Chapter 128: Farewell Between Warriors
The three men stood on the observation platform carved into the highest cliff, the world below them a sprawling canvas of indigo and gold. The silence between them was no longer charged with rivalry, but something quieter—a recognition.
Goku clapped Bruce on the back with a sound like a small thunderclap, his grin wider than the horizon. “That was the best fight I’ve had in years! Maybe ever!” He shook his head, laughter in his voice. “You’re something else, Bruce.”
Vegeta stood a pace apart, arms crossed, watching the sun break the plane of the endless sea. He didn’t turn, but his voice, gruff and low, carried on the salt-tinged breeze. “It was… adequate. You have control. For a novice.” It was, from him, a monumental concession.
Bruce smiled, feeling the truth in the words, feeling the new, strange threads of kinship. As they turned to leave, to return to their own universe and their own waiting families, Bruce stepped forward. He pulled Goku into a rough, back-slapping embrace, the Saiyan responding with eager warmth. Then, he turned to Vegeta.
The Prince stiffened, his pride a visible armor. Bruce didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around him in the same firm hold. For a second, Vegeta remained a statue; then, with a soft, defeated grunt, he allowed it, even bringing one arm up to briefly clasp Bruce’s shoulder.
“You’ve got a home here, anytime,” Bruce said, releasing them, his hazel eyes serious. “Bring the wives. The kids. We’ve got space. We’ll train. We’ll eat until we can’t move. We’ll fight until we drop.”
Goku’s eyes lit up like supernovas. “Really? That sounds awesome! Bulma would love to see all your tech!”
Vegeta gave a single, curt nod, his gaze meeting Bruce’s. The relief was there, deep in the onyx depths—the relief of a warrior who no longer had to be the last of anything. “Perhaps,” he said.
“The Saiyan race survives with us,” Bruce said, the words final, solid as the stone beneath their feet. “With our children. Frieza’s terror is done. Stay strong. And visit.”
With final nods, the two warriors shot into the brightening sky, leaving twin contrails that blurred into the blue. Bruce watched them go until they were specks, then nothing. The silence that followed was different. It was his silence again. His home.
He found Camille on their private eastern terrace, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, her curls still sleep-mussed. She was wrapped in a silk robe, watching the dawn paint the waves in molten amber and sapphire. She leaned back into him as he came up behind her, his arms circling her waist, his chin resting on her head.
“They’re gone?” she murmured.
“Yeah.”
“Good fight?”
“The best.”
She turned in his arms, her dark eyes searching his face. She saw the quiet satisfaction there, the settled weight. Her hands came up to cradle his jaw, her thumbs smoothing over the strong line of his cheekbones. “You look… peaceful. For a man who just found out he’s part space monkey.”
He laughed, a real, deep sound that rumbled in his chest. “Part space monkey, part god. All yours.”
“Damn right.” She rose on her toes and kissed him, slow and deep, tasting of coffee and Camille. When she pulled back, a familiar, wicked glint was in her eyes. “So, all that power. All that… dominating energy. You worked up a real sweat, didn’t you?”
He knew that look. It was the look that had, over twenty-three years, led to some of the most intense, inventive, and screamingly good sex of his life. “Might have,” he said, playing along, his hands sliding down to cup the magnificent swell of her ass through the silk.
“Might need to wash off,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “And I know you’re all powerful and everything, but I think I saw a spot you missed.”
She took his hand and led him back inside, through the quiet halls of the waking temple, to their bathing suite. It was open to the sky, a natural hot spring steaming in a granite basin, overlooking the sheer drop to the ocean below. The first direct rays of the sun were just spilling over the lip of the cliff, setting the steam ablaze with gold.
Camille let her robe slide from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, and she stood before him, bathed in the honeyed light. Her body, at forty-five, was a testament to life and pleasure—the proud, heavy curve of her hips and ass, the small, perfect breasts with their dark, peaked nipples, the soft strength of her thighs. She was a goddess of protection, and in this moment, she was offering herself not as a shield, but as a sanctuary.
