I cooked.
Give me stones so l could move into a different house with your Mum. She is saying her scream might wake you up.
We can't have that can we.
---
Beerus finally forced the coughing to stop.
Silence reclaimed the chamber.
He straightened slowly, spine rigid, ears pinned back, eyes never leaving Frieza for even a fraction of a second. Pride tried to crawl back onto his shoulders. It failed. What stood before him crushed it flat.
Frieza was whole.
Not regenerated—restored. Arms flawless. Frame pristine. Not a single scar, not even the faint echo of damage. As if the universe itself had agreed to forget what Beerus had done to him.
That alone was impossible.
Then the weight hit him.
Beerus' breath caught—not from shock, but from pressure. The air felt thicker, heavier, as though gravity itself had quietly doubled without asking permission. Frieza's ki didn't flare.
It didn't roar.
It loomed.
A presence folded inward on itself—dense, layered, restrained. Like something that had learned patience and found it intoxicating.
Beerus moved.
Casually.
He began to circle Frieza, each step deliberate, tail swaying low, eyes narrowed.
"I'm impressed, Frieza," he said at last, voice light, almost bored. "Truly."
Frieza didn't turn. Didn't react.
"To think you'd recover your arms. Your eyes." Beerus' gaze sharpened. "But grasping Hakai energy?"
His claws flexed.
"One simply doesn't do that in ten meager days."
Frieza smiled.
"Well," he said softly, "it seems ten years passed for me."
Beerus stopped.
Paused directly behind him.
"…You were in a time chamber," Beerus said.
"Bingo," Frieza replied, the word dripping with mockery, sweet and venomous.
That was enough.
Beerus struck.
No warning. No flare. Just a raw, brutal punch thrown straight into Frieza's undefended back.
The chamber ceased to exist.
Obsidian shattered into vapor. The floor collapsed, the walls atomized, space itself rupturing outward in a violent bloom.
The shockwave tore through the ship, alarms screaming in distant corridors as the void swallowed the ruin.
It looked like Sitama had decided to let loose a little steam.
Beside this was Sixty percent of Beerus' base power.
Enough to erase planets.
When the dust cleared—
Frieza was still standing.
Unmoved
UNFAZED.
Not a step taken. Not a tremor in his posture. The punch had landed.
And done nothing.
Beerus stared.
"…Fuck," he said, quietly. Honestly.
In that instant, Frieza moved.
He turned, smooth as silk, placing his foot atop Beerus' own—pinning it, anchoring him in place.
And then—
Impacts.
A storm of blows detonated against Beerus' torso, each punch precise, vicious, impossibly fast. Not wild. Not enraged.
Controlled.
Frieza struck while calmly lifting a hand to fix his hair upward.
His fingers combing through it as if this were a mirror and not a god beneath his fists.
Each hit landed with surgical intent—ribs, sternum, diaphragm—stacking damage faster than Beerus' instincts could react.
No wasted motion.
No mercy.
Frieza leaned in slightly, voice low, almost conversational.
"You should have killed me," he said, punching again. "When you had the chance."
The universe shuddered.
And for the first time in a very long while—
Beerus was no longer certain he was the apex predator in the room.
Beerus didn't just fly.
He was removed.
Frieza's punch didn't send him backward—it ejected him from the moment, from the space he occupied, from the assumption that gods stood at the top of things.
The void folded as he tore through it, his body spinning end over end, dignity stripped away with every rotation. Space bent around him, stars smearing into lines, until impact came—not with resistance, but surrender.
Then something broke his trajectory.
A planet.
Beerus hit the surface like a thrown god, the crust folding inward, a crater blooming beneath his body. Mountains collapsed into dust. Oceans shuddered on the far side of the world.
Silence followed.
Ash drifted.
Smoke curled.
From the edge of the crater, a Innocentchild climbed down.
Curiosity—pure, unguarded—Curious in the way only the unafraid can be some presence drew them down into the smoking crater.
They peered over the edge and saw him: a purple, cat-like figure embedded in stone, abdomen caved inward by the perfect shape of a fist.
"Are you alright, mister?" the innocent child asked.
The innocent question never mattered.
