Broly didn't sleep.
His body shut down, eyes closed, breathing slow—but his mind never stopped falling.
He was back in the void.
Not whole.
Not solid.
His fists passed through Frieza's chest like smoke. Vegeta was shouting—no sound came out. The lightning returned, tearing Broly apart from the inside, piece by piece.
If I stop—
Broly vanished.
He bolted upright with a sharp gasp.
Energy flared instinctively, a violent surge that cracked the stone floor beneath him. Lightning crawled over his arms for half a second before cutting out completely.
Silence followed.
Broly's hands shook as he stared at them.
"I'm here," he whispered to himself. "I'm here."
But his chest wouldn't stop tightening.
The nights were the worst.
Every time he closed his eyes, the fight resumed—but wrong. Fragmented. Out of order.
Sometimes, Vegeta fell first.
Sometimes,s Broly never reached him in time.
Sometimes there was no Frieza—just the void opening beneath his feet, waiting.
He woke up every time before the end.
Because in the dreams, there was never survival.
Piccolo noticed on the third night.
Broly was sitting outside the shelter, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the sky. The stars reflected faintly in his eyes, but he wasn't really looking at them.
"You haven't slept," Piccolo said quietly.
Broly didn't answer right away.
"…If I fall asleep," Broly said finally, voice low, "I forget where I am."
Piccolo sat beside him, saying nothing.
Broly swallowed. "I keep thinking… I'll wake up, and he won't be there."
"Vegeta?" Piccolo asked.
Broly nodded once.
"He was fading," Broly continued. "I felt it. If we were even a second slower—"
"You weren't," Piccolo said firmly.
"But I almost was," Broly said.
His fingers dug into the ground.
That night, Broly tried again.
He lay down. Closed his eyes. Slowed his breathing.
For a moment, it worked.
Then—
AGHHHHHH—
Broly's eyes snapped open as his body instinctively tried to power up again. Pain tore through his chest as his ki surged, then violently shut down.
He cried out—not from pain, but fear.
"I don't want to go back," he whispered into the darkness.
A presence settled nearby.
Vegeta.
He didn't speak at first. Just stood there, arms crossed, watching Broly breathe through the panic.
"You're not dead," Vegeta said finally.
Broly let out a shaky laugh. "Doesn't feel like it."
Vegeta sat down heavily. "…I remember dying."
Broly looked at him.
"Everything went quiet," Vegeta said. "No pain. No power. Just… nothing. If you hadn't pushed—"
He stopped.
Broly stared at the ground. "I didn't want to be alone."
Vegeta was quiet for a long moment.
"…Neither did I."
They sat there, under a sky that felt a little too still, neither sleeping.
But together.
The elders thought separation would help.
"Your energies are tangled," one of them said calmly. "You must relearn yourselves before you can stand together."
Piccolo didn't like it.
Vegeta didn't argue.
Broly hesitated—but nodded.
Vegeta stood on a high stone plateau, wind cutting across his face.
He inhaled slowly.
Control. Not force.
He reached inward, calling his ki the way he had thousands of times before.
Nothing.
His aura flickered—then collapsed immediately, like a fire snuffed out before it could catch.
Vegeta's teeth clenched.
Again.
This time his ki surged violently for half a heartbeat—wild, sharp, wrong—before tearing itself apart inside him. Pain lanced through his chest, and he dropped to one knee.
"…Damn it," he hissed.
His body refused to stabilize.
Either too much.
Or nothing at all.
There was no middle.
For the first time in his life, Vegeta felt unarmed.
Far below, Broly stood in a wide clearing surrounded by ancient trees.
He tried to do what Piccolo taught him.
Breathe. Ground. Release.
His power answered immediately.
Too immediately.
Energy surged out of him like a breaking dam. The ground split. Trees uprooted. The air screamed as his aura expanded uncontrollably.
Broly panicked.
"No—stop—"
He tried to suppress it—
And it fought him.
Lightning crawled across his skin, Final Oath's afterimage flaring dangerously.
Broly dropped to his knees, clutching his head.
"I'm not trying to fight!" he shouted to no one.
