The Grand Priest cast a glance in Frieza's direction.
Frieza's mouth twitched; his expression turned a bit stiff.
Did he notice? I only "accidentally" stepped on him. He's that tiny—what's wrong with stepping on him?
The Grand Priest ignored Frieza and announced the rules.
"The rules for this God of Destruction selection are simple. The match lasts twenty minutes total. There's a central pillar on the arena; at intervals it will sink, and when it becomes level with the ring, the time limit ends," the Grand Priest said. "During the match, flight is prohibited—except for those with wings. No weapons. No killing. The only way to win is to knock opponents out of bounds. When time is up, if multiple entrants remain, I will select the new God of Destruction for Universe 18 based on overall performance. If anyone has objections, speak now—before the match begins."
Ken listened from afar.
Isn't this the Tournament of Power template? …No, this selection predates the Tournament of Power by decades. Guess the Tournament borrowed the format. Still, couldn't we do something fresh? Draw lots and go one-on-one or something…
"Grand Priest, if I knock my opponent to the ground, does that not count as a loss for them?" Toppo asked, raising his hand.
"If you knock your opponent down, you're free to throw them off the ring," the Grand Priest replied evenly.
"What if time's up and several fighters remain?" Maji-Kayo asked.
"I will judge your performances and select the best candidate as Universe 18's new God of Destruction," the Grand Priest answered with a slight smile. "So anyone hoping to slack off may be in for a headache."
Damon: "…"
Flattened beneath Frieza's foot, Damon fell silent.
Is he talking about me? Lord Quitela wanted me to slack off. So much for that. And now I'm stuck under this guy's foot… which reeks. Absolutely foul…
"Excuse me, Grand Priest, I have a question as well," Zamasu raised his hand.
"Speak, Zamasu," the Grand Priest nodded.
"Those three entrants over there all appear to be from Universe 7," Zamasu said through clenched teeth, pointing at Broly, Frieza, and Majin Buu. "If they join forces, won't they gain an overwhelming advantage?"
"You're not wrong," the Grand Priest didn't deny it. Instead, he smiled wryly. "Beyond raw power, shrewdness in dealing with others is also commendable for a God of Destruction."
Zamasu: "…"
"Hey, fatty, want to team up?" Broly's eyes lit up as he turned to Majin Buu. "We toss everyone else out first, then you and I settle it one-on-one."
Majin Buu thought for a moment and nodded cheerfully.
Zamasu felt ill.
If I hadn't said that, would those two have teamed up?
He also considered forming an alliance, but as a god, working with mortals felt like a stain on his dignity.
I am a god. I refuse to believe I can't defeat these mortals. I won't ally with them.
"Any other questions?" the Grand Priest asked.
All the entrants shook their heads.
The Grand Priest rose slowly. Once high enough, he proclaimed, "The Universe 18 New God of Destruction Selection Tournament—begins now!"
His words had scarcely fallen when Frieza lashed out with a savage kick at the speck beneath his foot.
Whoosh!
Damon streaked through the air toward the edge.
Just as he was about to fly out—
Snap!
His tiny wings fluttered frantically, angling him back toward the ring.
"Hmph. So you can fly. Figures—you've got wings," Frieza snorted, raising a finger as crimson ki gathered at the tip.
Zing!
A scarlet beam howled toward Damon.
"Ah—!"
Hit clean, Damon wobbled and toppled from the stage.
Flash!
In the next instant, he reappeared in the spectator stands.
"My apologies, Lord Quitela… I've been eliminated," Damon's tiny voice sounded beside Quitela.
A thousand horses thundered through Quitela's heart.
"You idiot! You lasted not even three seconds!" Quitela roared.
Damon looked aggrieved.
I want to cry. Who do I complain to?
"How did he get spotted so fast?" Quitela scowled.
"That Frieza fellow wears a high-tech device over his eye. It can detect Damon's position," Angel Cognac observed.
"What? That kind of tech is allowed?" Quitela blurted.
He had barely finished when the Grand Priest glanced their way.
Quitela flinched and bowed his head like a child caught misbehaving.
"Let's just say Damon was unlucky," Cognac said placidly.
Damon wilted further. At his size, even his expression was hard to notice.
"Forget it. Seems the Universe 18 post is beyond us," Quitela sighed.
Whoosh!
The Grand Priest appeared near Quitela and Cognac.
"Eliminated universes may remain to observe or depart at will. No need to inform me when leaving," he said, hands clasped behind his back.
"Yes, Grand Priest!"
Quitela and Cognac answered in unison.
The Grand Priest returned to his vantage point above the ring.
"Shall we stay to watch?" Cognac asked.
"No. It's humiliating. The others will mock us. We're leaving," Quitela decided. Lasting under three seconds—this would be a punchline for decades.
"At least last three minutes," Quitela grumbled, flicking a booger at Damon.
Thunk!
Damon was pinned beneath it, taking a "100,000 damage crit" to his pride.
Lord Quitela… that's just cruel.
Seeing Damon struggle beneath the booger like a dung beetle, Quitela finally felt better.
If you'd lasted three minutes, I might have stayed. Now I can't show my face.
As if on cue—
"Hahaha! Quitela, your entrant was… unexpected," Rumsshi trumpeted, trunk swaying. "No wonder something felt off—turns out you picked a tiny critter! He lasted, what, under three seconds?"
"Hah! Just like Quitela's usual three seconds," Champa howled with laughter.
"Champa, what's that? Quitela only has three seconds?" Belmod piled on.
