"Hmm?"
Rhode's senses were impossibly sharp. How could Goku's subtle, instinctive retreat escape his notice? He turned his head, a benign smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Goku, don't worry. Those men were vicious. Sending them to hell was an act of mercy."
Goku remained silent, his expression guarded and unreadable, but the distance he'd put between them spoke volumes.
Fine, Rhode thought with an internal sigh. He'll figure out what kind of person I am eventually. Actions would speak louder than words. He dismissed the misunderstanding and turned his attention back to the simmering pot of rage before him.
Turles was visibly trembling with fury. The casual exchange between Rhode and Goku, as if he were mere background noise, was the ultimate insult. Yet, a cold, tactical part of his mind held him back. This new Saiyan was an unknown variable. The effortless, invisible destruction of his men was a chilling display of power he couldn't comprehend. Caution warred with pride.
"Turles," Rhode said, his voice disturbingly calm, as if commenting on the weather. "Aren't you going to attack me?"
The words were not a boast, merely a statement of inquiry. But to Turles's inflamed ego, they were a gauntlet thrown with contemptuous ease.
"Hmph! Do you think I'm like those useless fools?!" Turles roared, his sneer twisting his Goku-like features into something ugly.
"Ah?" Rhode raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. "Well, go on then. Make your move. Don't worry, I won't kill you instantly this time. You have my word."
"Enough of your tricks!" The last thread of Turles's restraint snapped. With a guttural roar, his power erupted. He became a golden blur, his fist—carrying tens of thousands of units of destructive force—aimed squarely at Rhode's face.
BANG!
The impact echoed, but Rhode hadn't moved. Turles's fist stopped a hair's breadth from Rhode's nose, arrested by an invisible, absolutely immovable barrier—a simple Ki Barrier, shimmering faintly into visibility from the force of the blow.
"DIEEE!" Turles exploded into a frenzy. His form became a storm of violence, fists and kicks hammering against the translucent shield in a deafening, relentless barrage.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound was like a giant smashing a steel wall with a sledgehammer. Yet, when the flurry ceased, the barrier stood pristine. Not a ripple. Not a crack. It hadn't so much as trembled.
The reality crashed down on Turles with the weight of a planet. His current power was utterly, laughably insignificant against this stranger. Rage curdled into icy fear and a desperate, burning need.
He shot a final, venomous glare at the impassive Rhode behind the shield, then turned. He didn't speak. He fled, not from cowardice, but towards a solution. His eyes locked onto the glowing, pulsating fruits of the Tree of Might dangling from the monstrous branches. Power. More power.
With a soft shimmer, Rhode let the barrier dissipate. He hadn't attacked. A promise was a promise, however casually given. Besides, this was Goku's fight to finish.
His gaze shifted to the Saiyan who was still watching warily from a distance. "Goku," Rhode said, his tone faintly admonishing. "Aren't you going after him? He's heading for the Tree of Might fruit."
Tree of Might fruit! The name, and the dire warnings from King Kai, jolted Goku into action. He gave Rhode one last, complex look—gratitude for saving Gohan, deep suspicion over his methods—then vanished in pursuit.
Whoosh!
Piccolo landed heavily nearby, his green skin marred by wounds from his earlier battles. He had come as soon as he could, drawn by the massive energy spikes.
"Piccolo!" Goku's voice echoed back as he handed off the still-unconscious Gohan. "Take care of Gohan! I have to stop him!"
With that, he was gone.
Now, only Rhode, Piccolo, and the sleeping child remained in the shattered clearing.
"You," Piccolo's voice was a low growl, his eyes narrowed to slits. He positioned himself slightly between Rhode and Gohan. "You're not with Turles, are you?" The question was an accusation, born of witnessing the casual, incomprehensible slaughter and sensing the ocean-deep, terrifying power that lay dormant within the smiling stranger.
Looking at Piccolo, who was holding Gohan defensively and maintaining a cautious distance, Rhode could only feel a wave of profound speechlessness. He kept his expression neutral. "There's no need for tension. You should be able to sense I'm not evil."
Piccolo said nothing, his silence a wall of mistrust, but he didn't make any hostile moves either.
"Alright, you stay here. I'll be right back."
Seeing communication was futile, Rhode's voice was the only warning before he vanished. Not a blur, not a burst of speed—he simply ceased to exist in that space.
This guy! Piccolo's eyes widened, a chill running down his spine. He hadn't sensed any movement of ki, any displacement of air. It was as if the man had been erased.
Whoosh!
Before Piccolo's shock could settle, the air distorted and Rhode reappeared exactly where he'd left. But he wasn't alone. Floating gently on cushions of ki beside him were the battered, unconscious forms of Krillin, Tien, Yamcha, Chiaotzu, and the others—the entire contingent of Earth's warriors who had fought Turles's men. They were a mess of broken bones, burns, and bruises, out cold.
"What are you doing?!" Piccolo growled, his face turning a shade darker, taking a threatening step forward. He thought Rhode had brought them as trophies or worse.
Rhode ignored him. He simply raised a hand over the group of fallen fighters, palm downward. A soft, green-gold light emanated from his hand, washing over them.
"Stop, you bastard—!" Piccolo lunged, but froze mid-step. His angry shout died in his throat. His eyes, wide with disbelief, watched as deep gashes sealed without a scar, shattered limbs straightened and knitted back together, and the pallor of pain and exhaustion vanished from his comrades' faces.
Hnngh...
Groans of awakening filled the air. In mere moments, the entire group was stirring, sitting up, flexing limbs that moments before had been useless. They were healed. Completely.
"Krillin!" Piccolo finally managed, his voice rough.
"Piccolo!" Krillin blinked, looking around in confusion. The last thing he remembered was a crushing defeat. "Did... did Goku beat those guys? Did he wish us back with the Dragon Balls?"
Then he saw the Tree of Might, still towering malevolently in the distance. His hope faltered. "Huh? What's going on?"
Before Piccolo could formulate an answer, the other warriors—Tien, Yamcha, Chiaotzu—began to voice their own confusion, their eyes eventually landing on the unfamiliar figure standing calmly beside their suddenly restored selves.
It was only then they noticed Rhode. His presence was so restrained, his energy signature so faint and controlled, that their senses had simply glossed over him until now. He had been a ghost in the room.
"Ahem," Rhode cleared his throat lightly, a warm, disarming smile spreading across his face as he addressed the circle of bewildered heroes. "Hello, everyone. I'm Rhode."
Patreon Seasay