The empire moved like a beast stirred from sleep.
By the time Freeza stepped out of his chambers, the entire flagship had shifted into silent, frantic motion. Soldiers whispered in corners, scouters buzzed with encrypted orders, and officers scrambled to halt all ongoing operations across dozens of sectors.
Five days.
Five days until King Cold arrived.
Five days until Freeza reshaped the empire in his image.
He walked through the main corridor, tail swaying behind him like a quiet threat. Soldiers moved aside instantly—fear was still the empire's first language, and he let it speak for him even when he said nothing.
The doors to the central command deck opened.
Inside, Zarbon and Dodoria were already waiting.
Zarbon stood with his perfect posture and calm expression, but Freeza could see the subtle tension at the corners of his mouth. Dodoria, on the other hand, looked like he'd been forced to run here. Sweat beaded on his pink skin, and his breathing was loud enough to irritate Freeza's ears.
Both bowed.
"My lord," Zarbon said first. "Your summons was unexpected."
Freeza studied them both with a measured stillness. "Unexpected is the point, Zarbon. If my orders ever become predictable, I may as well be dead."
Dodoria blinked, unsure if he should laugh or shrink. He wisely chose to shrink.
Before either could respond, the ship's intercom chimed:
"Ginyu Force approaching for docking. ETA: thirty minutes."
Freeza closed his eyes briefly, absorbing the information like a quiet pulse. Everything was aligning faster than expected. Good. He needed every second.
"We have halted all conquests as you commanded," Zarbon said. "Several commanders requested clarification, but… we relayed none."
"As you should," Freeza replied. "Questions waste time. Results do not."
He stepped toward the panoramic viewport—a vast wall of reinforced alloy overlooking the starfield. Space stared back at him, cold and endless.
"In two days," he said, "I want full reports from every division: troop efficiency, logistics, officer competency, planetary productivity, population density, technological growth. Every metric you can measure, I want recorded."
Zarbon at first opened his mouth to perhaps protest or atleast voice his opinion but his thoughts died when he saw the look in Frieza eyes.
It was a glint that promised pain worse then death and Zarbon was a lot of things but suicidal was not one of them.
The corridor outside his chamber was silent—an engineered silence, heavy with fear and obedience. When the doors slid open, the Ginyu Force filed in with the theatrical flair they were famous for, but even their eccentricity shrank beneath the pressure in the air. Frieza's aura still clung to the room like heat after a wildfire.
Ginyu stepped forward first, posture rigid.
"Lord Frieza. We came the moment we received your summons."
Frieza sat on a raised platform, fingers drumming softly against the armrest. The gesture seemed lazy, but every soldier present could feel the suppressed violence behind it. His eyes were cold, but awake—calculating in a way none of them had seen before.
"Good. I trust Zarbon and Dodoria has already did what l asked for....?"
Zarbon bowed with a calm smile. Dodoria bowed with sweat beading on his forehead.
"We did as you commanded, my lord," Zarbon said.
Frieza leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Then let us begin."
He studied them one by one. Warriors forged through conquest. Tools sharpened by bloodshed. An elite squad, yet still blind to the truth he now saw so clearly.
"My empire," he began, his voice quiet but carrying through the room like the edge of a blade, "is Rotting."
Not one soldier dared to twitch. Afraid that lord Frieeza will turn them into swiss cheese
"We have spent decades blowing apart civilizations before they could breathe, razing worlds simply because they were convenient to destroy. Efficient, yes. Productive, certainly. But catastrophically shortsighted."
He stood, walking down the steps with slow, controlled movements. His tail swayed behind him with a tension that made even Ginyu straighten further.
"We have been feeding on the universe without ever planting anything in return. And so the level of mortal development continues to fall. Worlds vanish before they reach maturity. Potential dies before it is born. And an empire that kills every garden eventually starves itself."
He stopped in front of Ginyu.
"Even my own strength, overwhelming as it is, cannot carry an entire galaxy forever. An empire built on one body is an empire waiting for the moment that body falters. I will not tolerate that kind of fragility—not in myself, and not in what I rule."
Zarbon swallowed. "My lord… is this about the sudden halting of operations? The scouting teams? The—"
Frieza raised a single finger. Zarbon shut his mouth at once.
"I have dispatched 67 elite soldiers to locate a planet called Cereal. And another 69 soldier to search for any world rumored to contain a chamber where time flows differently. The universe is vast; myths often have teeth."
He walked back toward the center, the faint hum of the ship's systems vibrating under his steps.
"When my father arrives, I will require more than brute force. I need information. I need infrastructure. I need a foundation strong enough to support my ambitions. If the empire is to continue under my hand, it must evolve."
He turned, facing all of them at once.
"And so must you."
Even Ginyu flinched at the weight of the words.
"Your roles will change. Your missions will shift. The age of mindless destruction ends here. If we are to survive—if I am to survive—we cultivate, we control, and we choose our battles with precision instead of tantrums."
Dodoria opened his mouth to ask something, then closed it when Frieza's tail slowly curled in his direction. Good instinct.
Frieza's eyes narrowed, but there was a glint there now—something dangerous, yet purposeful.
"My father will arrive in five days. When he does, everything begins."
He lowered his voice.
"And once I have fully mastered what sleeps inside me… this galaxy will finally witness what true rule looks like."
Silence crushed the room.
Frieza dismissed them with a flick of his fingers.
They bowed—deep, terrified, obedient—and filed out, leaving the emperor alone with the quiet hum of power under his skin, and the weight of inevitability pressing against the stars themselves.
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