The energy didn't care.
Piccolo felt it instantly.
Both signatures—one collapsing, one exploding.
"Separate them now," an elder said sharply. "This was a mistake."
Piccolo was already moving.
Vegeta felt it before he saw him.
Broly's presence—wild, overwhelming, but familiar.
His ki stabilized the moment Broly got close.
Not strong.
Stable.
Broly felt it too.
The surge eased. The lightning faded. His breathing slowed.
They stood there, facing each other, exhausted.
"…It's worse," Broly said quietly.
Vegeta nodded. "Much worse."
Piccolo arrived, stopping a few steps away.
"You're still connected," he said. "Final Oath didn't end—it rewired you."
Broly looked down. "So what does that mean?"
Piccolo's expression was grave.
"It means you can't afford to fight apart," he said. "And if you ever lose each other again…"
He didn't finish.
Vegeta turned away, fists clenched.
"So this is it," he muttered. "Together, we live. Apart, we break."
Broly stepped closer. "Then we stay together."
Vegeta paused.
"…Agreed."
Above them, the sky shifted—just slightly.
No one noticed.
But something did.
The Namekian refuge was quiet, almost too quiet.
The wind stirred the pale grass, the sun glinting faintly off distant mountains. For Broly and Vegeta, the quiet was both comforting and terrifying. It reminded them that the chaos of their last battle could come back at any moment—especially now that Frieza had disappeared.
Piccolo had made it very clear: this training was unlike anything they had done before.
Broly and Vegeta stood back to back, facing an open field.
"Your power is useless here," Piccolo said, standing a few feet away. "You will fight together, but without relying on ki. Every movement must anticipate the other."
Vegeta's jaw clenched. "No power?"
Broly's brow furrowed. "How are we supposed to train if we can't even hit each other?"
Piccolo didn't answer. He simply raised his hand—and a series of wooden poles sprang from the ground, spinning and shifting.
"Dodge. Move. Cover each other. Trust each other's instincts. Don't think about strength."
Vegeta lunged at a spinning pole instinctively. Broly mirrored him—but too fast. Their timing collided. Both stumbled.
Piccolo's eyes narrowed. "Stop thinking individually. Feel your bond."
Broly exhaled. He reached out instinctively—his hand grazing Vegeta's shoulder. Vegeta stiffened, but then… followed the motion.
For a brief moment, their movements aligned. The poles seemed slower, more predictable. The air almost… yielded to their motion.
Vegeta grunted. "Hmph. I see… a little promise."
Broly smiled faintly, though his hands still shook from uncontrolled energy bursts.
Piccolo had them sit beneath a large stone arch. The sun was setting, and the shadows stretched unnaturally across the field.
"Your Final Oath will awaken again if you do not control your hearts," Piccolo said. "It feeds on desperation. On attachment. On fear. Your bond is your anchor—but it can also be your undoing."
Broly's voice trembled. "We… can control it?"
Piccolo nodded. "You've already done it once under the worst conditions imaginable. Now you do it on purpose."
Vegeta crossed his arms, staring at the horizon. "I don't need a lecture about feelings."
"You'll learn control the hard way if you refuse guidance," Piccolo said flatly.
Piccolo conjured illusions, projections of Broly and Vegeta themselves—but distorted, unstable, aggressive.
"You fight your bond," Piccolo instructed. "Attack each other as the shadows do—but without letting your anger flare. Without letting your instinct override judgment."
At first, both struggled. Broly's swings were too wild. Vegeta's strikes were precise—but too rigid. The shadows mirrored them, exploiting every hesitation, every misstep.
Then something shifted. Broly blinked. He read Vegeta's stance before Piccolo even signaled. Vegeta adjusted instantly. Their movements flowed, countering the shadows perfectly.
Piccolo allowed a small smile. "Finally. You are learning to move as one without losing yourself."
But even in success, Piccolo noticed the faint tremor beneath their ki.
Final Oath still lingered.
It whispered in the edges of Broly's aura when he was tired. It shimmered around Vegeta when he lost patience.
And though they moved in perfect synchrony, Piccolo knew: Frieza would return.