The problem with his maneuver, was that momentum was hard to stop. Trunks managed to shift just enough to get his feet under himself, as he hit the ground. Along with all the energy around him from his own aura, and whatever blasts had followed him.

It was like being at the center of an explosion, ground churned up and gravel thrown around from the concussive force as the blast made a crater. Grass flattened, their coats and her hat blown away, and Trunks in the center of the crater.

Still glowing, crouched, and with his arms crossed and braced. Mostly unscathed and unhurt thanks to his powering-up, but with definite rips and burns to his clothing. A hole over the knee, wind-sheared rips in his shirt; cloth ripped, but the man unharmed.

Wary, but also with clear concern in his voice. "Morag?"