Quitela often bullied others on the strength of his power; this was payback, and the others seized it.
"You… you don't understand us mice!" Quitela huffed. "Look it up—ordinary mice can go fifteen hours!"
Silence fell among several Gods of Destruction.
Ken also fell silent.
"We're leaving, Cognac," Quitela snapped.
Cognac tapped his staff; starlike radiance wrapped the two—and Damon as well. The booger vanished under Angelic Power.
Whoosh!
They departed the venue. Quitela had no desire to linger with such a loss.
…
On the ring.
"Ohohoho… I thought he'd be impressive, but that was it? He dares show up to a God of Destruction selection like that?" Frieza laughed oddly. "Since I eliminated someone in under three seconds, shouldn't that earn me 'Best Performer'?"
No sooner had he finished than a small figure barreled in from afar.
Frieza turned—and saw that so-called legendary Super Saiyan charging him like a bull.
"Th-this is bad," Frieza blanched.
He dropped the act at once, body tensing as he transformed in a flash—Final Form.
Broly closed in just in time to see the change—but he didn't slow.
He leapt—no flying allowed here—and reached for Frieza's face with his small hand.
Frieza's response was quick; he drove a punch at Broly's waist.
Crack!
The blow landed. Broly didn't grunt, didn't even slow.
"What?" Frieza's pupils shrank as he staggered back a step.
Broly's palm clamped onto Frieza's face and slammed his head into the floor.
"Awooo—!"
Frieza's shriek tore out; his skull swam with dizziness.
So this is the legendary Super Saiyan? His blows are heavy—and his body's like iron! He looks five or six years old! A little monkey that age is this strong?
Scrraaaape—
Palming Frieza's head, Broly bulldozed him across the arena. Frieza felt his face being planed flat; his mind went blank. In a heartbeat they were at the edge—then Broly pivoted and sprinted back the other way.
Frieza gritted his teeth, flared his ki, and drove a fist into Broly's chest.
Broly bared his teeth at the sting, then swelled a size—calling on the Great Ape's power.
Frieza blinked.
Your body… got bigger?
With that power coursing, Broly felt unburdened. In this form, today's Frieza was easy prey. Frieza tasted despair, limp in Broly's grip as the Saiyan toyed with him.
Elsewhere—
"Turn to chocolate!" Majin Buu's antenna crackled as he loosed an area blast.
Violet arcs fanned toward Hit, Maji-Kayo, Toppo, and Zamasu.
Hit and Toppo didn't try to tank it; a simple hop to the side took them out of its path.
Zamasu had intended to stand his ground.
I am Universe 10's Kai. My station is lofty. A mere Majin dares act out before me?
He snorted, purple hand-blade forming as he chopped down.
Crack!
Buu's arc split cleanly, flickered in the air, then dissipated when it hit the tiles.
"Oh?" Buu looked at Zamasu, surprised.
Sizzle—
Another arc washed over Maji-Kayo. His metallic body flashed—
—and nothing else happened.
As a liquid metal being, his structure differed from normal lifeforms; Buu's spell had no effect.
"Oooh…" Buu glanced at Maji-Kayo again, even more intrigued.
"Judging by your movements, you're quite strong," Toppo smiled at Hit.
Hands in his pockets, Hit stared back. Two powerhouses, minds resonating—the instant they arrived, they'd recognized each other. Their eyes held only one another. They both knew: the real fight would be between them.
Hit's lips curved faintly.
"I am Toppo, trainee God of Destruction of Universe 11," Top introduced himself. "Name yourself. Perhaps only you are fit to battle me on this stage."
"Hit. Universe 6's number one assassin," Hit replied coolly.
"An assassin?" Toppo blinked, then sighed. "What a pity."
"What do you mean?" Hit asked, puzzled.
"The ring and rules will limit your true strength," Toppo said with a small smile. "But don't worry. Since you can't employ an assassin's techniques, I won't bully you—I won't use God of Destruction skills either."
"Thanks," Hit said impassively.
"Come—hit me with everything you've got. Let me gauge your level," Toppo tapped his own nose with his thumb.
"Then I won't be polite," Hit said, striding forward with hands still in his pockets, unhurried and calm.
Toppo didn't dare relax; this opponent was anything but simple. It was a strong man's instinct—or rather, a pride trooper captain's intuition. Hit was an assassin; however he masked it, Top could sense the chill.
They drew closer—
Thud!
Hit moved. His right hand flicked from his pocket and cracked Toppo across the nose.
Toppo reeled several steps, nearly falling. He stopped himself with a hard plant of his right foot. Blood trickled from his nose.
"What? I couldn't see his punch? How?" Toppo was stunned.
A God of Destruction's disciple—and he couldn't follow the strike?
That moment drew Belmod's attention. Champa, by contrast, grinned from ear to ear.
"Marcarita, did you catch that?" Belmod asked.
"My, my, I did," Marcarita nodded. "Toppo got punched in the nose by Hit."
Belmod: "…"
"I mean—how did he punch?" Belmod rolled his eyes.
"Don't rely on me for everything," Marcarita giggled. "Toppo will figure it out. He is your disciple."
Belmod fell silent.
I didn't see it either. You think my disciple will?
In key moments, Angels are so unreliable.
…
"Hey, kid—did you see it?" Champa shot Ken a smug look.
"As a trainee Angel, failing to read a little trick like that would be embarrassing," Ken said with a faint smile. "Er… I'm not officially a trainee Angel yet—I'm just a human who's cultivated Angelic Power."
(End of Chapter)
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
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