In a distant corner of the Seventh Universe, countless planets traced their ancient orbits through the void with mechanical precision. One such world—an unremarkable rock in the Northern Galaxy—rotated slowly on its axis, its surface scarred by millennia of cosmic weathering.
From somewhere on that desolate planet came a sound that would chill the blood of anyone unfortunate enough to hear it: the screaming of Frieza, once-emperor of the universe, now reduced to something far more pitiful.
"AHHHHHHHHH!" The cry tore from his throat, raw and agonized.
Frieza writhed on the barren ground, golden aura flickering weakly around his transformed body. His claws scraped furrows in the rock as wave after wave of excruciating pain coursed through every nerve in his body. It felt like his cells were being torn apart and reassembled, over and over, an endless cycle of torment that no physical endurance could overcome.
This had become his existence ever since Raditz had released him from imprisonment.
At first, Frieza had been so grateful to escape that cursed fate. When Raditz inexplicably let him go, Frieza had fled Earth immediately, seeking refuge in the outer reaches of the Northern Galaxy where the Galactic Justice League's influence was weakest.
He wasn't afraid of most of the League's members. Aside from Raditz himself, none of them could match his power, especially not in his Golden form. He could carve out a new empire, rebuild what had been taken from him, rise again to dominance...
Or so he'd thought.
Then the curse manifested.
It started as a dull ache whenever he contemplated revenge. A slight discomfort when he imagined conquering new worlds. But it escalated rapidly. Now, any time Frieza harbored evil thoughts—and for someone like him, that meant constantly—the pain became unbearable. And when he actually attempted to act on those impulses, to commit acts of destruction or cruelty? The agony magnified a thousandfold, tearing through his body and mind with merciless intensity.
Even transforming into his Golden state provided no relief. The curse seemed to exist on a level beyond mere physical power.
"What... what IS this?!" Frieza gasped between screams, slamming his fists into the ground with enough force to create crater upon crater. "DAMN IT! DAMN RADITZ! DAMN EVERYTHING!"
The irony was exquisite in its cruelty: the more angry and destructive Frieza became, the worse the pain grew. But forcing himself to remain calm, to suppress his natural sadistic impulses and simply exist peacefully? That was a torture of its own kind. Every fiber of his being screamed to lash out, to destroy, to dominate—but doing so brought suffering beyond imagination.
He was trapped in a catch-22 of his own nature. Do nothing and feel his psyche slowly fracture. Do something and experience physical agony that made death seem merciful.
Tears leaked from Frieza's bloodshot eyes—not from emotion but from pure physical reaction to the pain. His muscles were corded with tension, veins bulging obscenely across his purple-and-white form. Sweat poured from his body despite the cold vacuum of space above the planet's thin atmosphere.
"Hah... hah... hah..." Frieza's breathing gradually slowed as he forced himself to calm down, to push past the rage and find some measure of equilibrium. His face remained twisted in residual pain, but the worst of the spasms were subsiding.
Then his eyes snapped to the left, that predatory instinct that had kept him alive for so long triggering an alarm in his brain.
He wasn't alone.
Figures materialized from the shadows of nearby rock formations—three individuals wearing black cloaks, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods. They moved with practiced stealth, trying to maintain an air of mystery and intimidation.
"You detected our presence." The lead figure's voice carried false admiration. "Impressive. Truly worthy of the former Emperor of Universe Seven. However, is this any way to greet guests who've traveled so far to—"
Frieza moved.
One moment he was on the ground, seemingly weakened and vulnerable. The next, he stood directly in front of the speaker, his hand already in motion. There was a wet crack, and the hooded figure's head simply ceased to exist—obliterated by a casual backhand strike that left nothing but a stump of neck trailing blood.
The headless corpse toppled backward.
"Don't ever speak to me in that condescending tone," Frieza said quietly, his voice deadly calm despite the pain still wracking his body. A trickle of blood ran down his arm where his victim's skull fragments had cut him.
