, his face a mask of pure dread, urine staining the dirt beneath him as the weight of my threat sank in. I turned away, done with him, my body leaping skyward in a blur of motion, vanishing from the scene as Krillin followed, his own flight swift and sure. The reporters stood frozen, cameras rolling, the world reeling from the unmasking of their hero, while Satan remained sprawled, a broken man in the dust.

He wiped his brow, hands shaking, the icy grip of fear lingering as he replayed my words, my eyes, the casual brutality of that stomp. "That kid's a demon," he whispered to himself, the title of savior slipping through his fingers like sand, his reign of lies teetering on collapse. The helicopter's blades whirred behind him, the crew murmuring, but he barely heard, lost in the realization that his game might finally be up.

Back at Capsule Corp, the gleaming dome of Bulma's headquarters rose against West City's skyline, a sanctuary of steel and glass amidst the urban sprawl. Krillin and I touched down in the courtyard, the hum of machinery greeting us as we stepped onto the pristine tiles, the tension of the battlefield fading with each breath. "Man, Goten, you laid into him hard," Krillin said, grinning wide, his voice bubbling with satisfaction. "Seeing Satan squirm like that, priceless; about time someone called him out!"

Bulma emerged from the lab, her blue hair tied back, a smudge of grease on her cheek as she wiped her hands on a rag, her eyes lighting up at the sight of us. "Goten, that was incredible," she said, her tone brimming with relief and a hint of glee, her smile sharp. "Eight years of that jerk strutting around on TV, spinning his 'heroic' garbage, and you just shut him down live; I've never been so proud!" She'd watched the broadcast, every smug interview from Satan a thorn in her side, and my words had been a balm to old wounds.

I scratched the back of my head, a sheepish laugh escaping as their praise washed over me. "Yeah, well, he had it coming," I said, shrugging, my tone light despite the edge still lingering in my chest. Truth be told, Satan didn't rile me much; he was a loudmouth, a speck in the grand scheme, but his shameless grab at my fight today had crossed a line worth marking.

Krillin nodded, then paused, his grin fading as curiosity took over. "Hey, Goten, speaking of weird stuff, I can't sense your ki at all anymore," he said, tilting his head, his cybernetic eyes narrowing slightly. "Did you turn into an android or something? Been bugging me since the Time Room." His voice carried a mix of wonder and suspicion, the absence of my energy a puzzle he couldn't crack.

I chuckled, shaking my head as I met his gaze, the shift in topic a welcome detour from Satan's nonsense. "Not me, Krillin; that's you," I said, pointing at him, my tone teasing but pointed. "Came out of the Time Room and couldn't feel a thing from you; either you're a god now, which I doubt, or Bulma's tech got under your skin." His transformation intrigued me, a change I'd noticed but hadn't probed until now, the mystery of his silent strength sparking my interest.

Bulma smirked, tossing the rag aside as she stepped closer, pride glinting in her eyes. "You caught that, huh? Krillin's got my latest upgrade," she said, her voice brimming with confidence, a scientist eager to show off her work. "Infinite energy core, no more ki signature; he's a walking powerhouse now, though still human at heart." Krillin flexed his arm, a faint whir beneath his skin, and I nodded, impressed, the pieces clicking into place as our victory settled into a quieter triumph.

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