Porunga could fluently speak most dialects in the known universe, but the formal summons had been spoken by Dende, and the dragon's terrifying, unbroken attention was locked squarely on the child.
Nail had been quietly observing the exchange—the impossibly massive, horned head lowering slightly toward the tiny green figure below it, the echoing boom of the Namekian language that Jordan couldn't directly follow—and finally turned to translate.
"You can make your wishes now," Nail said, his voice tight with awe. "Three total. Little Dende will act as your relay."
"Thank you." Jordan looked down at Dende, who was still actively struggling to process the terrifying reality that he was currently standing directly beneath an apex entity that could easily be seen from high orbit. "Dende. Before we officially start—could you ask the dragon whether my three separate wishes can be concentrated into a single, massive one?"
Nail's head snapped around.
Dende's eyes went wide.
Jordan waited patiently while the two Namekians exchanged a long, heavy look that clearly communicated, entirely without language, that this was absolutely not a logistical request either of them had ever heard before.
"I'll... I'll ask him," Dende stammered. He spoke with the terrified, wavering tone of someone who had absolutely no idea what the cosmic answer would be, and slowly turned back to face the blackened sky.
The guttural Namekian syllables left the dirt and climbed toward the dragon.
Porunga's massive head shifted.
The pause was entirely visible. The burning red eyes neither blinked nor looked away, but the ambient golden light radiating across the vast, scaled body began pulsing in a completely different, erratic rhythm for several long seconds. Then, the dragon rumbled a response, and Dende listened intently.
"He... he says yes," Dende relayed, turning back to Jordan, his dark eyes incredibly bright. "He can successfully gather the cosmic energy of all three wishes and compress them into one single grant. But He explicitly wants you to understand the condition: if your single wish doesn't actually require all the divine energy He would have expended on three, the remaining potential is permanently forfeit. You don't get to call the unused magical energy back later."
"Understood," Jordan said smoothly. He lightly patted the top of Dende's head once—a casual, grounding gesture that had quickly become established as their primary mode of communication. "I wouldn't ask for more than I came for."
Dende nodded. He was completely serious, and entirely ready.
Jordan took a breath. "Please ask Porunga to aggressively increase the number of S-cells in my body to the absolute maximum extent within his divine power."
A beat.
Dende repeated the alien term carefully, sounding it out. "S-cells."
"Yes."
Dende had absolutely no earthly idea what an 'S-cell' was. Jordan could see the total confusion clearly written across the child's face—the careful, phonetic repetition of a biological term that meant less than nothing to him, followed by the brief, panicked internal calculation about whether he should pause the cosmic summit to ask for scientific clarification. Dende quickly decided against it. Adopting the pragmatic attitude of a terrified telegraph operator who had simply decided the message is the message, he turned back to the boiling sky.
He threw his small arms wide open again.
"Lord Dragon! Please aggressively increase the number of S-cells inside Brother Jordan's body to the absolute greatest extent within your boundless power!"
Porunga processed the request.
The blinding golden light radiating across the dragon's impossible scales went through a violent, shifting cycle that looked nothing like its ordinary, steady pulsing. It was erratic, aggressively varying in both intensity and frequency—the exact visual behavior of a massive operating system desperately trying to crunch a wildly complicated, unprecedented instruction. The processing lag lasted significantly longer than any of Shenron's wishes had. Through his psychic Mind Network, Jordan could physically feel something vast, ancient, and deeply methodical turning his biological request over, testing the math against the fundamental rules of reality, and slowly calculating the exact shape of what it was allowed to give.
The modern analogy that instantly presented itself was a high-end supercomputer running a massive rendering task—the kind of brutal workload that made the indicator lights flicker erratically while the CPU core desperately ground through the actual math.
Then, the massive red eyes sharpened into focus.
"This wish," Porunga boomed, rattling the island's bedrock, "is entirely within my power to grant."
The golden light violently intensified.
Jordan felt it arrive.
He knew exactly what S-cells were.
The SSR Saiyan bloodline card had explained the biology with terrifying, clinical clarity during the initial integration. They were highly specialized, volatile microscopic cells deeply concentrated in the upper spine, capable of driving rapid cellular regeneration and granting exceptional, explosive vitality. More importantly, they were the absolute, non-negotiable biological prerequisite for triggering the legendary transformation that violently multiplied a Saiyan's base combat power by fifty.
They accumulated agonizingly slowly, usually forged through years of consistent, calm-minded martial arts training, and could only be violently triggered by a catalyst of extreme emotional trauma once they finally reached a sufficient biological density. The system card had helpfully noted that he had begun passively accumulating them the exact millisecond the bloodline grafted into his DNA.
Begun was the operative, incredibly depressing word.
The Dragon God's absolute power instantly located those infant cells inside Jordan's spine, and aggressively addressed them.
The biological process was absolutely not subtle.
