Frieza stood motionless before the two Cerealian Dragon Balls, their emerald glow reflecting in his crimson eyes like distant stars trapped in glass.
The ground was slick with blood, the air thick with iron and fear.
Macki remained on her knees, trembling, drenched in her own shame and her brothers' remains.
Frieza glanced down at her — once.
His voice was soft, almost gentle, but the command beneath it was iron.
"Stand aside, Macki," he said. "I am about to become… perfect."
Macki's breath hitched.
She forced herself up — legs shaking, knees buckling twice before she managed to stand.
Yellow liquid and crimson streaks ran down her thighs, dripping onto the cracked soil.
She stumbled to the side, tears streaming endlessly down her face, cutting clean tracks through the blood and grime.
She could barely breathe.
One minute.
One single minute.
Her brothers — dead.
Her freedom — gone.
Her dignity — stripped away in a puddle at her feet.
Everything she had ever been, everything she had ever built or hoped for, erased in the time it took for a tail to flick and a finger to point.
She pressed her back against a jagged rock outcrop, arms wrapped around herself, trying to make herself smaller.
Tears kept falling.
She didn't wipe them.
She didn't dare.
Frieza didn't look at her again.
Frieza turned his gaze to the distant figure watching from the shadows of a ruined structure.
Monaito.
The old Namekian elder stood rigid, eyes wide with the weight of recognition and dread.
Frieza's voice carried across the dust-choked air, calm and absolute.
"Monaito. Come here. Summon your dragon."
Monaito hesitated.
His hands clenched at his sides. For a long moment, he did not move.
Frieza's tail flicked once.
He drifted forward — unhurried — until he hovered beside Granolah.
The young Cerealian was bound, unconscious, held upright by invisible force.
Frieza reached out with deliberate gentleness.
One claw traced the edge of Granolah's closed eyelid.
"What a beautiful eye," Frieza murmured, voice soft, almost admiring.
He pressed lightly — just enough to part the lid, revealing the sharp, Red iris beneath.
"I wonder," he continued, "what would happen if it were… blinded."
Monaito's hesitation shattered.
He stumbled forward, old legs shaking, and collapsed to his knees before the Dragon Balls.
His voice cracked as he spoke the ancient words.
"Oh Eternal Frost Dragon… rise… and grant this mortal his desire."
The invocation drained him.
As the final syllable left his lips, Monaito slumped forward, face pressing into the dust.
His shoulders shook once.
Then stilled.
As if, in that moment, his life's meaning had been stripped away.
The Dragon Balls flared.
Light erupted upward — cold, crystalline, ancient.
The Eternal Frost Dragon manifested: a serpentine colossus of ice and shadow, scales like frozen starlight, eyes burning with indifferent power.
It towered over them, voice like cracking glaciers.
"State your wish, mortal."
Frieza stepped forward.
He regarded the dragon with calm curiosity.
"Oh dragon," he said clearly, "grant me a perfect body — similar to a human's, but only the skin....."
He paused.
Then smiled.
"Listen to my thoughts… and grant the body I truly desire."
The dragon's eyes glowed — piercing, searching.
For a long moment, it stared into Frieza.
Then its voice rumbled, low and surprised.
"I can read only your surface thoughts. Your deeper memories… are sealed by a power higher than mine."
Frieza's smile widened — sharp, satisfied.
As if confirming a long-held hypothesis.
"It's fine," he said lightly. "I am thinking of it now."
The dragon's eyes flared brighter.
It stared for a full minute — silent, probing.
Then:
"Granted."
Light exploded.
A blinding, frigid wave enveloped Frieza.
His old form unraveled — white plating melting away, tail retracting.
The light faded.
Where the 5'2" Walking Dildo once stood…
Now rose a 6'7". Nonchalant man stood.
Skin paler than chalk, almost luminous under Cereal's bruised sky.
Hair white as fresh frost, falling in sharp, elegant strands.
Eyes — black sclera, red irises — burning with the same merciless intelligence.
He was lean, powerful, perfectly proportioned — broad shoulders, long limbs, every line speaking of refined strength.
Human… but not quite.
He could only be described as Perfect.
Frieza looked down at his new hands.
Flexed them.
Ran one palm slowly down his chest, lower, confirming every detail.
