-Planet Xito
Nappa slammed into a canyon wall, the impact spiderwebbing the stone for ten meters in every direction. He coughed, spitting out a glob of blood that sizzled on the hot rock. His armor was gone, shredded down
"Get up, monkey," a voice boomed from above.
Hovering in the air was the Xito Warlord. He was a monolithic creature, encased in natural bio-armor that shimmered like oil. His power level sat comfortably at 13,000.
To put that in perspective, Nappa, even after six years of relentless frontline warfare and Zenkai boosts, was hovering around 7,500. Zuto and Toma, currently unconscious in a pile of rubble nearby, hadn't even cracked 5,000.
They weren't fighting a battle; they were being dismantled.
Nappa pushed himself off the wall. His legs shook, but he locked his knees, forcing himself upright.
"Is that all?" Nappa wheezed. A low, gravelly chuckle started in his chest, building into a manic laugh. "I've seen Saibamen hit harder than you."
The Warlord's eyes narrowed. "Your arrogance is tiresome. You are broken. Your squad is dead. Yet you laugh?"
"I laugh," Nappa grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth, "because your technique is sloppy. You have all that power, and you still can't aim. If I had your strength, this planet would already be dust."
It was a bluff. Nappa knew he was dead. But a Saiyan dies spitting in the enemy's eye.
"Then let us test that theory," the Warlord said coldly.
He raised a single hand. Energy gathered in his palm, a dense, violet sphere that distorted the air around it. An execution blast, enough power to vaporize Nappa and the square mile of canyon behind him.
Nappa widened his stance. He watched the light build, waiting for the end.
The Warlord fired. But the beam never left his hand.
There was no sound at first. Just a sudden, violent displacement of air.
A sonic boom shattered the canyon silence a split second later, followed immediately by a wet, sickening crunch.
The Warlord vanished.
One moment he was hovering in the sky; the next, he was embedded in the canyon floor, fifty meters below. The impact crater was perfectly circular.
Dust billowed up, obscuring the center of the pit.
Nappa blinked, shielding his eyes from the grit. The violet energy sphere had dissipated harmlessly into sparks.
As the dust settled, a figure became visible standing atop the Warlord's crushed chest.
He was tall, standing just over six feet, with a lean build that prioritized speed and leverage over sheer bulk. He wore the black and gold Elite armor of the Garl unit, but the cape and shoulder pads were gone, deemed too impractical for the speed at which he moved. His hair, once a wild mane, was now tied back in a high, severe ponytail that reached his shoulder blades.
Cress.
He was fourteen years old.
He didn't look at Nappa. He looked down at the Warlord beneath his boot. The alien was dead, his ribcage collapsed entirely by a single, precise stomp.
"Sloppy," Cress murmured, echoing Nappa's taunt.
A second impact shook the ground.
Ruca landed softly beside him.
Six years had been kind to her. At twenty-one, she was in her prime. She stood at equal height to Cress, her frame filled out with dense, powerful muscle that the Elite armor struggled to contain. Her hair was loose, a wild halo around a face that had hardened into pure boredom.
She glanced at the corpse, then at Nappa.
"We leave you alone for ten minutes," Ruca sighed, crossing her arms. "And you manage to find the only thing on this rock that can actually fight."
Nappa wiped the blood from his mouth. He didn't yell. He didn't berate them for being late. He just stared at the dead Warlord, then at the two kids who had surpassed him.
"Took you long enough," Nappa grunted, limping toward them. "I was just softening him up."
"Right," Cress said, stepping off the body. "Transport is inbound. Let's go."
--
The hum of the FTL drive was usually enough to put a soldier to sleep, but the atmosphere inside the transport ship was restless.
Nappa sat in the pilot's seat, nursing a broken rib and a bruised ego. Zuto and Toma were in the medical tanks in the back, healing from their near-death experience.
Cress sat in the cargo hold, legs crossed, eyes closed.
To the sensors on the ship, and to Nappa's scouter, Cress was reading a steady, non-threatening 9,000.
Nine thousand, Cress thought, focusing on the mental dampeners he had built over the last six years. Just below the King. High enough to command respect, low enough to avoid a knife in the back.
