The Grand Priest had given them thirty-nine hours. In that time, he would construct an arena capable of withstanding god-level combat in the World of Void—an infinite dimension of absolute nothingness. Meanwhile, each universe would scramble to assemble their ten-warrior roster, racing against a clock that seemed far too short for the task at hand.
Universe Seven, at least, had the advantage of concentration. Most of their potential candidates lived on or near Earth, eliminating the need to search across entire galaxies. That efficiency would give them precious hours for training and strategy development. Other universes weren't so fortunate—some would spend the majority of their preparation time simply finding their strongest warriors, let alone training them to work together.
Thirty-nine hours. Neither impossibly short nor comfortably long. Just enough time to either prepare adequately or fall catastrophically short depending on how wisely those hours were spent.
While most universes threw themselves into frantic preparation—scouring their territories for champions, drilling teamwork into individualistic fighters, developing strategies—two universes chose a different initial approach. Before seeking warriors, before planning tactics, they decided to communicate with each other in secret.
The meeting took place in a pocket dimension, carefully constructed to prevent any external detection. Pillars of light rose from an infinite darkness in all directions, creating a cage of illumination that marked the boundaries of this hidden space. On the ground, an enormous circle had been drawn with divine energy, and within that circle existed a bubble of privacy—a zone where even the Grand Priest's omniscient gaze theoretically couldn't penetrate.
Inside this carefully prepared conspiracy chamber stood the leadership of two universes, their forms obscured by the strategic positioning of the light pillars. This was dangerous business. If anyone discovered this collusion, the consequences could be severe even before the tournament began.
"Sidra." The voice emerged from a crystalline communication orb floating in the center of the circle. Quitela, God of Destruction of Universe Four, spoke with barely contained eagerness. "Have you made your decision? Are you willing to cooperate, or not?"
A long pause followed. Sidra, God of Destruction of Universe Nine, shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. His nature had always tended toward hesitation and indecision—traits that made him perhaps the weakest-willed destroyer among all twelve universes. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, unable to commit to words.
Before Sidra could formulate a response, Roh—Supreme Kai of Universe Nine—shoved forward with considerably less restraint. Unlike his God of Destruction, Roh possessed a hot temper and an aggressive personality that dominated most of their universe's decision-making.
"We'll cooperate!" Roh declared, his voice sharp with barely contained desperation. "We have to cooperate! Our universe can't survive this alone!"
"Hehehehe! Excellent!" Quitela's laugh carried through the orb, filled with predatory satisfaction. "Then we have an agreement. When the tournament begins, our two universes will coordinate our efforts. We'll target fighters from the other competing universes first, eliminate the threats, secure our positions..."
Quitela allowed himself a moment of private triumph. He'd been the first God of Destruction to conceive of this strategy—forming alliances between universes to manipulate the tournament's outcome. The moment the Grand Priest had finished explaining the rules back at Zeno's Palace, Quitela's mind had been racing with possibilities. Universe Nine, being ranked dead last in mortal level, was the perfect target for recruitment. They were desperate, weak, and therefore easily manipulated.
The plan was elegant in its ruthlessness. Universe Nine would serve as his cannon fodder, helping eliminate stronger opponents in the early stages. Then, when the field had been sufficiently thinned and Universe Nine had outlived its usefulness, he could simply... abandon them. Let them fall. One less competitor for the top four positions.
Survival mattered more than honor, after all. The dignity of a God of Destruction meant nothing if you were erased from existence.
"So let's discuss our strategy in detail," Quitela continued. "We need a concrete plan of action—"
"Wait, a plan?" Sidra interrupted, sounding genuinely confused. "Can't we just... cooperate when we see each other during the fighting? Work together in the moment?"
There was a long, painful silence from the crystal orb.
"Sidra," Quitela said slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly dim child, "we can't just 'wing it' when the fate of our universes hangs in the balance. We need strategy. Target prioritization. We need to identify which universes pose the greatest threats and coordinate our efforts to eliminate them first." His voice took on a harder edge. "And personally? I think Universe Seven needs to be at the top of that list. I've wanted to take Beerus down for eons."