Bruce shed his clothes, his own powerful frame marked by the morning’s exertions. He stepped into the hot water, the heat immediately soothing his muscles. Camille followed, sinking into the pool opposite him, the water lapping at her breasts.
For a minute, they just looked at each other across the steam. The love was a physical thing in the air, thick and warm. Then the lust, the raw, hungry want, ignited beneath it.
“Come here,” he said, his voice rough.
She moved through the water, not floating, but walking, a slow, deliberate approach. When she reached him, she didn’t kiss him. She pushed him back against the smooth stone wall of the spring, her hands flat on his chest. Her eyes were dark, determined.
“My turn to dominate,” she breathed, and then she was kissing him, a deep, claiming kiss that stole his breath. Her tongue plunged into his mouth, warring with his. Her hands roamed down the hard planes of his stomach, through the coarse hair, and found his cock. It was already hard, thick and heavy in her fist. She stroked him slowly, her grip firm, her thumb spreading the pre-cum that leaked from the broad head.
She broke the kiss, her lips trailing down his neck, over his collarbone. “I watched you beat the shit out of two gods,” she muttered against his skin, her breath hot. “Watched you make them kneel. It made me so fucking wet, Bruce.” To emphasize her point, she guided the head of his cock through her swollen folds, sliding it through her slickness without letting him enter. “Feel that? That’s for you. All for you.”
He groaned, his head tipping back against the stone. “Camille…”
“No,” she said, the command sharp. “My show.” She positioned herself above him, one hand still on his chest for balance, the other guiding him. She looked him dead in the eyes as she began to lower herself onto him, an inch at a time.
The stretch was immense. He was thick as his wrist, a brutal, delicious invasion. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth falling open in a silent ‘oh’ as she took him, her body stretching to accommodate him. She was so wet, her inner walls hot and velvety and tight, a slick, clenching vise around his throbbing cock. She sank down until he was fully sheathed, until his hips were pressed flush against the incredible softness of her ass. She sat there, impaled, letting them both feel the full, impossible depth of it.
“Fuck,” Bruce gasped, his hands flying to her hips, fingers digging into her flesh.
“Yeah,” she panted, a triumphant, shaky smile on her lips. “Fuck is right.” Then she began to move.
She rose up, almost letting him slip out, then slammed back down, taking him all over again. The water sloshed around them. Her breasts bounced with the force of her movements. She set a relentless, driving rhythm, using his body for her own pleasure, riding him with a focused, furious intensity. The sounds were obscene—the wet slap of skin on skin, the rhythmic splash of water, her gasps and his guttural groans merging with the crash of the waves far below.
“You like this?” she demanded, her voice straining. “You like watching me use your big fucking cock? Huh?”
“God, yes,” he ground out, his fingers biting into her hips, helping her lift and drop.
“It’s mine,” she snarled, leaning forward to bite his shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to claim. “This perfect, god-killing cock is mine. You give it to me. You fill me up with it.” Her words were filthy, a sharp counterpoint to the dawn’s serenity.
Her orgasm built quickly, a tangible tightening in her core. Her movements became erratic, her cries more desperate. “I’m gonna come,” she whimpered. “I’m gonna come on your dick, Bruce. Make me. Fuck up into me, now!”
That was all the permission he needed. He took over, his own hips pistoning upward, driving into her from below with deep, powerful thrusts that lifted her almost out of the water. The angle changed, hitting places that made her scream, a raw, unfiltered sound that echoed off the cliffs. Her walls clamped down on him, a series of violent, fluttering spasms. She threw her head back, her body arching, her chant of “yes, yes, yes!” dissolving into wordless cries.
Seeing her, feeling her come apart, sent him over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself as deep as possible and let go. His release was a torrent, hot pulses pumping into her depths, marking her, claiming her just as she had demanded. She collapsed against him, boneless and shuddering, her body still twitching with aftershocks as he emptied himself inside her.