The reality was different.
His true power, the "burst" maximum he could unleash in a fight, was pushing 20,000. He was rivaling the heavy hitters of the Frieza Force. He could probably go toe-to-toe with Zarbon in his base form, though the monster transformation would still be a problem.
He opened one eye and looked at Ruca.
She was cleaning her gloves, looking utterly disinterested in the universe.
Under his tutelage, she had mastered suppression only, though she lacked Cress control. She walked around at 9,500. Her maximum? It was messy, and could change depending on the situation but it was around 15K to 18K.
They were the two strongest warriors in the squad. Probably the two strongest Saiyans alive besides the King and the young Prince.
Cress mentally reviewed his arsenal.
The Kienzan was no longer a desperate melee weapon; he could throw it with sniper-like precision now. The Sokidan was second nature. The Afterimage had evolved into a seamless combat integration, allowing him to move faster than the eye could process without burning excess Ki.
And then there was the Multi-Form.
A shiver ran down his spine. That technique had nearly killed him. Splitting his soul, dividing his very existence into two autonomous halves, was the hardest thing he had ever done. It had taken 3 years of meditation and migraines.
But he had done it. He could create a copy. A perfect, breathing decoy. He hadn't used it yet, he had yet to plan his departure.
He pulled up the galactic map on his datapad.
Target A: Earth. Located. It was a backwater rock in the North Galaxy.
Target B: Namek. Unknown.
Target C: Yardrat. Unknown.
Time is running out, Cress realized, scrolling past the star charts. Prince Vegeta was born over a year ago.
The ship's communication console suddenly lit up, bathing the dark cabin in harsh red emergency light.
"Priority Override," the computer announced. "Message from Capital Command."
Nappa grunted, hitting the receiver. "This is Nappa. We're en route."
"Change of orders, Commander," the voice on the other end was clipped, terrified. "All active personnel are recalled to Planet Vegeta immediately. No exceptions. No delays."
"We just cleared the sector," Nappa argued. "We need refuel and repair."
"Did you not hear me?" the voice cracked. "King Cold is here. He has summoned the entire race."
The line went dead.
Nappa froze. He turned the pilot's chair around, looking at Cress and Ruca. For the first time in years, the brute looked unsettled.
"King Cold," Nappa muttered. "In person."
Cress felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He stood up, walking to the viewport.
"It's happening," Cress whispered.
---
The Royal Spaceport was usually a scene of organized chaos, fuel loaders, droids, and shouting mechanics.
Today, it was a graveyard.
Thousands of Attack Balls and transport ships were docked in tight rows. The entire Saiyan military apparatus had been grounded. There was no noise. No shouting. Just the sound of wind whipping across the landing pads.
Nappa landed the ship in Hangar 4. They disembarked in silence.
The atmosphere on the planet had changed. It wasn't just the tension of the soldiers. It was a physical pressure.
Cress stopped at the bottom of the ramp, clutching his chest.
It was a darkness.
He had sensed strong Ki before. Zarbon felt like a deep, cold ocean.
But this? This was an abyss.
Two massive signatures were descending from the upper atmosphere. One was heavy, ancient, and oppressive, King Cold.
The other...
The other felt like death. It was smaller, sharper, but infinitely denser. It felt like malice distilled into a liquid form. It made Cress physically nauseous.
'Frieza,' Cress thought. He's actually here.
They marched to the main assembly ground outside the Palace.
The hierarchy was visible in the formation. The Mid-Class formed the back.
The Elites stood at the front.
Cress and Ruca took their places in the Garl Unit formation. Commander Garl stood rigid, his hands shaking slightly behind his back.
In the center of the plaza, King Vegeta stood with his advisors. Next to him was Paragus, who looked like he was about to faint.
"Look up," Cress whispered to Ruca.
The clouds parted.
They didn't just part; they were shoved aside.
King Cold's flagship was enormous. It didn't bother with landing protocols. It descended with arrogant lethargy, crushing a high-rise communications tower beneath its hull as if the structure were made of cardboard. Debris rained down on the city, but no one moved. No one dared to run.
He's still here, Cress realized. Kakarot hasn't been sent off yet.
