I did not ask for my title, and I am not grateful for it, though it, and my native strength, saved my life the one and only time it's mattered. I was strong, and thus, I was away, killing, when my own people were killed. I have never been thankful for that, and I am not now.

The boy is trembling in my arms. I'm not foolish enough to image that I'm comforting him. I wouldn't even know how. His strong arms hold onto me, and though his eyes are shut tight and he's breathing hard, I know he's thinking about helping ME, holding me up.

Strange little brat.

He's strong, stronger than his father, I think, although there's no way now of telling how much potential that traitor might have had. Or how much this boy might have had.

He has a name, but I can't remember it. I don't know why it matters, now.

I am Vejiita, Prince of Saiyajins, and I have only one subject, a mongrel, and we're going to die in each other's arms.

He's the same age I was when I should have died.

The ground shudders underneath us, and somewhere in the distance I hear the roaring of water. The sky was already white with ash the last time I looked at it. Not much longer now.

Am I a coward? I have stopped looking at what is coming for us. My senses know the boy's rich scent of saiyajin sweat, anger, grief, and fear, the feel of his young body against mine. My empire has shrunk again. Only this can I master.

The planet is shaking itself to death around us: Furiza's parting gift. He gained immortal life and destroyed everything around him. Bastard always did have a sick sense of humor. Or maybe he just wanted to erase the last place where his blood will ever be spilled.

I pity the universe now, with him let loose in it forever.

That is a lie, of course. I don't have any pity. Never was allowed to develop it, never found a use for it. Pity is just a figure of speech, a code word for hate. And I do hate the universe. Oh, yes. Never mistake that.

Hate it for ever having spawned Furiza. Hate it for the rare, blood-streaked jewel that was Vegetasei. Hate it for ever having allowed my birth.

I welcome this death, now that there is nothing, nothing at all to be done about it. If there was some chance, I would be forced to take it, to fight for it. It's how I am made. I do not suffer defeat gladly. Not even this one.

Furiza never bothered to fight me.

Once he had his wish, he only destroyed his ship, with Kakarrot still in it, and then fired the shot that killed this planet and, soon enough, us. Then he left.

My pride hates him for not smashing me down, giving me a warrior's death. I deserved that much. I offered it whenever I could to my own victims. Out of boredom, it's true, but still, most died fighting.

I will not.

When he left, I followed him as high into the atmosphere as I could, before the thinning air ripped my consciousness away. Imagine my disappointment when I realized I was too strong to die from the fall. I could have choked on the irony, if it would have done any good.

The boy tips our heads back so that we can see each other. "H-how much longer?" he asks me.

I place my hands on his shoulders and look at him. Dark, wide eyes. Dark hair. Strong saiyajin features. And he can fight like a demon, when he forgets himself.

A perfect saiyajin child.

There is no miracle here to save him. No freak lizard to "save" him by turning him into a whore, exploiting the fighting skills that could not have saved his people. No father anymore to appear at the last minute and save the day. Furiza is beyond us. Kakarot is dead.

Miracles are behind us now.

"Not long," I say, curious to see how he will take the news.

"O-okay," he says simply enough, staring at me. He doesn't want to die. He wants the future that had once been sprawled out in front of him, waiting for him to claim it.

The last of my race. My last subject. It has been so long since being a prince has meant much more than ordering Raditz and Nappa around. Kakarot refused me, refused my title.

He was wrong.

I am a prince, even if I don't know what it means. I rule nothing but this boy, who doesn't know it. I have made no mark on history, other than by existing. The last prince of the House of Vegeta. Vast power resides within my hands, and I can do nothing to stop what is coming. I don't want to stop it. But I will make my mark.

One last act. Mercy is the vanity of princes, is it not?

I take my trembling charge within my arms. He doesn't even flinch when I snap his neck.