They stayed locked together in the cooling water, breathing in ragged harmony. The sun was fully above the horizon now, baking the stone around them.
After a long while, Camille stirred, nuzzling his neck. “We never got to wash,” she murmured, a lazy smile in her voice.
“Mission accomplished anyway,” Bruce rumbled, his hands gently stroking her back.
She laughed softly, then grew quiet. “That thing you did… the platinum hair, the eyes… That’s part of you now. The Saiyan part.”
“Seems to be.”
She lifted her head, her gaze serious now. “It’s hot as hell. But it’s also a lot. A whole dead planet in your DNA.” She traced the line of his brow. “We’ll handle it. Like we handle everything.”
He kissed her forehead, a gesture of profound gratitude. “I know.”
“Good.” She shifted, wincing slightly as he slipped out of her, a mixture of their fluids clouding the water between them. Her expression turned speculative, a familiar, hungry look returning. “So… that power. When you… manifest… does it… you know… does it change the other parts of you?”
Bruce raised an eyebrow, catching her drift. “Are you asking if my cock gets even bigger when I go platinum?”
She gave an innocent shrug, her eyes gleaming. “A wife’s gotta know these things. For scientific reasons.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “No. That seems to be a… permanent enhancement.”
“Permanent,” she repeated, savoring the word. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Good. Because I was thinking… later… after breakfast… we haven’t broken in that new piece Lena got us. The obsidian one. The one that’s…” She held her hands apart, a frankly ludicrous distance.
Bruce felt a fresh jolt of desire, deep and possessive. He looked at his wife—his confident, vibrant, beautifully dirty-minded goddess—and saw not just the woman he loved, but a partner who could meet every part of him, from the cosmic to the carnal.
He captured her mouth in a slow, promising kiss. “It’s a date.”
“It’s a date.”
The promise lingered through the day, a low current beneath the training and the meals and the easy chaos of their sprawling family. It surfaced in glances across the long table, in the brush of Camille’s hand over his ass as she passed behind his chair, in the specific, weighty look she gave him before vanishing into the temple’s vaults with Lena. Bruce felt it like a coming storm, a pleasurable pressure building in his blood.
He spent the afternoon in the northern training grounds with Jake and Susannah, their movements a sharp contrast to the world-breaking force of the morning. Here, it was about precision, discipline, the quiet economy of a gunslinger’s draw. The crack of Susannah’s revolver was a flat, final period in the air, each shot perfect. Jake moved with a young man’s eager grace, his form echoing Roland’s world, his loyalty to this new ka-tet absolute. Watching them, Bruce felt the protective core of him solidify. This was what he protected. This specific, fragile, fierce humanity.
As dusk purpled the sky, the smell of Camille’s cooking—garlic, smoked paprika, searing meat—wound through the temple halls, an olfactory anchor. Dinner was a loud, sprawling affair, full of debates about the Saiyans’ technology (“Bulma would love to get her hands on Julianna’s portal tech,” Goku had said) and good-natured arguing over the last of the sweet plantains. Bruce sat at the head, mostly listening, a faint smile on his face. He felt watched. Not by a threat, but by his wives. Their eyes on him were thoughtful, sensing the tectonic plates of his identity still settling deep beneath the surface.
Later, when the halls had quieted and the soft sounds of coupling or whispered conversation bled from various chambers, Bruce found himself on the western balcony. The night was clear, a vast black tapestry pinned with cold, sharp stars. In his hand, a glass of bourbon caught the moonlight, the amber liquid holding a small sun. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers, its smoke a ghost in the still air.
He rarely spoke of the weight. He carried it. That was his function. But tonight, the void left by Goku and Vegeta’s departure felt strangely heavy. Their presence had been a confirmation, a reflection. Their absence now echoed with the silence of a planet called Vegeta.
The soft pad of bare feet on stone. He didn’t turn. He knew the footfalls. Briana, the quiet historian with eyes like a calm sea, and Astrild, whose gentle strength was that of rooted things. They came to stand on either side of him, their warmth seeping into the cool night.
