Frieza rested within the confines of the fastest vessel his empire had ever engineered.
It was not ostentatious. There were no banners, no towering throne, no indulgent displays of authority.
This ship existed for one purpose only: to move faster than consequence.
Its engines whispered rather than roared, folding space instead of tearing through it. Every system aboard it was optimized for speed, efficiency, and absolute control. According to the most recent calculations, the journey to Planet Cereal would take two months.
Two months was trivial.
Time had ceased to feel linear to Frieza long ago. It was no longer something that pressed against him—it bent around him.
As stars slid past the viewport, Frieza allowed his thoughts to settle, not wandering, but aligning.
Planet Cereal was the immediate destination—but it was not the true objective.
It was a convergence point.
And like all such points.
It attracted parasites.
The Heeters had been one such parasite for far too long.
For years, they had operated within the margins of his empire—never openly defiant, never truly loyal. They thrived in ambiguity, feeding on instability, manipulating trade routes, information, and conflicts just enough to keep themselves indispensable.
Frieza had tolerated them.
That tolerance had ended the moment the empire began to change.
The transformation had been rapid—almost unsettling in its efficiency. Worlds once ruled by terror were now productive. Trade lanes stabilized. Crime syndicates collapsed under the weight of regulation and incentive rather than brute force.
Tribute was still paid.
But now, it was paid willingly.
That frightened people like Elec.
Frieza understood this instinctively. Men like Elec did not fear evil—they feared order they could not exploit.
The moment Elec realized the empire was no longer decaying,
the moment he realized Frieza himself had become unreadable—he ran like a little bitch he is.
The Heeters severed communication. Scrubbed their trails. Abandoned every known asset and vanished into deep space.
They believed obscurity would protect them.
Frieza exhaled slowly.
Obscurity had never saved anyone.
Finding them had taken time—not because it was difficult, but because it required patience. Frieza's forces were not searching blindly. They were mapping absence, tracking trade voids, watching for places where criminal gravity should have existed but didn't.
Eventually, patterns emerged.
While surveying routes near Planet Cereal—routes that had suddenly become relevant again—one patrol unit detected irregular commercial signatures. Old syndicate markers buried beneath layers of false registries and shell corporations.
It was clumsy.
Not careless—but rushed.
The Heeters were hiding close to Cereal. Close enough to observe. Close enough to intervene if opportunity arose.
That alone confirmed Frieza's suspicion.
They were not fleeing.
They were waiting.
Frieza had authorized a single response.
No negotiations. No warnings. Just clarity.
A message was delivered to the planet sheltering them—short, precise, and impossible to misinterpret.
> Reveal yourselves immediately, or the planet you occupy will cease to exist.
Three planet itself was barren of life so blowing it up was of no concern.
Under different circumstances, Elec would have dismissed it.
In the past, Frieza's threats relied on reputation.
Now, they relied on evidence.
Footage had circulated—restricted, classified, undeniable. A demonstration of a weapon capable of erasing a world without destabilizing nearby systems. No collateral. No spectacle. Just deletion.
Elec understood then.
Frieza was no longer playing the same game.
So the Heeters agreed to present themselves.
Reluctantly.
Quietly.
Fearfully.
Frieza allowed himself the faintest smile.
This entire affair had highlighted a failure—one that Frieza had already corrected internally.
The empire had no complete records of Planet Cereal.
No confirmed coordinates. No detailed extermination logs.
A glaring oversight.
One Frieza traced back to a single decision made long ago: delegating extermination to the Saiyans.
He did not dwell on nostalgia.
The Saiyans were gone.
But their absence had left gaps.
Those gaps would never exist again.
Every planet would be logged. Every operation recorded. Every asset accounted for.
Even Bardock's scouter—the one lost on Cereal—had not escaped scrutiny. Recovering its data had been tedious beyond measure. Millions of damaged scouter recordings sifted through, reconstructed, cross-referenced.
Time-consuming.
Necessary.
Frieza refused to build an empire that relied on memory and legend.
This one would rely on records.
He was midway through these thoughts when a knock sounded at the chamber door.
Once.
Measured.
Respectful.
Frieza did not turn.
"Enter," he said.
Cym stepped inside and immediately knelt, his posture flawless. He had learned Frieza's rhythms over the past year—when to speak, when silence was safer.
"My Lord," Cym said, voice steady but charged with anticipation. "All preparations are complete. The Heeters have acknowledged the summons."
Frieza's eyes narrowed slightly—not in anger, but in focus.
Good.
Everything was aligning.
Planet Cereal.
The Heeters.
The Saiyan remnants.
The future of the empire.
All threads were tightening into a single point.
Frieza smiled—not broadly, not theatrically.
A Lion doesn't concern himself with the folly of the weak.
He simply moves.
---
The two months ended not with ceremony, but with inevitability.
Space folded back into itself, and the ship emerged above Planet Cereal like a blade slipping free of its sheath.
Frieza stepped onto the soil moments later.
The ground beneath his feet was dry, scarred, and silent. Ruins stretched as far as the eye could see—collapsed towers, broken dwellings, the skeletal remains of a civilization that had once dared to believe it would last. The wind carried dust and ash, whispering through hollowed streets where voices should have been.
Frieza surveyed it all without haste.
A dead world always told its story clearly.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as his senses brushed against the lingering echoes of ki—faint, disciplined, precise. Even in extinction, the Cerelians betrayed what they had been.
He exhaled once.
"What a fucking pity," Frieza said calmly. "With eyes like those… they could have become exceptional snipers. Assassins. Specialists of rare value."
He shrugged lightly. "But history rarely consults potential."
The thought passed as easily as it came.
Frieza snapped his fingers.
The sound was sharp. Absolute.
Cym appeared behind him instantly, posture perfect, already kneeling. "Yes, my lord?"
Frieza did not look back. His gaze remained fixed on the distant mountain range, jagged silhouettes cutting into the sky.
"Proceed as discussed," Frieza said. "Deploy the soldiers to the mountain perimeter. Precision only. No unnecessary noise."
Cym nodded. "Understood."
"Allow the Cerelian boy to escape," Frieza continued, voice measured. "Make it convincing. Fear sharpens instinct."
Cym hesitated for a fraction of a second—only enough to confirm intent—then nodded again.
"Ensure he reaches the green-skinned elder," Frieza added. "Do not engage them together. Capture the boy only after separation."
Frieza's tail flicked once.
"And make absolutely certain the Namekian remains unaware of the capture."
Cym lowered his head further. "It will be done exactly as you wish."
Only then did Frieza turn.
His expression was composed, almost mild—but his eyes carried the weight of someone arranging pieces on a board several moves ahead.
"And the Heeters?" he asked.
Cym straightened slightly. " 6 7 hours out, my lord. They are approaching cautiously."
Frieza smiled.
Not wide. Not cruel.
Satisfied.
"Good," he said. "Let them come."
He looked back toward the ruins, the mountains, the invisible threads already tightening around their targets.
The Cerelian boy would run. The Namekian would remain ignorant. The Heeters would believe they still had choices.
And by the time they realized otherwise—
Frieza's smile deepened.
everything would already belong to him.
---
So the final verdict is this my boy will finally have a dick. Not to mention he be the prettiest fucker around so l have a Question for you
You like this fic
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