The flagship touched down, crushing the pavement of the Royal Plaza. Steam hissed from the landing struts, fogging the area.
The ramp lowered.
King Cold emerged first. He was massive, wearing a cape that seemed to flow like liquid blood. His horns curved upward, sharp and cruel. He walked with the casual stride of a being who owned everything his eyes touched.
Behind him walked his entourage, Zarbon, Dodoria, sneering at the gathered monkeys, and the Ginyu Force.
And then, a small hover-pod floated down the ramp.
Sitting inside was a small being with purple and white skin, black horns, and a tail that draped over the side of the pod.
Frieza.
He looked small. Fragile, even.
But Cress knew better
King Vegeta stepped forward. He looked small compared to Cold.
"It's been a long time, King Vegeta," Cold rumbled, his voice deep and smooth.
"It is an honor to have you here, Great King Cold," King Vegeta said, lifting his hand for a formal greeting. He was trying to maintain dignity, trying to look like a partner rather than a servant.
King Cold ignored the hand completely. He turned slightly, placing a massive hand on the shoulder of the small being in the hover-pod.
"This is my son," Cold announced. "Frieza. Meet the Saiyan King."
Frieza stepped out of the pod. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, savoring the air, before opening them. His red pupils bore into King Vegeta.
"Hmm," Frieza made a sound of mild distaste.
King Vegeta faltered. The rejection of the handshake was a deliberate public humiliation.
"Oh, uh, yes," the King stammered, dropping to one knee hurriedly. The other advisors and Elites around him dropped instantly.
Cress knelt. Ruca knelt. Nappa knelt.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Frieza. Welcome."
"I believe you'll find the pleasure is all mine," Frieza said. His voice was high, polite, and terrifying. He smiled, looking down at the kneeling monarch.
Frieza and his father shared a dark chuckle. King Vegeta remained bowed, his fists clenched against the stone, veins bulging in his neck.
"Anyway, I'll get straight to the point," King Cold said, his voice carrying to the back of the silent crowd. "I am retiring, effective immediately."
A ripple of shock went through the Saiyans, quickly suppressed.
"From this moment on," Cold continued, patting Frieza's back, "Frieza will be your Commander. In other words, the Cold Force now becomes the Frieza Force."
King Vegeta lifted his head, panic in his eyes. "Does that mean—"
"Nothing is changing," Frieza cut in smoothly. "The Saiyans will continue to serve us by following my orders."
King Cold grinned. "I suppose I should warn you of one difference. You'll find that my son has a short temper. And is even more cold-hearted than I am."
Frieza pushed his father's hand off his shoulder gently. He stepped forward, addressing the ocean of kneeling warriors.
"Hahaha! Hello, monkeys!" Frieza called out. "I have such high expectations for you. For your sake, I hope you live up to them."
Cress kept his head down, staring at the polished boots of the Elite in front of him. He calls us monkeys to our faces. He really is Frieza, this is not a dream.
"To commemorate my rise to power," Frieza continued, signaling a nearby attendant, "I brought along new combat items to aid you in your servitude."
The attendant opened a crate, revealing rows of sleek, colored devices.
"These devices are called Scouters," Frieza explained, picking one up. It was blue. "You'll find them far more compact and powerful than the old bulky models you've been using until now. They also function as communicators."
He placed the device over his left ear. The lens glowed red.
"The display should be familiar. They show your target's position and battle power, just like the old ones."
Frieza paused. His expression shifted to one of mock surprise.
"Oh dear? It appears that a number of Saiyans have weapons trained on us."
The crowd froze.
"Let's see," Frieza mused, turning his head toward a distant watchtower on the perimeter of the plaza. "The Saiyan hiding in that tower has a battle power of 2,000. That's quite an impressive number."
He didn't move his body. He simply lifted a finger.
"HAA."
A death beam, thin and purple, shot from his fingertip. It crossed the distance instantly.
BOOM.
The watchtower exploded. Debris rained down on the screaming civilians below.
Frieza didn't stop. He turned his finger slightly.
"And there. And there. And there."
Three more beams. Three more explosions. Three snipers who thought they were hidden were vaporized before they could pull a trigger.
