Flashback — 40 years ago.
The Titan sat atop his throne, which he still possessed back in those days. The entire interior of the building was carved from pure black zircon—the walls, the vaulted ceiling, and the tiled floors polished to a mirror gloss.
A glowing projection materialized in the center of the hall as King Yemma contacted his old friend, Naraka, the Titan of Hell.
King Yemma: How long has it been, old friend?
Naraka lifted his head slowly, his icy blue eyes locking onto the projection of King Yemma.
Naraka: Too long, *he rumbled, his voice deep and hearty.*
The throne room was pristine, untouched by battle or bloodshed. He stood from his seat and approached Yemma's image with slow, deliberate strides. His posture was regal, carrying not a single trace of the malice that would consume him decades later.
King Yemma: How's Hell been treating you? Fair, I hope, *Yemma asked with a wide smile.*
Naraka's stern expression softened slightly—the closest thing to a smile his terrifying features could muster.
Naraka: Hell is… peaceful. As it should be. *He gestured around the gleaming black zircon halls.* No disturbances. No fools barging in.
King Yemma: Good, good. That's good to hear. Well, on this side, Earth's heroes are at it again—destroying and restoring like they're a group of gods with tails.
Naraka's lip curled slightly—not in outright anger, but deep disdain. The mention of Saiyans always had that effect on him.
Naraka: Those monkey-brained idiots, *he muttered, crossing his massive arms.* They never learn restraint. Always smashing things… then fixing them. *A pause, then—* Why do you ask?
King Yemma: Well, as it turns out, I had to send one of those idiots your way. He's been making a lot of trouble in the Other World.
Naraka's eyes flashed with instant irritation—not at Yemma, but at the implication. A Saiyan? Sent here?
Naraka: You're joking. *His voice dropped to a low growl.* You sent one of those reckless monkeys… to my realm?
A muscle in his jaw twitched. This was stepping dangerously close to personal insult territory.
King Yemma: Sorry for the last-minute notice, old friend. Maybe you can put him in his place? *Yemma looked apologetically at the Titan.* How long has it been since you had yourself a good old rumble? Surely the ruckus with Cell and Frieza has died down by now?
Naraka exhaled sharply through his nose—a sound like a glacier cracking. The Cell and Frieza wars were ancient history to him... he hadn't fought anyone worthy in decades.
Naraka: You're right, *he admitted, the idea of a true battle sparking something deep within him.* A Saiyan… hm. *Then, with sudden interest:* When does he arrive?
King Yemma: *Yemma roared with laughter.* He should be arriving in a few hours. Five at the most.
Naraka nodded, already mentally preparing. Five hours wasn't much time, but he didn't need it. Hell was his domain; the intruder would be his to deal with.
Naraka: Very well, *he said, his tone carrying a dark edge of anticipation.* I'll make sure this… Saiyan… remembers why no one messes with my realm.
Yemma chuckled once more before the projection vanished, leaving Naraka alone in his pristine throne room once again.