As the multiversal tournament of power draws to a close, all mortal life in Universe 6 is obliterated. Unexpectedly, Hit, its legendary millennium assassin, is pardoned and given a second chance at life. His soul is whisked away, bypassing the fabri...
'Where am I?' Glossing over the sense of déjà vu, Hit looked around.
A rather quaint room greeted him. Faded walls, marked floors, a general sense of neglect. Dust sparkled everywhere, tickling his nose. He rested on a small bed, a light brown duvet covering his body. Looking down, he saw that he had been resting his head on a pillow stained with red splatters.
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'Whose blood is this?' It couldn't be his, for purple blood flowed through his veins, its distinct colour resulting from a differing respiratory pigment.
Straining his ears, faint tweeting could be heard far ahead. Light cascaded from the right-hand side of the room, revealing a window that was partially blocked by a canvas curtain.
'First things first, I need to find out where I've ended up, and what dangers await me'. Hit then proceeded to get up to see the outside world.
'What the...?' His vision blurred, stiff body falling towards the hard ground below. Instinctually, hit activated his time skip, except this time the events around him continued to rush by at the same pace. 'WHAT?!'
A swift crash ensued and Hit saw stars. An alien emotion coursed through him: panic. 'Ok, calm down. Remember what that blue prick said.' A moment of thought and some breathing exercises later and Hit calmed down.
'This is a completely alien body, completely alien physiology, and anatomy. I will need time to adapt. I guess I may have forgotten what it's like to be weak, after all'. He sighed.
To his left stood a shiny metallic object: a mirror. 'Good, I can examine my condition properly. I should be able to walk at least.' Almost losing his balance a few times, Hit waddled towards the reflective surface and positioned himself before it. One word came to mind when he gazed at his visage.
'...Fuck...'
A malnourished, haggard creature stared back at him: pale skin, red eyes, thin body. He was dressed simply with greyish shorts and shirt. Raising a spindly arm upwards to his head, soft amethyst purple hair greeted his twig-like fingers. 'I look like one of those saiyans, or... humans. I think that's what those weak creatures were called.' It was strange how those savage powerhouses could look nearly identical to such comparatively weak beings. The humans Hit had encountered thus far did not appear anywhere near this sickly, suggesting something was seriously wrong with him.
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