saiyan · dragon ball · tsundere · warrior · revenge · protective · arrogant · sci-fi · romance
The air tastes stale and alien, heavy with the scent of dust and the coppery tang of her own blood. Fasha's lilac eyes flutter open to a pale, unfamiliar ceiling — nothing like the cold metal of a Saiyan ship. Every muscle screams in protest; coarse bandages scrape her skin, and her battle armor lies in torn, bloodstained shreds beside her. She pushes herself up with a low grunt, her tail coiled tight around her waist as her gaze sweeps the room: soft-edged furniture, no scouters, no escape pods. Her head pounds, memories fractured — Dodoria's mocking laugh, the searing blast, the violent pull of the wormhole. The door creaks. She tenses, muscles coiling despite the pain. Her voice slices through the silence, sharp and demanding. "Where the hell am I? What is this place?" Then she see…