The doors to the throne room opened with a hiss of air, and Cym stepped through—bowing low before even meeting Frieza's gaze.
The chamber was drenched in cold violet light, the kind that made even shadows seem alive.
He did not dare speak until Frieza's tail twitched.
"My Lord," Cym said, voice low, composed. "If we deploy the standard vessels, it will take nine months to reach the planet. But if we use the fastest ship available, we can make the journey in three."
Frieza didn't respond immediately. He sat reclined on his throne, one finger resting against his chin, tail coiled loosely beside him. The words floated in the air like dust motes—three months—and then dissipated into the stillness of his mind.
His ruby eyes narrowed. Three months. The word itself irritated him. Such a small slice of eternity, and yet an inconvenience all the same.
He murmured softly, half to himself, "If only I possessed instant teleportation… imagine the elegance of it."
Cym tilted his head.
Frieza said his tone sharp and deliberate. "Did our soldier managed to find the planet yadrat
Cym shook his head regretfully. "We've searched every quadrant within the known galactic charts, my lord. It's as though the planet doesn't exist."
Frieza's fingers drummed once against the armrest. "Mm. How quaint."
Then, after a long, low silence, he spoke again—each syllable precise. "Since you've disturbed my rest, Cym… you may as well entertain me. Bring the chessboard."
The soldier blinked once, then bowed. "At once, my lord."
Moments later, a black and white chessboard—crafted from Elder Obsidian and Celestial Marble—was set before him.
The pieces shimmered faintly in the dim light, refracting the glow of Frieza's throne like frozen fireflies.
Cym took his place across from Frieza, posture disciplined yet humble.
The contrast between them was striking: Cym's amphibious features, wide glassy eyes and faintly luminescent skin, reflected the light in alien ways.
He looked fragile, harmless—until one remembered what he was.
He wasn't just a soldier.
He was a monster of the mind.
Frieza knew this well. He'd learned when he was bored and asked for cym file before served the empire.
Once, Cym had been a chess prodigy—a champion across the Galaxy.
Who would have thought that chess be famous all across the universe.
Frieza didn't
Regardless cym species was gifted with two biological separate but harmonized brains that could process strategies on two timelines at once.
Against most opponents, Cym saw every move before it existed.
But his brilliance had a curse.
A Father who gambled every prize he won.
Cym had tolerated it until the day he found out his father had sold his home and any money he ever made for one more bet.
Something inside him snapped that day—logic dissolved into rage. He killed his father with a single thrust of his claw.
Galactic Patrol branded him a murderer. A fugitive.
And when the Empire offered him sanctuary in exchange for service, he accepted without hesitation.
To Frieza, the story had been amusing. To Cym, it was destiny.
"Let us begin," Frieza said smoothly, sliding his first pawn forward.
Cym mirrored the move almost instantly.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The sound of the stone pieces echoed sharply in the vast chamber. Each move came faster, tighter, more vicious than the last. Cym's dual-mind calculations made him devastating; he saw traps before they were laid, threats before they existed.
Yet Frieza didn't falter. His mind moved differently—not by probability, but by predation. His thoughts weren't lines; they were circles, tightening around prey.
Minutes bled into an hour. The air grew heavy with quiet pressure. Cym's second brain began to hum with simultaneous lines of strategy—one calculating Frieza's offense, the other defending his king.
Then—
Frieza struck.
He moved his queen across the board with the elegance of a killing blow.
Cym hesitated. The move was bold. Reckless.
Too reckless for lord Frieza.
Cym's left brain traced the pattern. His right brain mapped three possibilities.
A trap. It had to be a trap.
He exhaled softly and advanced his knight. The move was subtle—but deadly.
The room fell silent.
Frieza's crimson eyes flicked toward the board, and a slow smile curved his lips. His queen was cornered. Completely pinned. One more move, and she'd fall.
Cym looked up, both sets of neural pathways thrumming with satisfaction. "Check," he said quietly.
Frieza's tail flicked once. Then he smiled wider.
"Check, yes," he murmured, "but not mate."
He reached out, not for the queen, but for the rook. His fingers lingered on it—almost tenderly—as if savoring the moment.
Cym frowned, analyzing. Every simulation said the same thing: the rook was critical. Losing it would expose his flank completely.
Frieza's grin sharpened. His tone dropped, low and cinematic.
"You see, Cym… there are moments in war—"
He lifted the rook slowly, the gleam in his eye turning sadistic.
"—when to win…"
He slammed the rook onto the board with theatrical force, shattering a pawn in the process.
"…you must SACRIFICE THE ROOK!"
The words thundered across the chamber like a Gotham opera. Cym flinched—both brains freezing for half a second.
Frieza leaned forward, his Aura pulsing faintly with dark violet light.
"Do you understand now, Cym? Every empire, every conquest, every masterpiece requires sacrifice."
Cym stared at the board. His analysis spun wildly—then froze.
Frieza had turned the board inside out.
The sacrificed rook had forced Cym's defenses to collapse from within. The board wasn't a contest anymore—it was a massacre disguised as a game.
Frieza smiled, cold and precise.
He whispered, "Power is not about protecting your pieces, Cym. It's about knowing which ones you can afford to lose."
Click.
The queen slid forward again—unhindered now.
Check.
Cym looked up. "You… planned that?"
Frieza's eyes glowed faintly golden. "Of course. I don't play to win, Cym. I play to Conquer."
Silence stretched between them. The board gleamed faintly in the dim light, frozen mid-war.
Cym lowered his head. "You are… unmatched, my lord."
Frieza rose slowly, cloak draping behind him like liquid night. He looked down at the board one last time, the faintest smirk tracing his lips.
"Unmatched?" he said softly.
"No, Cym."
l am just BETTER."
The chamber fell silent again.
Only the pieces remained—one rook missing, one queen poised above the fallen, and a quiet reminder that in Frieza's universe, even a game of chess was a battlefield drenched in calculation, cruelty, and art.
---
Important Notice.
Although l am doing a poll that doesn't mean it will go as it says.
As the story is in my hand and it is already decided how it will go. l am just making sure we all are in the same page that all.
Do we want harem
Yes
No
And do we turn Frieza into a human. Only looks wise.
Yes
No