The ancient rivalry between Quitela and Beerus was legendary among the Gods of Destruction. They couldn't be in the same room for more than five minutes without violence erupting. This tournament represented the perfect opportunity to finally destroy his long-time rival—and it would be completely sanctioned by the rules.
"Yes!" Roh practically shouted, his enthusiasm suddenly matching Quitela's. He physically pushed Sidra aside, claiming more space in front of the communication orb. "Universe Seven absolutely needs to be dealt with! They're too arrogant, too confident! Raditz in particular—I want to see that smug Saiyan's face when his universe gets erased!"
It was a bizarre dynamic—likely the only case in the multiverse where a Supreme Kai completely overshadowed and dominated their God of Destruction. Sidra simply stood there, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, too timid to even protest being shoved aside.
"Perfect. We're in agreement then." Quitela's voice carried vicious satisfaction. "Now listen carefully. I've been researching Universe Seven since the last tournament, gathering intelligence on their potential fighters. There's one individual who particularly concerns me. His name is Frieza—a notorious villain, exceptionally cruel and powerful."
Quitela paused for emphasis.
"If we could somehow recruit Frieza and bring him to our side, convince him to fight against Universe Seven rather than for them... hehehehe..."
He didn't need to finish the thought. Both Sidra and Roh understood the implications immediately. Using Universe Seven's own weapon against them would be devastatingly effective. The psychological impact alone could shatter team cohesion. And the power differential—losing a fighter as strong as Frieza while simultaneously granting him to the opposition—would swing the balance dramatically.
"But..." Sidra's voice was barely above a whisper. "Isn't that against the rules? Recruiting fighters from another universe?"
"What the Grand Priest doesn't know won't hurt him," Quitela replied smoothly. "Besides, the rules say each universe can select ten fighters. They don't specify that those fighters must be loyal to their universe of origin. If Frieza chooses to sabotage Universe Seven from within, well... that's just unfortunate for them, isn't it?"
The sophistry was paper-thin, but Quitela didn't care. This was about survival, not legal technicalities.
Unexpectedly, not just Sidra but even Roh seemed to hesitate at this suggestion. For all his bluster and hot temper, when it came to actually committing to something genuinely underhanded, Roh's courage evaporated. The defining characteristic of Universe Nine's leadership was cowardice—loud, aggressive cowardice perhaps, but cowardice nonetheless.
Roh's mind raced through the potential consequences. If they tried to recruit Frieza and failed, if Universe Seven discovered the attempt... they'd be the ones to suffer retaliation. And Quitela? That scheming rat would absolutely throw them under the proverbial bus, denying any involvement, leaving Universe Nine to face the consequences alone.
After a long internal debate, Roh shook his head slightly. "That particular plan... maybe you should handle that yourself, Quitela. We'll support you in the tournament, but the Frieza recruitment? That's too risky for us."
Quitela's laugh came through the orb, cold and knowing. He'd expected this. Universe Nine talked big but crumbled when actual risk entered the equation.
"Fine, fine. I'll handle the Frieza situation personally. But don't forget our alliance when the tournament begins. I'll be counting on Universe Nine to hold up their end of the bargain."
"Of course, of course!" Roh nodded frantically, relief evident in his voice. "We'll cooperate fully during the actual tournament! You can count on us!"
The crystalline orb's light dimmed, communication ending. Immediately, the dark pocket dimension dissolved, divine energy dissipating as the secret meeting concluded.
Both Sidra and Roh released simultaneous sighs of relief, feeling like they'd just escaped from a cage. The darkness and cramped atmosphere of that hidden space had made the entire exchange feel suffocating—physically and psychologically oppressive.
"Roh," Sidra said quietly once they'd returned to normal space, "why did you agree to Quitela's alliance so readily? You know his reputation for scheming and betrayal. What happens when he inevitably stabs us in the back at the crucial moment?"
