Chapter 166: Preliminary Matches
The Null Realm Arena wasn’t a place; it was a sensation. A constant, disorienting hum in the bones. One moment, gravity was a vice, crushing everyone to the polished obsidian floor of their private dais. The next, it vanished, leaving them adrift in a breathless orbit until it slammed back with gut-churning force. Veins of liquid starlight pulsed in the walls, casting sickly, beautiful light over the furious battles below.
Bruce sat at the center of the dais, a throne of dark stone formed from his will. Camille was curled against one armrest, Susannah against the other. The rest of his wives were arrayed around him on plush, floating cushions, their attention divided between the celestial combat and the thrum of shared arousal their bond amplified.
Below, in the central ring where gravity was merely a suggestion, Goku faced a towering warrior from Universe 3, a being of crystalline flesh and four arms. Goku moved with a lazy, confident grace, dodging shattering punches that could split continents, his smile never fading.
“He’s not even trying,” Sophia muttered, her espresso-colored eyes tracking every micro-movement, her goddess of strength resonating with the displayed power.
“He’s warming up,” Jasmine said, her pilot’s precision analyzing his footwork. “Like revving an engine.”
Suddenly, Goku blurred. Not a teleport, but a step so fast it fractured the light around him. He appeared behind the crystal warrior, a single, casual chop to the neck. A sound like a mountain cracking echoed through the arena. The warrior froze, then exploded into a shower of harmless, glittering dust.
A collective gasp went up from the millions of spectators across the multiverse. On the dais, the women felt it—a wave of pure, unleashed divine energy from Goku’s casual strike. It washed over them like a physical touch.
Camille shivered, her small breasts tightening, her nipples hardening visibly against the thin silk of her dress. She felt a distinct, slick warmth between her legs. From her left, she heard Lena’s sharp intake of breath.
Lena was leaning forward, her knuckles white where she gripped the dais edge. The look on her face was one of pure, carnal hunger. She glanced at Bruce, her eyes dark, and leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. Her whisper was raw, frayed at the edges. “Fuck, watching this makes me so wet.”
Under the concealment of the stone dais, Bruce’s massive hand slid up her thigh, pushing the hem of her short dress toward her hip. His fingers traced the damp lace of her panties. She was soaked, heat radiating through the fabric. A soft, choked moan escaped her lips, lost in the roar of the crowd.
The next match was Vegeta against a serpentine fighter from Universe 10. The Prince of All Saiyans didn’t play. He ended it in three moves: a blast to stagger, a brutal knee to the gut, a finishing hammer-fist that cratered the arena floor. Each impact sent another concussive wave of power-tinged adrenaline through the spectators. For Bruce’s family, connected as they were to the fundamental forces, it was an aphrodisiac.
Isabella shifted, crossing her legs tightly. Julianna’s breath came quicker. Freya bit her lip, her pale skin flushed. Anya, whose creation-gift amplified everything, squirmed in her seat, her violet eyes glazed.
Then Goku returned to the ring for his second match. His opponent was a psychic from Universe 6. The fight began with invisible forces, with crushing mental assaults. Goku stood still, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, his eyes snapped open. Silver.
Ultra Instinct.
The aura that erupted from him was not just power; it was the pure, unthinking essence of instinct given form. It wasn’t a wave this time; it was a tsunami. It slammed into the dais. For a split second, gravity ceased entirely. Glasses of wine, data-pads, all floated. Bruce’s wives felt their hair lift, their clothing flutter. And in their cores, in the nexus of their shared divinity and humanity, a switch was thrown.
Every one of them gasped. Backs arched. Hands clutched at armrests or their own bodies. Nipples hardened into aching peaks. A slick, hot rush of arousal soaked through panties, leaving dark patches on fabric or cooling on skin. The air grew thick with the scent of their collective need.
Lena’s whisper turned into a plead. “Bruce… I can’t… I need you inside me. Right now.”