The remaining cloaked figures froze in absolute shock. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. They'd planned to make a dramatic entrance, project authority, put Frieza on the defensive and negotiate from a position of strength.
Instead, one of them was already dead, killed so casually it was almost an afterthought.
Frieza radiated menace with every movement, every breath. Even diminished by his curse, even visibly suffering, he projected an aura of dominance that was impossible to ignore. This was a being who had ruled galaxies through terror, who had crushed countless civilizations beneath his heel. Power practically dripped from him like blood.
As Frieza's hand rose again, clearly preparing to eliminate the rest of them, the survivors screamed in panic.
"WAIT! WAIT!" They threw up their hands in surrender, abandoning all pretense of dignity. "We're here to make a deal! A proposition!"
"Oh?" Frieza's hand paused mid-swing, though his eyes remained cold and pitiless. "A deal, you say? Speak. Quickly."
One of them swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "W-We come from Universe Four, sent by Lord Quitela, God of Destruction of our universe. He wishes to invite you to participate in the Tournament of Power—fighting as a warrior representing Universe Four rather than Universe Seven."
Frieza's eyes narrowed dangerously. "The Tournament of Power?"
The cloaked figures realized their error—Frieza had no knowledge of current events. Frantically, stumbling over their words in their haste, they explained everything: Lord Zeno's announcement, the battle royale format, the eight universes that would be erased, the Super Dragon Balls as the ultimate prize for the winners.
As they spoke, Frieza's expression gradually transformed. The pain-wracked grimace shifted into something calculating. Then, slowly, his lips curled into that familiar sinister smile.
"I see, I see..." He tapped one claw against his chin, mind racing through possibilities. "So the losing universes will be completely erased—everyone in them gone forever. But the winning team can use the Super Dragon Balls to make any wish they desire." His smile widened. "And your God of Destruction has promised that I would be allowed to make that final wish? Is that correct?"
"Yes! Lord Quitela is willing to grant you that privilege!"
"How generous." Frieza's tail swished behind him in a gesture that could mean anything. "But I'm afraid I have a small problem with your proposal."
The agents tensed.
"You see," Frieza continued conversationally, "I don't actually know anything about Universe Four's strength. Your first representative—" he gestured casually at the headless corpse "—didn't exactly inspire confidence. So perhaps you could give me a proper demonstration?"
Understanding dawned on their faces a split second too late.
Frieza moved with blinding speed, his foot catching the nearest agent directly in the face. The crushing force drove the victim's head into the ground, shattering bone and stone simultaneously. Blood sprayed across the barren landscape in an arterial spray.
"No—please—!" The last surviving messenger tried to flee, but Frieza was already upon him.
"Let's see what Universe Four truly has to offer, shall we?"
What followed was less a fight and more a massacre. Frieza unleashed his full repertoire of techniques—Death Beams that pierced through organs with surgical precision, invisible slashing attacks that opened gaping wounds, explosive strikes that pulverized bones into fragments. The entire time, his face was twisted in a rictus of pain from his curse, but that somehow made his assault even more terrifying.
He was killing while suffering unimaginable agony, and doing it anyway because the alternative—showing weakness, showing mercy—was simply not in his nature.
The Universe Four agents screamed, begged, tried desperately to defend themselves. It was utterly futile.
"STOP! PLEASE, STOP!"
Frieza raised his hand for a killing blow—
"ENOUGH."
The voice boomed across the planet's surface, carrying such weight that even Frieza hesitated. It emanated from a crystal communication orb that one of the dying agents had managed to activate in desperation, hoping their God of Destruction could save them.
Within the crystal's depths, an image formed: Quitela, seated on his throne, staring across the universe directly at Frieza.
"Oh my." Frieza's tone shifted to something almost amused. "The God of Destruction himself. I recognize the attire—similar styling to Lord Beerus, though different coloring. How delightful."