Frieza lowered his hand, blowing imaginary smoke from his finger.
"I assume you get the picture," he smiled. "They are useful, are they not?"
King Vegeta was shaking. Whether from fear or rage, it was impossible to tell.
"I'll leave five hundred units behind as a gift for your troops," Frieza said, turning back to his pod. "If you don't think that's enough, feel free to complain."
He floated back into the hover chair.
"I believe we're done here."
The tyrants turned their backs on the Saiyan race. They ascended the ramp, laughing amongst themselves.
As the airlock hissed shut, a heavy, suffocating silence descended on the plaza. King Vegeta remained kneeling for a long time, humiliated in front of his entire army.
Cress stood up slowly.
He looked at the retreating ship. He looked at the smoking ruins of the watchtowers.
He looked at Ruca. Her face was pale, stripped of its usual boredom.
"The clock has started," Cress whispered.
The era of King Cold was over. The era of Frieza had begun.
--
King Vegeta stormed through the halls of the Palace, his cape snapping behind him like a whip. The polished obsidian floor reflected his fury, but it could not cool it.
The image of Frieza, that small, smug lizard, burned in his mind. Kneel, monkey. The humiliation was absolute. To be bowed before his entire army, to be treated like a pet, it was intolerable.
He burst into the Royal Nursery.
This was his sanctuary. The air here was cool, filtered, and quiet. Rows of elite incubation pods lined the walls, but only one mattered.
In the center of the room, on a raised dais, sat the capsule of his heir.
Prince Vegeta.
The King stopped before the glass. Inside, the boy floated in the red suspension fluid. He was small, his limbs thin, but his face already held a scowl that mirrored his father's.
The King placed a hand on the cool glass.
"Look at you," Vegeta whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and pride. "You are perfect."
He checked the readout. The numbers were steady, climbing with a terrifying consistency. The boy was a prodigy. A true Elite.
"They think they own us," the King muttered to his sleeping son. "they think we are tools to be used and discarded. But they do not know you. You will surpass them. You will surpass us all."
He leaned closer, his reflection merging with the boy's face.
"You will be the King of everything. Not a servant. Not a Commander. A God."
The conviction settled his racing heart. This was the plan. Endure the humiliation today so that his son could conquer tomorrow.
He turned away from the pod, intending to leave.
Then he stopped. He saw an infant he didn't know.
King Vegeta walked toward it, his boots echoing loudly in the silence.
Inside floated a baby. It was larger than the Prince, its limbs thick and heavy. It slept peacefully, unbothered by the gravity or the fluid.
"Who is this?" the King demanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
A medic, Shito, scrambled out from behind a monitoring station. He bowed frantically.
"Sire! I—I apologize! We were running diagnostics on the overflow units, and this one required... specialized monitoring."
"Whose brat is in my nursery?" Vegeta snarled.
"It is... Broly, Sire," Shito stammered. "The son of Colonel Paragus."
"Paragus?" The King scoffed. Paragus was a capable soldier, but he was of low birth. "Why is a Colonel's son in the Elite wing?"
"His readings, Sire," Shito said, looking nervously at the pod. "They are... erratic. But high. Abnormally high."
King Vegeta narrowed his eyes. "Define high."
"Higher than... well..." Shito swallowed hard. "Potentially higher than the Prince."
The silence in the room became suffocating.
"Impossible," the King whispered.
He shoved Shito aside and grabbed a scouter from the nearby table, one of the new models Frieza had just delivered. He strapped it to his face and pressed the button.
He looked at the sleeping infant.
Beep.
The numbers flickered.
The King frowned. A malfunction.
Then the baby stirred. Broly opened his eyes. He looked at the King, and then he began to cry.
It wasn't a whimper. It was a scream.
The scouter shrieked.
Crack.
The lens of the scouter shattered, sparking against the King's eye. He ripped the device off and threw it to the floor.
"Broken trash!" Vegeta shouted. "Frieza mocks us with defective equipment!"
"It wasn't a malfunction, Sire."
The voice came from the shadows. Nion, the chief geneticist, stepped forward. She held a datapad, her face pale.