Bruce stood. The raw, predatory look in his hazel eyes was answer enough. He glanced at Camille, at Susannah. A silent communication passed between them, faster than thought. This wasn’t a retreat; it was a claiming.
“The private box,” Camille said, her voice husky. “Now.”
They moved as one unit, a tide of urgent, divine flesh. The private viewing chamber adjoined the dais, shielded from all senses, a bubble of reality Bruce had woven himself. The moment the door sealed behind the last of them—Jake had chosen to stay watching with Oy, sensing this was a different kind of communion—the atmosphere broke.
It was Ketut who initiated it, her earth-and-empathy gift sensing the unbearable pressure in them all. She grabbed Julianna, her lithe body pressing against the Brazilian agent’s masterful curves, and kissed her hard, their tongues dueling. That was the spark.
Clothes weren’t so much removed as annihilated. A thought from Anya, amplified by the pulsing Ultra Instinct energy still echoing in their blood, and their garments simply dissolved into motes of light. They were all exposed, breathing heavily, skin glowing under the chamber’s soft light.
The sight was staggering. Camille’s full, lush body. Susannah’s powerful, warrior’s frame. Freya’s pale, voluptuous curves. Jasmine and Lena, their legendary asses on full display. Isabella’s otherworldly beauty. All of them, glistening, ready.
Bruce let his own control slip. His cock, already thick and heavy, swelled under his wife’s hungry gazes. It lengthened, thickened, becoming the monstrous, wrist-thick shaft they all craved, veins standing in bold relief, the head a deep, flushed purple.
“Who’s first?” His voice was a low growl that vibrated in their chests.
“Me,” Lena and Susannah said in unison. They looked at each other, and a feral grin spread on Susannah’s face. “Together.”
Susannah dropped to her hands and knees on a wide, low couch, presenting herself. Her dark, perfect ass was high, her sex already glistening and swollen. Lena positioned herself on her back beneath Susannah, her head between Susannah’s thighs, her own legs spread wide, her dripping pussy offered up to Bruce.
“Fuck her while I eat her,” Lena demanded, her mouth already latching onto Susannah’s clit, her tongue spearing inside.
Bruce needed no further invitation. He stepped forward, the head of his massive cock aligning with Lena’s slick entrance. He placed his hands on Susannah’s hips, both for leverage and to feel her powerful muscles coil.
He pushed into Lena.
Her scream was muffled by Susannah’s flesh. It was a cry of sheer, brutal fulfillment. He filled her in one relentless, deep thrust, her tight channel stretching obscenely around his girth. He bottomed out, his pelvis grinding against her, and immediately began to piston into her with a force that shook the couch.
Lena’s body convulsed, her own orgasm triggered almost instantly by the overwhelming penetration. Her walls clenched around him, milking him, as she redoubled her efforts on Susannah, her tongue and fingers working frantically.
Susannah, caught between the two sensations, threw her head back and roared. “YES! FUCK! RIGHT THERE! DON’T YOU FUCKING STOP!”
Bruce’s rhythm was primal, each powerful thrust driving Lena’s face deeper into Susannah’s cunt and his own cock deeper into Lena’s. The wet, slapping sounds of flesh on flesh mixed with Lena’s guttural groans and Susannah’s ragged curses.
Camille watched, her hand buried between her own legs, fingers working her clit in frantic circles. She saw Briana and Freya entangled nearby, Briana’s mouth sealed over Freya’s breast, Freya’s hand fisting in Briana’s ink-black hair. Sophia was behind Isabella, her strong fingers plundering the doctor from behind while Isabella reached back to claw at Sophia’s thighs.
Jasmine and Anya were a tangle of limbs on a plush rug, Jasmine’s legendary ass in the air as Anya’s face was buried between her cheeks, her tongue probing deep. Julianna and Ketut were a whirlwind of kissing and groping, Julianna’s command over fire and water making their skin steam and cool alternately.