Specially his Dick ohh how he waited for this moment for years only he knows. Now he finally have his little brother stronger and longer then it ever was.
A slow, deeply satisfied smile spread across his face.
He turned — slowly — admiring his reflection in a shard of broken metal on the ground.
Magnificent.
Frieza inhaled — deep, savoring.
No more cosmic joke.
No more flaw.
Just perfection.
He looked down at himself.
Then he laughed.
A low, rich, victorious sound that rolled across the barren plain.
Macki watched from the sidelines, tears still falling, unable to look away.
Cym bowed deeper, hiding his own surprise.
Frieza flexed his new hands — five fingers, warm skin, no plating.
"Finally," he murmured.
He turned to Macki.
She flinched.
Frieza walked toward her — slow, deliberate, human footsteps on alien soil.
He stopped in front of her.
She couldn't meet his eyes.
Frieza reached down, tilted her chin up with two fingers.
"Look at me," he said.
Macki obeyed, trembling.
He studied her tear-streaked face.
Then he leaned in — close enough that she could feel his breath.
"Now," he said softly, "you'll have plenty of time to show me just how good a chef you really are."
Macki's breath caught.
Frieza straightened.
He turned to Cym.
"Clean up the mess."
Cym bowed. "Yes, my lord."
Frieza walked away — human, whole, perfect.
And for the first time since his rebirth…
He felt no irritation.
Only anticipation.
The universe had finally given him everything.
And now…
He would take the rest by his own two hands.
---
Frieza stood on the barren plain of Cereal, the wind tugging at his new white hair, the dust swirling around his taller frame.
He flexed his fingers again — human fingers, long and elegant — then reached behind him out of habit.
Nothing.
No tail.
For a moment, he paused.
"A pity," he thought. "It was quite useful. A whip when needed. A third limb for balance. A silent threat with a single flick."
He could still remember the feel of it — the weight, the precision, the way it had ended so many lives without him even lifting a finger.
He would miss it.
But only a little.
The trade was worth it.
He turned his attention inward, truly assessing the gift the dragon had granted.
On the surface, he was human — 6'7" of pale, flawless skin stretched over powerful muscle. Sharp features. White hair falling in controlled strands. Black sclera framing red irises that still burned with the same merciless intelligence.
But beneath the skin…
Everything was still him.
No lungs drawing breath — he tested it, holding what would have been air for minutes, then hours if he wished. No need. No discomfort.
No hunger. No thirst. No fatigue.
The biology of a tyrant unchanged — only wrapped in a more pleasing package.
His skin… he pressed a claw — no, a fingernail now — against his forearm.
It didn't break.
It barely indented.
Harder than his old exoskeleton, perhaps. Refined. Dense on a cellular level, as if the dragon had taken his original durability and woven it seamlessly into this new form.
His senses sharpened further — the wind carried scents he'd never noticed before, faint traces of blood and fear from miles away. Sounds layered in perfect clarity: Macki's quiet sobbing behind him, Cym's steady heartbeat, the distant groan of the planet's crust settling.
And the power…
He let a fraction of it rise.
Golden light flickered across his skin — effortless, instant.
The Golden Form answered as perfectly as before. No loss. No weakness.
Stable. Dense. God-ki humming beneath the surface like a star held in check.
And beyond that — the path to Black Frieza remained open.
He could feel it.
The same potential, the same ceiling-shattering growth, all intact.
The dragon had not diminished him.
It had *perfected* the presentation.
Frieza exhaled — not because he needed to, but because the gesture felt right in this body.
No more looking like a cosmic joke.
Now I look like what I am.
A god in mortal clothing.
He glanced once more at the spot where his tail used to be.
*Goodbye, old friend.*
You served well.
Then he turned away.
There was an empire to rule.
A universe to break.
And now — finally — no petty distractions left.
Only desire.
Only power.
Only him.
He needs to look like Frieza to rule the universe???
WHO DECIDED THAT.
---
IMPORTANT NOTICE PLEASE READ OR DON'T BLAME ME.
Macki
Img
Frieza
Img
I just finished chapter 27 and it is an +18 chapter. It has about 2 thousand word as an apology to all the people who wanted orignal Frieza appearance.
It will probably come out in three day but l could release it early if l get three hundred power stone and lots of comment