The air was thick with iron. Even before Razor reached the frontline, he could taste blood in the wind — sharp, metallic, and old. The world ahead was nothing but smoke and screams. Ki explosions lit the horizon like dying stars, each one a life ending too fast to remember.
When Razor stepped into view, the battlefield unfolded like hell itself.Golden Great Apes towered over broken plains, their roars shattering stone. Below them, countless Saiyans in their Super Saiyan forms tore at one another in a storm of rage and desperation. The sky burned orange and black — a fitting color for the end of a world.
He stood still for a moment, watching. The ground shook with every impact, yet his expression didn't change. His eyes moved, calculating, dissecting chaos.
Then he saw him — far away, beyond the sea of corpses and smoke. A tall, broad-shouldered Saiyan with long, black hair that swayed behind him like a shadow. Cumber. Even without any transformation, the monster moved like a reaper, slicing through his men and Great Apes as if they were children swinging wooden swords.
A soldier beside Razor trembled. "Th-That's him…" he muttered. "That's the Demon Saiyan."
Another warrior spat blood, trying to mask his fear. "If he's here, this war's over."
Razor didn't look at them. His tone was quiet, steady — a knife through noise. "Then let's make sure we die fighting, not running."
The others fell silent. Then, slowly, one by one, they nodded — not out of courage, but because his voice left no room for weakness.
The ground quaked as Razor let his ki surge. Electricity danced across his body as his hair shot down his back in golden strands. His aura ignited — heavy, violent, alive.
Razor's eyes gleamed with cold determination. "Stay together. We cut down as many as we can before that bastard notices."
And then he vanished.
Razor tore through the battlefield like a blade through paper. Every swing of his arm sent enemies crashing, bones splintering beneath the force. His fists cracked armor, his kicks sent waves of energy that ripped the ground open. He didn't stop to count the bodies — there was no time.
A squad of radicals spotted him. "Kill him!" their leader shouted. "Razor—"
The rest never heard the end of that sentence. Razor was already behind him, a flash of golden light. The man's body hit the ground before his head did.
Another warrior from Razor's side landed beside him, panting heavily. His armor was cracked, and blood streamed down his cheek. "You fight like a storm, Razor! How the hell are we supposed to keep up?"
"You focus on your own situation," Razor said flatly. "You'll survive."
The man barked a short laugh — half panic, half pride — and rushed back into the fray.
Razor turned, catching a massive Great Ape's fist mid-swing. The creature roared, trying to crush him. Razor's aura flared violently, and with a shout, he pushed back, driving a punch straight into its chest. The ape's ribs shattered, the ground caving beneath it as it fell with a deafening crash.
More of his soldiers cheered briefly, but their voices were drowned by another sound — a cold, echoing scream. Razor turned just in time to see a dozen of his allies obliterated by a single energy wave from the far side. The blast carved a trench miles wide. At its center, Cumber stood motionless, arm still raised, expression blank.
"Damn it…" one of Razor's men whispered. "That wasn't even his full power…"
Razor's eyes narrowed. "He's not fighting seriously yet. Good."
"Good?" another soldier snapped, blood spraying from his mouth. "You call that good?!"
Razor looked at him — calm, cold, unflinching. "Because if he was serious, you'd already be dead."
The soldier fell silent, and then slowly nodded. They all knew it was true.
The battle raged on for what felt like hours. Razor didn't stop moving — he couldn't. Each moment he hesitated, another ally fell. The ground was covered in bodies now, many of them unrecognizable. The smell of burnt flesh mixed with dirt and ozone.
He caught his breath for a moment behind a pile of rubble where two of his comrades had taken cover.
"Razor," one of them gasped, clutching his arm. "Our lines are breaking on the east side. The elites are pushing through."
Razor looked toward the smoke where he could feel the pressure building. "Then we push harder."
Another warrior shook his head. "You can't do this alone forever. We need to regroup—"
"We regroup when they're dead," Razor interrupted sharply. "Not before."
There was a pause. Then one of them gave a strained smile. "You sound like the old commander."
Razor didn't answer. He only stood, aura reigniting around him, dust swirling at his feet. "He died fighting. I don't plan to do the same."
The two wounded men exchanged a look. One of them managed to laugh weakly. "Then we'll make sure you get the chance."
"Don't die trying," Razor said quietly, then launched himself back into the storm.
His energy tore through the battlefield again, painting streaks of gold through black smoke. The radicals began to fall back under his assault. Dozens of enemy elites charged, shouting curses, only to be cut down one by one.
Every blow was merciless. Every scream was brief. Razor wasn't fighting for honor — he was fighting for the right to keep breathing in a war where mercy had no place.
Then, through the chaos, a heavy silence fell for a moment. Even the explosions seemed to fade.
Razor looked up.
Cumber was looking at him.
Across the field, their eyes met — predator and predator. There was no roar, no taunt, no warning. Just understanding. Two Saiyans who knew the world wasn't big enough for both.
Razor felt his pulse quicken. Every instinct screamed at him to charge, to meet the monster head-on.
But he didn't move.
Not yet.
Instead, he turned back to the chaos and cut down another radical. Each second he bought here was a second for his army to breathe.
"Captain Razor!" a young Saiyan shouted over the roar. "They're regrouping on the left!"
"Hold the line!" Razor bellowed. "No one runs!"
The young soldier nodded and vanished into the dust, joining the defense.
Razor clenched his fists, watching the enemy shift and reorganize. He could already feel Cumber's energy rising in the distance — heavy, wild. The next time they met, there would be no retreat. Only one would walk away.
He took a slow breath and looked around at the few men still standing near him — bloodied, exhausted, half-mad with battle.
"Listen," he said, his voice low but steady. "He's coming. When he does… don't get in my way."
One of them, a scarred veteran, smirked weakly. "You think you can kill him alone?"
Razor's lips curved into something that might've been a smile. "If I can't, I'll make sure he never forgets my name."
The others fell silent. Then, for the first time since the battle began, one of them laughed, loud harsh and broken but real. It spread quickly, nervous but defiant, echoing across the blood-soaked field.
The laughter died as a gust of wind tore through the plains. The smoke cleared just enough to reveal Cumber walking forward — slow, deliberate, eyes fixed on Razor.
Razor straightened, golden aura flaring brighter than before. "So it begins."
The final war cry of the Saiyans thundered across the battlefield, drowning the screams of the dying.
The apocalypse had arrived — and Razor was ready to meet it head-on.