And Astrild, the ancient one, watched from a corner, her eyes holding swirling galaxies. But her hand was between her own thighs, her hips moving in small, desperate circles. Myra stood beside her, her violet eyes now solid black, her power over the null creating a bubble of silent, focused intensity around just her and Astrild, into which she pulled the ethereal woman, their mouths meeting in a kiss that tasted of eternity.
Bruce felt his climax building, a coiling pressure in his balls. Lena was coming again, her body a shuddering wreck beneath him. Susannah was shouting, her own release drenching Lena’s face.
“Gonna fill you up,” Bruce gritted out, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, deeper.
“Do it!” Lena screamed, her voice cracking. “Breed me, breed her, fuck!”
With a final, ground-shaking thrust, Bruce erupted. His release was a flood, a hot, pulsing torrent that filled Lena to overflowing. She screamed again, a sound of pure, animalistic completion, her back arching violently.
As he spilled into her, he saw it. Jake, through the one-way viewing portal, was watching the ongoing tournament, but his hand was clenched. A pale, cool light—the light of cessation—flickered around his fist. And his eyes, Roland’s bombardier eyes, were fixed not on the fighters, but on a shadowy, empty section of the arena stands. A section that, for the briefest moment, seemed to ripple like a mirage.
Bruce pulled out of Lena, his mind still hazy with pleasure but a new, cold awareness slicing through. Something was there. Something watching. Something the Ultra Instinct energy, their own raw divine exchange, had somehow revealed.
Panting, he looked at his wives, a glorious, sweaty, sated tableau of flesh and power. The threat, if it was one, could wait for a few minutes more. He reached for Camille, pulling her to him. She went willingly, her body soft and ready against his.
“My turn,” she whispered, her eyes daring him.
He kissed her, tasting the promise and the lingering threat on her lips. The tournament raged on below, a distant thunder. Here, in their sanctuary, another kind of power thrummed, just as potent, just as raw. And somewhere in the shadows, something had begun to watch.
Bruce pulled his mouth from Camille’s, the taste of her and her lingering fear a sharp tang on his tongue. His eyes, still hazed with pleasure, sliced toward the one-way viewing portal. The null-realm arena shimmered below, the next fighters being summoned.
“Someone’s there,” he said, his voice rough.
Susannah was already moving, disentangling herself from Lena with a wet sound. She snatched her revolvers from where they lay discarded on the floor, her naked body coiled and ready. “Where?”
“Jake saw it first,” Bruce said, nodding toward the portal where their young ward stood. The boy’s face was pale, his clenched fist still glowing with that strange, cessation light. “A ripple. In the stands.”
“Illusion? A spectator?” Ketut asked, her breath still coming fast as she wiped her mouth.
“No,” Bruce and Jake said simultaneously. Bruce felt it now, a cold pinprick in his divine awareness. “Something hiding. Watching.” He looked at his wives, their bodies glistening, powerful, alert. “Get dressed. We watch the rest. And we watch the watcher.”
They clothed themselves not with fabric, but with a thought. Armor of light, garments of solidified shadow, battle-leather that formed to their skin—each chose their preference. In seconds, the scene of decadent flesh transformed into one of terrifying potential. They returned to the dais as the announcer’s voice boomed across the multiverse.
“And now… the semi-final match-ups!”
Jake didn’t turn from the window, his gaze fixed on that empty, rippling space. “It’s gone. But it was there. It felt… hungry.”
Oy whined at his feet.
On the arena floor, Vegeta stood with his arms crossed, a scowl etching his face. His opponent materialized across from him. A woman. She was tall, muscular yet lithe, with skin the color of burnished copper and hair like spun silver. Her eyes held no pupils, only solid, glowing amber. She wore a simple fighting gi, but power radiated from her like heat from a star.
“From Universe 1, the Undefeated Progenitor of Fury… VALERIA!” the announcer shouted.