Jordan felt his newly forged S-cells violently respond to the raw, cosmic power reaching into his marrow from Porunga's burning gaze. He physically felt them activate. Then they multiplied. Then they aggressively multiplied again. It was a terrifying, exponential cascade that accelerated with its own violent momentum. Rapid regeneration was one of their core properties; under the dragon's divine amplification, that regeneration was violently weaponized into hyper-proliferation. Each new, volatile cell instantly became the biological template for ten more. The count doubled, and doubled, and doubled again through a blinding sequence that Jordan's internal awareness tracked with the detached, horrified fascination of a man watching a nuclear reactor deliberately run past the redline.
His Saiyan genes, which had been relatively quiescent since the initial integration, violently woke up.
The Warlike Spirit passive effect activated—not as a blind, raging aggression, but as a deep, primal recognition. Something ancient in his marrow fundamentally understood that a massive biological threshold was rapidly being approached. It was the screaming biological signal of a legendary transformation that Saiyan bodies had violently encoded into their DNA across ten thousand years of brutal, evolutionary combat.
This is exactly what it means to be ready, the screaming genetic signal declared.
Jordan's fists clenched tight.
The veins on his thick forearms instantly bulged, turning a violent, glowing blue against the surface of his skin, looking exactly like something furious and alive was frantically racing beneath his flesh. His white aura—the raw ki that had seamlessly integrated with his energy systems earlier in the week—violently responded to the catastrophic cellular change. It fluctuated wildly, completely losing its steady, controlled baseline in favor of something infinitely more dynamic and terrifying.
Nail violently grabbed Dende by the collar and aggressively levitated backward thirty meters in a single, blurring motion.
The island registered the concussive shockwave a microsecond later.
The solid ground directly beneath Jordan's boots gave way first. It was violently pressed past its structural shear limit by the sheer, crushing gravitational force his body was currently generating without actually directing it anywhere—the catastrophic physical consequence of an apocalyptic power output that simply had nowhere to safely discharge.
Massive, jagged cracks violently radiated outward from his position in a rapidly expanding, spiderweb network. Then, the entire surface layer of the island completely shattered, the crushing pressure driving straight down through the continental bedrock.
The entire section of the island beneath his feet violently dropped.
Millions of gallons of seawater instantly rushed in from all directions to aggressively fill the massive void. The brutal collision of the incoming ocean with the rapidly subsiding ground created massive, secondary pressure waves. The displacement hit the wider ocean and violently climbed, millions of tons of water stacking aggressively against itself, becoming towering, roaring walls of white foam.
Jordan barely noticed the destruction.
His hair was the absolute most visible indicator of exactly what was happening inside his biology. It was black, in its ordinary, baseline state.
And then—
Gold.
It wasn't a conscious choice. It wasn't a transformation he had deliberately initiated. It was just the sheer, catastrophic cellular pressure of millions of volatile S-cells activating simultaneously. His body was violently reaching toward a legendary change it wasn't quite ready to cleanly complete, the biological process aggressively firing an incomplete, stuttering signal. His hair violently flickered between colors like a desperate radio signal trying to lock onto a frequency—black, gold, black, gold—the roaring aura around him violently shifting colors with every single change.
Something vicious tried to rip into his mind during the biological chaos.
The primal, psychotic Saiyan drives that his psychology had violently rejected during the initial integration—the bloodlust, the territorial aggression, the blind, roaring anger that S-cells traditionally utilized as transformation fuel—found the massive cellular activation and aggressively tried to kick the door down again. It was a crushing, suffocating pressure at the absolute edge of his awareness. It felt like a sustained, deafening scream. It felt like something massive and violent heavily leaning against a wall.
The wall held.
Jordan had been built long before the Saiyan integration. The psychological architecture was entirely load-bearing, and it belonged exclusively to him. The primal anger that Saiyans utilized as a biological ignition source aggressively crashed against his psychological structure, and quickly discovered there was absolutely nowhere fragile for it to attach. It crested violently through his mind like a massive tidal wave that had traveled a very long way, only to finally break against a cliff face far too solid to ever erode.
He let the anger pass harmlessly.
The flickering hair finally settled.
Still black. Still his.
He exhaled a long, shaking breath.
The violent biological process continued for another agonizing forty seconds—the raw cell count aggressively climbing toward its terrifying new ceiling, Porunga's divine power ensuring the full, maximum grant was delivered before it finally withdrew.
The ground directly beneath Jordan's boots was now sitting well below sea level. He was casually standing dead center in a brand-new, massive underwater crater. The displaced seawater was violently rushing around him, the massive tidal waves he had generated still aggressively radiating outward across the ocean surface.
He wasn't wet. His Herrscher spatial force field was casually maintaining a perfect sphere of dry, breathable air around him purely by ingrained reflex.
Then, the blinding red light in Porunga's massive eyes dimmed.
"The wish is fulfilled," the dragon rumbled, the voice echoing across the torn ocean.
The golden light radiating from the dragon's scales returned to its steady, ambient state. Then, entirely without further commentary—Porunga had other cosmic things to return to, presumably, wherever Namekian dragons existed between summonings—the enormous, muscular figure slowly became less certain of its own edges. The heavy green scales faded from solid, to luminous, to completely translucent. The massive coils pulled back toward the golden light that was simultaneously returning to the floating Dragon Balls.
In exactly six seconds, Porunga was entirely gone.