“You ok, Bruce?” Briana asked, her voice barely a ripple in the dark.
He took a long drag, the ember flaring, then exhaled a slow, thoughtful stream. “I’m good.” He paused, the words lining up inside him, unfamiliar in their number. “Just finding out I’m not entirely human. And from a race of beings that was annihilated. Including anyone who was related to me.” He took a sip of bourbon, letting the burn ground him. “Then meeting Goku and Vegeta. Of my race. And then them leaving right away… it’s weighing on me a little bit.”
He’d never voiced the old wound. Not like this. “I always wondered why my parents didn’t want me.” The sentence hung, raw and simple. “But they sent me away. To save my life. The ultimate sacrifice for a child.” He looked out at the star-dusted abyss, where a pod might have traveled, cold and silent, holding a doomed world’s last hope. “It’s sad. But it makes me less depressed about growing up without them.” Another drag, another sip. The alcohol and nicotine were just props, something to do while his soul unfolded. “Then on top of it, I killed the monster who destroyed that world. Without even knowing it beforehand.” He finally glanced at them, a wry, tired twist to his mouth. “It’s a lot to process.”
The silence that followed was deep, but not empty. It was filled with their listening.
Neither of the wives were used to Bruce speaking so much at once. They didn’t fill the space with platitudes. They just moved closer. Briana leaned her head against his bicep. Astrild pressed her palm flat against the center of his back, her touch firm and warm. They began rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back and arm, a wordless rhythm of comfort.
“We’re here for you, big guy,” Astrild murmured, her cheek now against his shoulder blade. “We all are.”
The simple truth of it unknotted something tight beneath his sternum. The loneliness of the orphan, the isolation of the last heir, dissolved in the tangible reality of their hands on him, their heat along his sides. He wasn’t alone on that cliff. He was the center of a gravitational pull that held a universe of love.
He finished the bourbon, crushed the cigarette on the stone rail. He turned, pulling them both into a tight, engulfing hug. He kissed Briana’s temple, then Astrild’s. “I know,” he said, and this time the words were light, unburdened. “Let’s go to bed.”
Their room was a cavern of soft shadows and low, ambient light. Camille was already there, reclined against a mountain of pillows, a knowing smile on her lips. In her hand, resting on the silk sheets beside her, was the obsidian dildo. It was a sheer, ridiculous object, black glass polished to a gleam, thicker than Bruce’s wrist and easily as long as his forearm. Lena’s taste was uncompromising.
Camille’s eyes tracked from the toy to Bruce’s face, her smile deepening. “Took you long enough. We’ve got science to do.”
The mood shifted, the solemn intimacy of the balcony hardening into something predatory and shared. Briana and Astrild shed their robes, their bodies pale and graceful in the dim light. They joined Camille on the vast bed, not as comforters now, but as collaborators.
“You watch first,” Camille told Bruce, her tone leaving no room for argument. She was in charge of this ceremony. She lay back, her phenomenal ass shifting on the sheets, and parted her thick thighs. Briana knelt between them, her historian’s focus now entirely on Camille’s glistening cunt. She leaned in, not kissing, but licking a broad, slow stripe from Camille’s entrance to her clit.
Camille jolted, a sharp gasp escaping her. “Yeah. Just like that.”
Bruce stood at the foot of the bed, his cock already hardening as he watched. Astrild moved to Camille’s head, lifting her breasts, taking one small, dark nipple into her mouth. Camille’s hands tangled in their hair, guiding, demanding. The room filled with the wet, hungry sounds of Briana’s mouth working, of lips and tongue servicing swollen flesh.
“Fuck, Briana, right there,” Camille panted, her hips lifting off the bed. “Suck my clit. Suck it hard.”
Briana obeyed, her mouth sealing around the bud, sucking with rhythmic pressure while her fingers plunged into Camille’s dripping hole. The obscene, slick sound of those fingers pumping was brutally loud. Camille’s back arched, a string of curses falling from her lips in a mix of Spanish and English. “Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop, I’m gonna come!”