Vegeta smirked. “A woman. Don’t expect me to hold back.”
Valeria said nothing. She simply shifted her stance, and the arena floor cracked beneath her feet.
The second pairing materialized. Goku, scratching his head, grinned at his opponent. A collective, sharp inhale came from Bruce’s wives.
Lena leaned forward, her earlier arousal replaced by pure aesthetic shock. “Holy fucking hell.”
The woman was beauty incarnate, yet utterly alien. Her skin was a deep, perfect ebony. Her hair flowed like liquid moonlight, shifting through shades of silver and blue. Her body was a symphony of impossible curves, a form that seemed designed by a sensual god. Her eyes were vast pools of void, speckled with distant stars.
“From Universe 11, “From Universe 11, the Crystalline Seraph… ARYA!”
“She’s not the sexiest bitch alive,” Lena breathed, correcting herself. “She’s the sexiest thing in any fucking dimension.”
Arya’s starry eyes found their private dais. They lingered on Bruce, then swept over his wives. A smile touched her lips—not warm, but curious, calculating.
Goku waved, cheerful. “Nice to meetcha! You feel really strong!”
The semi-finals began.
Vegeta attacked Valeria with blistering speed, a barrage of punches that could shatter moons. She blocked each one, her forearms meeting his fists with bone-jarring cracks that echoed like thunder. She didn’t flashy, no beams, no flight. Just brutal, efficient, perfect martial artistry. She flowed around a particularity vicious punch and drove her palm into his solar plexus.
Vegeta’s eyes bulged. Air exploded from his lungs. He skidded back, a genuine snarl twisting his face. “You… hit me.”
Valeria finally spoke, her voice like grinding stones. “Your anger is a fire. I am the anvil. I will forge you, or break you.”
She closed the distance. The fight dissolved into a close-quarters maelstrom. It was raw, painful to watch. Fists sank into flesh. Knees shattered ribs. Vegeta roared, his power flaring gold as he ascended to Super Saiyan. She met it, her amber eyes blazing, her strikes now leaving afterimages of molten light.
On the other dais, Whis watched with unusual interest. Beerus had stopped yawning.
Meanwhile, Goku and Arya faced off. Goku launched himself, a fist aimed for her face. Arya didn’t move. An inch from her nose, his fist stopped dead. A hexagonal, crystalline barrier shimmered in the air.
“Neat trick!” Goku said, flipping back.
Arya raised a hand. Shards of light coalesced around her, forming intricate, spinning blades of solid energy. With a flick of her wrist, they shot toward Goku. He weaved through them, but one grazed his arm, drawing a line of bright blood. He looked at it, surprised, then grinned wider. “Ultra Instinct won’t work on you, huh? Gotta think!”
He raised his hands, a Kamehameha wave forming. “Let’s see how you handle this!”
The bright blue energy blasted toward Lyra. She stood impassive. The beam struck her barrier and didn’t explode. It refracted. A thousand smaller beams shot back in every direction, forcing Goku to instantly teleport to avoid being shredded. The audience roared.
In the private box, the tension was a live wire. Bruce watched both fights, but his awareness was split. That cold spot Jake had seen. It lingered at the edge of his perception.
Camille’s hand found his. “She’s toying with him,” she whispered, watching Arya.
“He’s figuring her out,” Sophia countered, her fighter’s mind analyzing Goku’s movements. “She deflects and reflects. He needs a singular, overwhelming point.”
“Valeria is breaking Vegeta’s rhythm,” Susannah observed, her gunslinger’s eye catching the subtle shifts. “He’s used to overpowering. She’s using his power against him. Look.”
Vegeta, enraged, unleashed a Final Flash. The arena filled with blinding light. Valeria didn’t dodge. She stepped into it, her body absorbing the incandescent energy, her amber eyes swallowing the light. For a second, she glowed like a sun. Then she released it, not as a beam, but as a concussive shockwave from her entire body. Vegeta was thrown back like a leaf in a hurricane, crashing through several floating ring fragments.