"Are you rejecting my invitation?" Quitela's voice was ice-cold, his eyes burning with barely restrained fury. Killing intent radiated from him even through the dimensional barrier, a pressure so immense that it made reality itself seem to warp slightly.
Even Frieza, with all his power and pride, felt a tremor run through his body. His instincts screamed danger in a way few beings had ever triggered.
"Reject? Oh no, Lord Quitela." Frieza's smile never wavered despite the cold sweat now beading on his forehead. "I would never dare refuse an invitation from a God of Destruction. You see, I simply despise the inhabitants of Universe Seven—Raditz and his pathetic Justice League most of all. I was merely... testing the caliber of Universe Four's representatives to ensure you were worthy of my services." He shook his head with theatrical disappointment. "Unfortunately, they proved rather lacking."
"Those weren't our tournament fighters," Quitela said coldly. "They were messengers, nothing more. If you wish to test Universe Four's true strength, you're welcome to try once you arrive. Of course..." His smile turned predatory. "I might decide to test you as well."
Frieza froze.
His battlefield awareness—honed through decades of warfare—screamed a warning. He spun around just in time to see one of the supposedly defeated agents rising to their feet, clutching something in their trembling hands.
A sphere of purple-black energy pulsed between the agent's palms—small, beautiful, mesmerizing in its swirling patterns. But the power emanating from it made Frieza's blood run cold.
Destruction energy. Pure, concentrated, absolutely lethal.
The terrifying aura radiating from that tiny orb made every survival instinct Frieza possessed fire simultaneously. Even in his Golden form, even at full power, he didn't dare touch that thing carelessly. It would erase him. Not kill—erase. Remove him from existence at the fundamental level.
He could probably destroy or deflect it if he transformed and gave it his full attention, but doing so would constitute a direct attack on Universe Four's God of Destruction. That would make him an enemy, and Quitela would likely have him eliminated on principle.
Frieza's mind raced through his options in microseconds, calculating odds and outcomes with the cold precision of a born strategist.
Then, surprisingly, he relaxed. His vicious smile softened into something almost genuine as an idea crystallized in his mind.
"Raditz..." Frieza murmured, too quietly for the crystal orb to pick up. "Let's see if you'll come looking for me when you realize I'm gone. How delicious that would be." The thought of Raditz's potential reaction—anger, confusion, maybe even concern—brought a momentary respite from his curse's pain. "Hahahaha..."
He turned back to Quitela's image, spreading his arms in a gesture of acceptance. "Lord Quitela, there's no need for further testing. I've made my decision. I will join Universe Four for this Tournament of Power. After all, what better revenge against Universe Seven than helping to eliminate them entirely?"
Quitela seemed surprised by how quickly Frieza capitulated, but only for a moment. Then understanding dawned—of course Frieza would submit when faced with genuine Destruction energy. No mortal, no matter how powerful, could stand against that without committing suicide.
And once Frieza arrived in Universe Four, he would be completely under Quitela's control. There would be no backing out, no last-minute betrayals. The emperor would have no choice but to serve.
"Wise decision," Quitela purred. "Cognac! Retrieve them immediately."
Before the conversation could continue, Frieza moved one final time. His hand shot out, a concentrated Death Beam lancing through the chest of the agent holding the crystal orb. The strike was precise, piercing the heart without damaging any other organs—a kill shot that gave just enough time for realization before death.
"You're a troublesome one, aren't you?" Frieza said pleasantly to the dying agent, watching the light fade from their eyes. "I do hate loose ends."
The crystal orb tumbled from nerveless fingers, striking the ground and shattering into countless glittering fragments.
A moment later, divine light enveloped the area as Cognac's transportation ability activated. Frieza and the surviving Universe Four agents were pulled across dimensional space, vanishing from Universe Seven entirely.
The light faded.
The ancient planet fell silent once more, its surface now decorated with fresh corpses and blood splatter—evidence of Frieza's brutality. But the emperor himself was gone, spirited away to another universe entirely.
On the barren, empty landscape, only the dead remained as witnesses to what had transpired.