Her orgasm hit, a violent tremor that seized her entire body. Her thighs clamped around Briana’s head as she cried out, a raw, broken shout that echoed off the stone. Briana kept working her through it, gentling her tongue but not stopping, until Camille was pushing her away, oversensitive and shuddering.
Camille’s eyes, dark and blown wide, found Bruce’s. Her chest heaved. “Now,” she breathed, her voice shredded. “The toy. I want it. And I want you in my ass while she fucks me with it.”
The raw filth of the command went straight to his cock. He moved onto the bed, his own need a palpable force. Camille rolled onto her stomach, presenting herself, her round ass high in the air. The sight was devastating. Briana, her chin slick, took up the obsidian toy. She coated it in a stream of slick from a bottle, the liquid shining on the black glass.
Astrild guided Bruce, pouring cool slick into his palm. He rubbed it over his throbbing length, then pressed the broad head against Camille’s other hole. She was tight, impossibly so, but yielding.
“Now,” Camille growled into the sheets. “Together.”
Briana pressed the blunt, massive head of the toy against Camille’s well-used, gaping pussy. At the same time, Bruce pushed forward, his own thickness breaching the tight, clenching ring of muscle.
Camille screamed. It was a sound of pure, savage fulfillment. The dual invasion was immense, a stretch that bordered on painful, just the way she craved. Briana worked the obsidian length in slowly, an inch at a time, while Bruce sank deeper into the incredible, searing heat of her ass.
“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” Camille sobbed, her fingers clawing at the sheets. “You’re splitting me in half. I’m so full. I’m so fucking full!”
Bruce was sheathed to the hilt, his balls pressed against her, feeling the hard outline of the toy through the thin wall separating them. Briana’s hand was at the base, the black glass fully buried. They were both in, utterly.
“Move,” Camille begged. “Please, move. Fuck me. Ruin me.”
Bruce began to pull back, a slow, dragging retreat from that sublime tightness, then pushed back in. Briana mirrored the rhythm, withdrawing the slick toy and plunging it back. The synchronized motion created a rolling, overwhelming pressure inside Camille. She was being filled and emptied from both sides, a continuous, brutal rhythm.
The bed rocked. The air was thick with the smell of sex and sweat and her arousal. Bruce’s world narrowed to the feeling of her ass clamped around him, to the sight of her beautiful body being used between them, to the filthy, pleading sounds she made.
“Harder! Fuck me harder! I want to feel it tomorrow! I want to walk funny!” she screamed.
Bruce obeyed, his thrusts becoming piston-strokes, each one jolting her forward, driving the toy deeper. Briana kept pace, her arm working steadily. Camille’s cries climbed, becoming incoherent, a language of pure sensation. Her third orgasm tore through her with a violence that made her body seize, her inner muscles spasming around both invaders in a chaotic, gripping rhythm.
It triggered Bruce’s own end. With a final, deep grind, he erupted inside her, his release a hot flood in her depths. He groaned, a deep, animal sound of completion, his hips stuttering against her as he emptied himself.
They collapsed around her, a tangled, breathing heap of spent limbs. The obsidian toy, slick and gleaming, was laid aside on the rumpled silk. For a long time, the only sound was their ragged breathing softening into the night.
Camille finally stirred, a soft, satisfied hum in her throat. She turned her head, her cheek on the sheet, looking at Bruce with heavy-lidded eyes. “Science experiment successful,” she slurred, a triumphant, exhausted smile on her swollen lips.
Bruce ran a hand down her spine, feeling the sweat cooling on her skin. He looked at Briana, then Astrild, their faces soft with spent pleasure and unwavering love. The ghost of the space pod, the echo of the destroyed world, the weight of the bloodline—it all receded, absorbed and quieted by the profound, messy, physical reality of this. Of them.
He was not the last Saiyan. He was the first of something new. And his world, here, was just beginning.