“Shit,” Jasmine muttered.
Lena wasn’t watching the technique. She was watching Arya. The being moved with a grace that defied physics, her luminous hair trailing like a comet’s tail. Every time Goku got close, her barrier repelled him. Every time he attacked from afar, she reflected it. But Lena saw something else. A flicker in those starry eyes. A glance, again, toward their dais. Toward Bruce.
“She’s not just fighting Goku,” Lena said, her voice low. “She’s performing. For you.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened. He felt it too. Arya’s power was immense, but it was being curated. Displayed. The fight was a showcase.
Down below, Vegeta clawed his way from the rubble. Blood matted his hair. His armor was cracked. Valeria stood waiting, her breathing still even. “Your fire is banked, Prince. Embers.”
Vegeta wiped blood from his mouth. A feral grin spread across his face. It wasn’t one of anger, but of pure, savage glee. “Banked?” he spat. “You just gave it fucking air.”
His aura didn’t flash gold. It erupted in a torrent of deep, royal blue. His hair followed suit, rising into the same shade. His muscles swelled, power radiating from him in visible, crackling waves.
Evolved Super Saiyan Blue.
“Finally,” Whis murmured, a smile touching his lips.
Vegeta vanished. He reappeared in front of Valeria, his fist already buried in her gut. This time, there was no block. The impact was a dull, wet thump that echoed in the sudden silence. Her amber eyes widened. Air whooshed from her lungs. Before she could fold, Vegeta’s other hand clamped around her throat. He lifted her off the ground.
“You forge me?” he growled, his voice layered with power. “I am the fucking fire.”
He slammed her down into the arena floor with cosmic force. A crater a hundred meters wide spider-webbed out from the impact. Valeria lay still at its center.
The announcer’s voice was hushed. “Vegeta… of Universe 7… advances.”
All eyes turned to the other ring. Goku was panting, circling Arya. She remained untouched, pristine.
“You’re really tough!” Goku said, laughing. “But I think I got it! You can’t reflect what you can’t see!”
He closed his eyes. His aura faded. He stood completely still. Arya watched, her head tilting.
Then Goku moved. Not with Ultra Instinct’s reactive grace, but with something else. Pure, instantaneous transmission. He appeared behind her, not to strike, but to grab. His arms locked around her, pinning her arms to her sides.
“Gotcha!” he yelled.
For the first time, Arya’s serene expression flickered. Annoyance. Her barriers flashed around her, trying to push him away. But he held on, his Saiyan strength monumental.
“Now!” Goku yelled, not to anyone. He began to spin, a living vortex, dragging Arya with him. Faster and faster, they became a blur. A tornado of light and force built around them.
He wasn’t trying to hit her. He was creating a contained, chaotic energy storm around her. Inside the maelstrom, reflection was useless. The energy had no single direction. It was everywhere.
With a final, colossal exertion, Gumbo released her, launching her straight up into the heart of his own swirling creation. There was a silent, brilliant flash.
When the light cleared, Arya was hovering, her perfect hair slightly disarrayed. A single, hairline crack ran down one crystalline barrier on her forearm. She looked at it, then at Goku. Her starry eyes held something new. Respect.
She raised a hand in a gesture of concession. “I yield,” she said, her voice like chiming crystal. “Your method was… inelegant. But effective.”
The arena erupted. Goku dropped to the floor, panting heavily, but beaming.
On the dais, Bruce stared. Arya eyes found his again. This time, her smile was different. Not curious. Inviting.
The announcer’s voice boomed. “The final match is set! Vegeta versus Goku! A clash of titans for the multiverse to see!”
But Bruce wasn’t listening. The cold spot Jake had sensed earlier pulsed once, a malignant heartbeat from the shadows of the rippling stands. It was closer now. And it was laughing.