"I have been monitoring the fluctuations for a week," she said, tapping the screen. "Even discounting the emotional spikes, his resting power is... monstrous. It defies our understanding of Saiyan biology."
She looked at the King, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"The ancient texts speak of a warrior who appears once every thousand years. A being of limitless destruction."
"The Legendary Super Saiyan," Vegeta finished, the words tasting like ash.
Nion nodded. "Broly fits the profile."
King Vegeta looked back at the pod. The baby had stopped crying, but the energy in the room was still palpable. It felt heavy, like the air before a storm.
Paranoia clawed at the King's mind.
A Super Saiyan.
It was the very thing Frieza feared. It was the weapon that could liberate their race.
But it was also a threat.
If Broly was the Legend... then Prince Vegeta was not.
If Broly grew up stronger than the Prince, the people would rally behind him. The Blood Royal would be challenged. The hierarchy would crumble. Paragus would use the boy to seize the throne.
"I should kill him," the King thought.
It was the logical move. The ruthless move. Erase the threat before it could walk.
He looked at Broly. He looked at the sleeping Prince.
Then, a memory flashed in his mind.
Cress.
The mechanic. The Low Class mutant who had vaporized a fortress. The boy who had survived the King's own assassin and then lied to save the King's face.
If I kill him, I lose a weapon, the King realized.
He had tried to kill Cress, and it had backfired. Cress had become stronger. Cress had become useful.
If Broly really was a Super Saiyan... throwing him away was madness. Frieza was too strong. The Prince, perfect as he was, might not be enough. They needed more. They needed monsters.
But a monster could not be allowed to roam free. A monster needed a leash.
The King lowered his hand.
A cold, calculating smile spread across his face.
"Paragus will be pleased," the King said softly.
Shito blinked. "Sire?"
"The boy is strong," King Vegeta announced, turning to the medic. "He is an asset to the Empire. We do not waste assets."
He walked over to the console and punched in a command override.
"Flag his file. When he is decanted... he does not go to Paragus."
"Sire?" Nion asked, confused. "Where is he going?"
"He goes to Nappa," the King said.
Shito and Nion exchanged horrified glances.
"Nappa's squad?" Shito stammered. "But Sire... that is a frontline assault unit. It is a death sentence for a child! Nappa breaks rookies!"
"Nappa breaks weak rookies," the King corrected. "If Broly is truly legendary, he will survive. If he dies... then he was just a mutant with a glitchy power level."
The King paced the room, his mind racing.
This was the solution.
He wouldn't exile Broly to a dead planet like Vampa. That would just create a vengeful ghost waiting to return.
No. He would put Broly right next to the Prince.
"My son will lead Nappa's squad when he comes of age," the King explained, mostly to himself. "He will have the Mutant Cress. He will have this Broly. He will be surrounded by the strongest freaks our race has ever produced."
He looked at Nion.
"Do you understand? By the time they are adults, my son will not just be a King. He will be the alpha of a pack of monsters. They will fight for him. They will bleed for him. And if they step out of line..."
He clenched his fist.
"...he will be strong enough to put them down."
It was a gamble. A massive, dangerous gamble. Placing two potential usurpers, Cress and Broly, in the same room as his heir was like storing dynamite next to a lit match.
But Frieza was the bomb. And to stop a bomb, you needed dynamite.
"Keep him in the tank," the King ordered. "Suppress the reports. As far as the public knows, Paragus's son is... robust. Nothing more."
"And Paragus?" Nion asked.
"Paragus will be told it is a great honor," the King sneered. "His son serves the Prince directly. He will be so blinded by the prestige he won't realize I've stolen his legacy."
King Vegeta walked to the door. He paused, looking back at the two pods.
The Prince. And the Legend.
"Let them grow together," the King whispered. "Let them hate Frieza together."
He walked out of the nursery.
The pieces were on the board.
Cress. Broly. Vegeta.
Three anomalies. Three potential kings.
And somewhere in the dark, Frieza was laughing.
'Let him laugh,' King Vegeta thought, his cape swirling as he marched toward the War Room. He thinks he has broken us. He does not know what I am building in the dark.
--
Well i decided to have Cress teach Ruca how to suppress her energy at least.
What did you think of this chapter ?