"Hmph." Roh wiped sweat from his brow, his earlier bravado returning now that they were safe. "Of course I know what he's planning. Quitela isn't exactly subtle. But what choice do we have? If we don't form alliances, we'll be eliminated immediately. We're the weakest universe—everyone knows it. Without cooperation, we have zero chance of survival."
He crossed his arms, expression hardening with determination that masked his underlying fear. "At least this way, we'll have support in the early stages. Our fighters won't be the first ones eliminated. That buys us time, gives us options. And you noticed I refused to participate in his Frieza scheme, right? Let Quitela take that risk. If it backfires, Universe Seven will target him, not us."
Sidra absorbed this, nodding slowly. "I suppose... it makes a certain amount of sense."
"It has to be this way," Roh said, though his voice carried a note of resignation. "The weak don't get the luxury of fighting fair. We survive however we can."
Meanwhile, in Universe Four's Destroyer Realm, Quitela reclined in his throne with casual arrogance, sharp teeth chattering together in a gesture of smug satisfaction. The meeting had gone exactly as planned.
Beside him, Cognac—the Angel attendant of Universe Four—smiled with that knowing expression common to all Angels. "Are you truly planning to recruit this Frieza person? Using such methods might displease Lord Zeno, you know. He does value entertainment, but he also appreciates a certain... fairness in competition."
"Hehehehe!" Quitela's laugh was unrepentant. "The rules don't explicitly forbid it. And besides, watching Beerus's universe crumble will be far more entertaining than any 'fair' fight. Lord Zeno loves drama, doesn't he? This will give him plenty."
"Isn't cooperating with Lord Sidra's universe sufficient?" Cognac asked mildly. "Why complicate matters with additional schemes?"
Quitela's expression darkened, humor vanishing. "Did you see how pathetic they were? Universe Nine is useful as disposable pawns, nothing more. I need an actual advantage, not just cannon fodder." He leaned forward, voice dropping to something more serious. "We must be one to survive. I'll use every tool at my disposal to ensure that outcome."
"You have a specific plan for this recruitment, I assume?"
"Naturally." Quitela raised one paw, and purple-black energy began coalescing above his palm. It formed into a perfect sphere of destructive power—beautiful in its way, with swirling patterns of annihilation energy creating mesmerizing designs. The ball pulsed with barely contained force, simultaneously alluring and deadly.
This was the essence of a God of Destruction's power, concentrated and refined. Beautiful to behold, catastrophic to touch.
Cognac's eyes widened fractionally. "You're planning to give them that?"
"Insurance," Quitela said simply. "If Frieza refuses to cooperate, if he proves too loyal to Universe Seven despite his hatred for them... well, then he can't be allowed to participate in the tournament at all. Better to eliminate him entirely than let him fight for our enemies." His smile turned vicious. "Universe Four is known as the Universe of Deceit, but there's more to us than clever words. When necessary, we're perfectly willing to embrace cruelty."
He closed his paw around the destructive energy sphere, containing it. Then, with deliberate intent, he summoned several of Universe Four's most powerful warriors—beings who specialized in infiltration, assassination, and covert operations.
When they arrived and knelt before him, Quitela explained his desires with perfect clarity. The mission was simple: travel to Universe Seven, locate this Frieza in whatever afterlife he currently inhabited, and recruit him to betray his home universe. Promise him resurrection, promise him power, promise him revenge—whatever it took to turn him against Beerus and Raditz.
And if Frieza refused? Well, they had other instructions for that scenario.
"Go," Quitela commanded. "Time is short."
As his agents departed, Quitela returned his attention to the more mundane aspects of tournament preparation. Thirty-nine hours was ticking away, and he still needed to finalize his own ten-fighter roster, develop strategies, ensure his legitimate team was prepared. The Frieza gambit was just one piece of a much larger puzzle.
Cognac watched his charge work, that ever-present smile never wavering. When Quitela's agents requested transport to Universe Seven, the Angel obliged with a tap of his staff, opening dimensional pathways that would deliver the conspirators to their destination.
The pieces were moving. The tournament would begin soon.
And not everyone intended to play by the spirit of the rules.
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