Beerus' aura stirred.
Not consciously. Not deliberately.
indifferently—washed outward.
The innocent child vanished
The child was erased—no light, no sound, no scream.
One instant present, the next gone, as if the universe itself rejected the idea they had ever been born.
Potential years, choices, futures.....collapsed into nothing.
A true example of god stepping on an ant.
Beerus' eyes snapped open.
Rage surged, incandescent and absolute.
He pressed one hand into the planet's crust and pushed.
The world died.
The mantle split. The core ruptured. The planet screamed apart in slow, horrifying seconds as cities disintegrated mid-life, species vanished without ever knowing why, entire civilizations erased between heartbeats.
Histories ended without witnesses.
A casual genocide.
Debris and fire spiraled outward as Beerus launched himself back into space, the shattered remains of the world chasing him like a broken halo.
His body healed.
His power stabilized.
But something else festered—something far worse than pain.
Fear.
Not the small kind.
The kind gods are never meant to feel.
For the first time since his ascension, Beerus understood the truth with brutal clarity:
This wasn't punishment.
This wasn't rebellion.
This was replacement knocking on the door.
And far away, amid the ruin of his shattered chamber, Frieza stood untouched—arms crossed, posture relaxed, presence crushing—waiting patiently.
Not for permission.
For the next course.
And this time, it wouldn't be steak.
---
Whis stood beside the viewport, hands folded, staff resting lightly against the floor. Outside, stars drifted like indifferent witnesses.
Frieza approached as though nothing in the universe had just been shaken to its foundation
"Hello, Whis," Frieza said pleasantly. "How are you on this fine day?"
Whis turned, eyes half-lidded, smile immaculate—measured, surgical.
"Perfectly well, Mr. Frieza. Although I must say… the food you provided Ten days ago was most excellent."
Frieza's smile never wavered. It was carved in place, polished to a lethal sheen.
"I'll inform my chefs," he replied smoothly.
"They'll be thrilled to know they had the divine privilege of pleasing a being who watches gods die for a living."
"Fufufu," Whis chuckled, the sound light, almost musical.
Then Frieza stopped walking.
The temperature in the room didn't change.
Reality did.
"Tell me something, Whis," Frieza said casually.
"What happens when a God of Destruction is killed?"
"I heard from an wise man that there are consequences in killing a God."
The smile stayed.
The room tightened.
The air shifted.
Minutely.
"That would be… highly unlikely," Whis answered, smile intact. "Though I suppose it is no longer impossible. In such a case, I would be obligated to revive him. Allowing a God of Destruction to perish under my watch would be a stain on my record."
Frieza turned his head just enough for one crimson eye to catch the light.
"Obligated," he repeated. "Such a heavy word."
Frieza stepped closer while nodded, as if discussing weather.
"And if," he continued, unblinking, "the God of Destruction himself were to request that his Angel not interfere?"
Whis' smile deepened.
"Well," he said softly, "then I would have no choice but to respect my lord's wishes."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
The kind of silence that knows something irreversible has already been decided.
Frieza clasped his hands behind his back, posture relaxed, tone almost idle.
"One final question, then," he said. "Who would assume the mantle of Destroyer?"
Whis didn't hesitate.
"It would be the one who killed the previous God of Destruction, of course."
The words settled like ash.
Frieza's smile finally changed—not larger, not crueler—satisfied.
"So simple," he murmured. "The universe does enjoy clean rules."
Outside, somewhere far beyond the ship, Beerus was returning—fur burning with fury, pride bleeding through the cracks, power roaring to reassert dominance.
Inside, Frieza merely waited.
Not as a challenger.
Not as a tyrant.
But as something far more dangerous.
A successor who had already read the fine print.
---
Your balls must be turning purple by now huh.
Sexy pic:-
Off topic but jjk has been going off my boy Toji is getting mentioned damn near every episode.
You KNOW your op when you barely have any Time in the story yet you are the main attraction.
Not to mention My boy Yuji is getting glazed in Modulo.
They are saying he is the strongest that ever was. Surpassing both Gojo and sakuna.
I never seen my stocks go through the roof like it is going now. It is honestly peak.