Remember to comment so l can see what's up
This chapter once again is glory read at your own discretion
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Monaito froze.
His body wanted to move. His hands wanted to obey.
But his heart refused.
If he give these dragon ball to Frieza who knows what great evil he will wish for. Forget granola the whole universe might be finished.
Frieza noticed the delay immediately.
Of course he did.
His fingers tightened around Granola's neck—slowly, deliberately—just enough to remind everyone in the clearing who controlled the rhythm of life and death.
Granola's body convulsed.
A thin, broken wheeze escaped his throat as his lungs clawed uselessly for air. His feet scraped against the ground, heels digging furrows into the dust as instinct took over. His hands beat weakly against Frieza's wrist, nails scraping, slipping, finding nothing to grip.
Frieza watched it all.
He leaned down slightly, head tilted, eyes bright with interest, as if observing a rare animal in pain.
"Mmm," Frieza murmured. "Look at that. Your body knows what to do, even if you don't."
Granola's face began to discolor, panic flooding his mismatched eyes. His chest shuddered violently, trying to inhale, failing every time. His movements grew frantic—then uneven.
Frieza didn't hurry.
He never did.
Instead, he turned his attention back to Monaito, never loosening his grip.
"Well?" Frieza asked pleasantly. "You're thinking very hard. I can tell."
Monaito staggered forward, hands raised, voice cracking. "Please—stop—he's just a child—"
Frieza smiled wider.
"Oh, I know," he said. "That's why this is working."
Granola's body jerked again. A choking sound tore from his throat, wet and desperate. His legs buckled, hanging limp except for occasional spasms.
Monaito broke into sobs.
"No—no, please—" His knees hit the ground hard, ancient body shaking violently. "I'll give them to you—just don't—please—"
Frieza sighed, almost disappointed.
"Too slow," he said softly.
His fingers tightened another fraction.
Granola's eyes rolled back for a moment.
That was enough.
Monaito screamed—a raw, animal sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest. His hands flew to his throat as he gagged and retched, body convulsing in humiliation and despair. Tears streamed down his face as he forced himself to obey, every movement trembling, every breath hitching.
With a sickening, wet sound, the first Dragon Ball slid free.
Then the second.
They dropped into his shaking palms, slick with saliva and blood.
Monaito held them out blindly, head bowed, shoulders shaking as if he might collapse in on himself.
Frieza finally released Granola.
The boy collapsed instantly, coughing violently, dragging air into his lungs in harsh, broken gasps. He curled in on himself, fingers clawing at the dirt as his body tried to remember how breathing worked.
Frieza didn't spare him a glance.
His eyes were fixed on the Dragon Balls.
His expression twisted—not with triumph, but with open disgust.
"…How utterly repulsive," Frieza said. "Storing cosmic power inside your own body"
"Honestly, Were you a fan of Orochimaru."
He glanced to the side.
"Cym."
Cym stiffened. His eyes met Frieza's for half a second—long enough to silently ask why this misery always found its way to him.
Frieza's stare answered: because I said so.
Cym swallowed, then stepped forward. He took the Dragon Balls from Monaito's trembling hands, resisting the urge to recoil. They were slick from the spit and warm. Unpleasantly so.
Before the silence could settle, a deep hum rolled across the ruins.
Engines.
The air vibrated as multiple ships cut through the atmosphere at reckless speed, shadows streaking across the broken ground. The wind picked up, dust swirling around Frieza's feet.
Frieza straightened slowly, satisfied.
He looked down once more at Monaito—kneeling, broken, empty—and then at Granola, still gasping in the dirt.
"Stay alive," Frieza said to the boy casually. "Your suffering has only just begun."
Then he lifted his gaze to the sky, smiling faintly as the ships drew closer.
"Ah," Frieza said. "How rude of them to rush."
His smile sharpened.
"But how curious," he said. "Cym… you told me they were several hours away."
Cym checked his scanner quickly, then bowed.
"They were, my lord. It appears… they decided to hurry."
Frieza smiled.
The kind of smile that meant someone, somewhere, had just made a catastrophic mistake.
"Oh?" he said softly. "How thoughtful of them."
Frieza told Cym to place the two Dragon Balls aside.
He then stood calmly and waited for the Heeters to arrive.
Their ship descended soon after. Elec stepped forward with the others behind him. He bowed his head respectfully and began, "My Lord—"
Before he could finish the word, his head was severed cleanly from his body. His body remained standing for a brief moment as blood poured from his neck before collapsing to the ground.
Before anyone could even process what had happened, Frieza clicked his tongue.
"That was rather pathetic," he said.
Gas's eyes widened, rage igniting like a supernova. His aura flared — wild, violent, promising murder.
He took one step.
Frieza raised a single finger.
Gas's head exploded in a spray of bone, brain, and blood. The body dropped like a discarded puppet.
Macki screamed — high, sharp, terrified.
Her knees buckled immediately. She hit the ground hard, yellow liquid spreading beneath her in a humiliating puddle. Tears streamed down her face as she scrambled forward on hands and knees, hands clawing at the dust.
"Lord Frieza—please—please forgive us—don't kill me—I beg you—we'll do anything—anything you want—"
Her voice cracked on the last word, desperate, trembling.
Frieza watched her crawl.
Then he knelt — slow, graceful, almost intimate.
He reached out, the tip of one claw tracing the line of her cheek, wiping away a tear with deliberate gentleness.
Macki froze, breath hitching.
She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
Frieza's voice dropped, low and smooth, almost a purr.
"I heard," he said, "you're quite the chef."
Macki nodded frantically, words spilling out in panic. "Y-yes—yes I am—please—anything—anything you want—"
His claw lingered on her cheek, then slid lower — tracing the curve of her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat.
Macki's breath caught.
Frieza tilted his head, red eyes gleaming.
"Then you'll become my property," he said softly. "And you'll serve me… in whatever way I desire."
Her eyes widened — fear, relief, something darker all mixing together.
She nodded again, so fast it was almost violent. "Y-yes—yes—thank you—thank you—"
Behind her, Oil — the last Heeter — stood frozen, mouth open, watching his siblings die.
Then he saw it.
Frieza's back was turned.
A sliver of opportunity.
Oil lunged — silent, desperate, claws aimed at the emperor's spine.
Frieza didn't even look.
He caught Oil's wrist mid-strike — casual, effortless.
Oil froze.
Frieza continued speaking to Macki, voice still low and intimate, as though nothing had changed.
"If you ever annoy me," he said, "do you know what will happen to you?"
Macki whimpered.
Frieza glanced at Oil's hand — still caught in his grip.
Then Oil's head exploded.
Blood and bone sprayed across Macki's face, chest, and hair.
She screamed again — raw, broken, covered in her brother's remains.
Frieza released the arm and Oil's body dropped.
Macki collapsed fully, sobbing, trembling, drenched in red.
Frieza stood.
He looked down at her for a long moment.
Then he turned to Cym.
"Clean this up," he said calmly.
Cym bowed deeply.
"Yes, my lord."
Frieza walked past the blood, past the bodies, past the sobbing girl.
He stopped before the two Dragon Balls still held in Cym's case.
A faint, satisfied smile touched his lips.
Soon.
The universe's most embarrassing oversight would finally be corrected.
And then…
He would have no more petty distractions.
Just perfection.