Freeza moved toward his chambers. The hallways stretched in perfect lines, polished metal reflecting the faint hum of the ship's engines.
He activated the force field around his room. Overkill, yes, but he didn't care. Privacy was a rare commodity, and in that privacy he would be free to think, to plan, to breathe without the weight of the entire empire pressing against his skull.
Once inside, he sat cross-legged on the bed. He closed his eyes and focused. First, he released his initial transformation.
The shift hit him like a tide, pressing against every nerve, twisting muscles he didn't know could ache. His chest constricted with the sudden influx of energy, but he ignored the protest. Pain was temporary. Power was permanent.
Hours passed as he cycled through each form, feeling the weight of it, the strain of a body built for destruction but foreign to his mind. By the second transformation, he moved with more control, muscles flexing instinctively, power flowing through him like a second heartbeat.
Third came slower, but once achieved, it felt almost natural, as if the body had finally accepted its occupant. Yet the lingering discomfort reminded him he had not been born to this shell.
Time lost meaning. Morning, night, rotation of the pale-blue gas giant outside—all irrelevant. Space didn't care for day or night, and the human mind trapped in this alien body could barely remember they even existed.
Meditation became his anchor, the only link to himself as he forced the body into obedience. He could feel the pulse of his own power, subtle vibrations crawling along his nerves, warning him of what he now controlled.
And as the power settled, his thoughts shifted outward. The galaxy itself lay sprawled beneath him in reports and logs, in orbital charts and census numbers of intelligent life.
He noticed trends, patterns the original Freeza would have ignored because it wasn't immediately profitable. The mortal level of this world—the average intelligence, the capacity for technology and civilization—was decreasing.
Worlds were exploding faster than they could rebuild. Planets with potential were being reduced to ashes before civilizations could mature.
If the empire continued at this rate, he thought coldly, they would face the same dilemma as the original timeline: a universe where power concentrated in the hands of a few could be shattered by the sudden rise of a single, godly child. One child who could, with instinct alone, unseat emperors and erase entire empires.
The human in him shivered at the thought. He was not comfortable letting some golden-haired, impossibly strong MONKEY end his life along with his precious Empire
He wasn't just a tyrant now—he was a strategist, a man with foresight. And foresight whispered, in no uncertain terms, that chaos was coming if he allowed the empire to continue unchecked.
He opened his eyes. The chamber was immaculate, sterile, perfect. Empire, power, fear—they all existed here.
But they weren't enough. A single man's strength might dominate a planet, even a cluster, but an empire required more. Systems. Structure. Calculated terror. Consistency. Control.
It needed to bend the galaxy to his standards without breaking it, to wield fear intelligently rather than waste it in mindless destruction.
He allowed a slow, dark smile to cross his face, even if the muscles of this alien body struggled to mimic it. He had the tools, the intelligence, the patience. He could make this empire survive. More than survive—it could thrive under his control, precise and immaculate, feared without failure.
And if a FUCKING MONKEY came? He would be ready. No impulsive victories or accidents would threaten him.
He would be the one shaping the battlefield, the one deciding who lived, who died, and what the galaxy would remember.
For the first time, he felt the full weight of his existence in this body. Not fear. Not joy. Not acceptance. Cold, steady calculation. And a human streak of disgust—at the bodies he had to command, at the aliens he now outranked, and at himself, a man trapped inside the form of a weapon.
Yet that disgust was useful. It sharpened him, focused him, and reminded him why he would not fail.
He exhaled slowly, leaning back on the bed. Space continued, indifferent. The empire would continue, but under new rules. His rules. And for the first time in memory, the galaxy might just bend exactly the way he wanted it to.
Freeza's hand flicked toward a button, and a soldier materialized in the doorway, armor clinking softly, every movement measured with fear.
"How long until King Cold arrives?" Freeza asked, voice smooth, deliberate, the kind that could make a grown warrior flinch without a word of threat.
"Five days remain, Lord Freeza," the soldier said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes darting to every corner as if expecting punishment to spring from the walls.
Freeza hummed—a low, contemplative sound that vibrated with both patience and quiet menace. "Good."
He paused, letting the hum stretch, letting the weight of his presence fill the room. "Call the Ginyu Force. Zarbon. Dodoria. Have them assemble on the flagship immediately. Halt all ongoing operations."
The soldier's lips parted, a question forming, hesitation etched into every fiber of him. But the memory from two days ago—the one the empire would quietly ignore, the one that had left him shaking—told him to keep silent. He swallowed, gave a bow so deep it could have cracked bone, and fled before Freeza even blinked.
Alone, the emperor leaned back on the cold, smooth surface of the bed, letting his tail coil loosely around his legs. He closed his eyes. The silence of the chamber wasn't empty—it was deliberate, a tool he could wield just as easily as any weapon.
"I have mastered the third form," he thought, voice echoing faintly in his mind, almost as if he were speaking to himself and the body simultaneously. "Only the final suppression transformation remains. Then I will have full access to the power I have carried since birth. Power too immense to release without control."
He flexed his hands slowly, feeling the alien perfection beneath his fingers. Every muscle, every nerve, every joint designed to kill effortlessly.
The body of Freeza was not merely a vessel—it was an instrument honed over decades to dominate, to destroy, to command fear without hesitation. And yet, even with this body, full release was forbidden.
He could of course release but prolong exposure to his power would kill him as his body wasn't ready for that much power.
The suppression form existed not as a limitation, but as a scalpel—precise, necessary, surgical.
Logic demanded it.
Foresight demanded it.
And his human mind, the part that still understood consequence, demanded it. Without it, he could topple the empire as easily as he could annihilate a planet.
His eyes opened, sharp, red, unblinking. The room's reflective panels mirrored his form, and he allowed a small, almost imperceptible smirk to curl across his lips.
Five days. Enough to consolidate, prepare, perfect. Enough to bend the empire to his design, not the empire's chaos.
The galaxy had underestimated him once. It would not do so again. Every piece—the Ginyu Force, Zarbon, Dodoria, every soldier, every planet under his thumb—would be assessed, evaluated, and shaped to fit the standard he demanded.
Fear alone was not enough. The empire had to operate with precision, efficiency, and control.
And if a MONKEY came? He would be ready. Not reckless, not desperate, not caught by surprise.
The galaxy might produce prodigies, miracles, even beings of unimaginable power—but he would not be undone. Not by chance, not by destiny, not by anyone.
He leaned forward slightly, hands on his knees, tail brushing the floor softly. "Control," he whispered. "Every ounce of it. Every planet. Every soldier. Every mind."
He needed control because that was the only thing that was helping him from Falling apart from this absurd reality.
A slow pulse of energy radiated from him, subtle but undeniable, and the chamber seemed to shrink, the air thickening with the weight of his presence. Five days. Five days to shape the empire. Five days to prepare for the chaos the universe would inevitably bring.
And when the time came, nothing would stand in his way.Nobody will stop him from living the way he wants
---
Will you drop your power stones or would you rather Drop your pants.
The choice is yours