GRAPHIC WARNING ⚠️
WHAT YOU SEE NEXT WILL BE YOUR OWN FAULT.
l would really appreciate it if you guys could comment as l put Alot of effort into making this.
So l will like it of you could drop some stones and comment.
Regardless enjoy.
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Frieza sat upon the golden throne of Bucephalus, his body a broken ruin — blood still gushing in slow rivulets from the jagged stump of his left shoulder and the smoking crater where his left eye had been.
Golden ichor dripped onto the marble dais, pooling beneath him like a dark halo.
His remaining eye stared blankly ahead, red iris dulled by pain and shock, his once-perfect human form now a mangled testament to divine wrath.
The throne room was silent save for the distant hum of the ship and the soft drip of blood
Cym stood at the base of the dais, eyes moist with unshed tears — a rare crack in the amphibian soldier's disciplined facade.
This was the first time he had seen his lord this injured, this vulnerable.
Frieza, the unbreakable emperor, the god among mortals, reduced to a bleeding wreck.
Cym's hands clenched at his sides, helpless.
He wished he could've helped — stood between his lord and the God of Destruction, taken the blows himself.
But what could he even do? Against Beerus? It would have been suicide. Futile.
Frieza lifted his one remaining hand — trembling faintly — and stared at it as if it belonged to a stranger.
The realization crashed over him like a ton of bricks.
He was arrogant.
He had always prided himself on being smart, logical — emotions dismissed as variables for lesser beings, weaknesses to exploit in others but never in himself.
But he was wrong, So FUCKING Wrong.
This was simply his arrogance speaking — blinding him, dooming him.
He had believed himself a god: perfect body from the dragon's wish, infinite ki, an empire spanning the stars, mortals thriving under his calculated mercy.
And when a real god came…
He had crumpled.
Folded like a lawn chair.
Almost died.
Because of his arrogance.
The thought echoed in his mind — a hammer striking an anvil, sparks flying.
A giggle escaped him — small, unhinged, bubbling up from the depths like poison gas.
Then a chuckle — low, building, shaking his broken frame.
Then full-blown psychotic laughter — manic, unrestrained, echoing through the vast throne room like shattering glass in a storm.
It started as a tremor in his chest, then exploded outward — wild, cathartic, tears streaming hot down his pale face, mixing with the blood in crimson trails.
AAAAHAAAAAHAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.
The laughter grew EVEN louder — hysterical, bordering on madness, his remaining eye wide and gleaming with a terrifying clarity.
"Thank you, Beerus!" he gasped amidst the laughter, voice cracking with raw emotion.
"Thank you!"
The words tore from him — sincere, twisted, laced with gratitude and venom.
Cym flinched, stepping back instinctively, eyes wide in alarm.
Frieza's laughter continued — peaking in waves, his body shaking violently, blood splattering with each convulsion.
He had made him realize this wasn't a game.
This was his life.
And it had consequences.
Real, brutal Fucking consequences.
All the training, the destruction, the conquests — to stand above all, to never bow again.
And yet, in one clash, he had been humbled.
Broken.
The laughter faded slowly — into heavy, ragged breaths, tears still flowing, but his remaining eye now burned with new, terrifying purpose.
BUT Beerus himself was a arrogant fool.
Giving him ten days?
The biggest mistake of his divine life.
Frieza wiped his face with his one hand — blood and tears smearing across his skin.
He straightened — as much as his broken body allowed.
The pain was there.
The wounds were there.
But so was the fire.
Ten days.
To become something that even a God of Destruction couldn't erase.
Frieza's lips curved into a slow, mad smile.
The laughter had cleansed him.
The arrogance was burned away.
What remained was pure, unyielding will.
Cym bowed deeper, his voice thick with emotion — a rare, shattering crack in the iron discipline that had defined his service for years, the words barely escaping his throat as if choked by grief.
"My lord…"
Frieza didn't look at him.
His remaining eye stared straight ahead, red iris cold and unyielding — a frozen void that swallowed light, blood still dripping in slow, deliberate drops from the ruined socket and the smoldering stump of his shoulder.
The remaining hakai energy pulsed with lingering malice, a divine curse that mocked his regeneration, pain a white-hot inferno raging through his core, yet he sat motionless, as if the agony was merely an inconvenience.
His voice cut through the silence — steady, cold, resolute, laced with ice that could freeze stars and shatter souls.
"Call the Ginyu Force. Immediately."
Cym hesitated — just a fraction — eyes flicking desperately to the wounds, the blood pooling thick and golden on the throne like an accusation.
"My lord… your wounds—"
Frieza's head turned slowly — deliberate, predatory.
The gaze pinned Cym like a blade through the heart — merciless, absolute, promising oblivion for even a whisper of disobedience.
"Ginyu. Force. Immediately."
The words were quiet.
But they carried the weight of annihilation.
Cym bowed — deep, swift, trembling — and activated the communicator with shaking hands.
The call connected with a soft, innocuous chime.
Captain Ginyu's voice responded — enthusiastic, loyal, oblivious.
"How can I be of assistance, my lord?"
Frieza's voice was calm — too calm, the kind that preceded the end of worlds, a velvet sheath over a blade of pure venom.
"How is the mission progressing?"
Ginyu's tone shifted slightly — cautious, sensing the shift in temperature.
"It is progressing slower than normal, my lord. The Namekians remain very suspicious. They claim our aura 'reeks of evil' and such refuse to join the empire."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
Frieza's lips curved — not a smile, but something darker, a predator's baring of teeth.
"Kill them all."
His voice dropped — low, venomous, each word dripping with glacial hatred.
"Kill their children. Kill their women."
He paused — letting the words sink in like poison into veins.
"Hang their children's bodies outside the villages. Burn the villages to the ground. Rape their women. Do everything you want."
Ginyu's end went dead silent
Frieza continued — voice steady as final judgment, cold as the void.
"You have half an hour to bring me the Dragon Balls."
A beat — deliberate, crushing.
"If it isn't possible….. kill yourselves with them."
His tone turned glacial — absolute zero, the kind that froze souls.
"Because what I will do to you… will be worse than death."
The call ended.
The communicator clicked off.
Cym stood frozen — eyes wide in horror, body rigid.
Frieza leaned back on the throne — blood still dripping, pain ignored, his remaining eye gleaming with a chilling, unholy light.
A being forged in humiliation, baptized in divine wrath.
And Namek would pay the price.
In blood.
In fire.
In screams that would echo through the stars.
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Ginyu force pov
The Ginyu Force ship hung in orbit above Namek — a sleek, predatory vessel casting a long, ominous shadow over the green-blue planet below. Inside, the team stood frozen around the communicator, the call's echo still ringing in their ears like a death knell.
Ginyu's hand trembled as the line went dead.
The silence was suffocating.
Recoome — the massive brute — cracked his knuckles, but the sound was hollow, his usual boisterous grin gone.
Jeice swallowed hard, accent thick with nerves. "He… he meant every word, didn't he?"
Guldo whimpered, four eyes wide. "Half an hour… or we kill ourselves…"
Burter — the self-proclaimed fastest in the universe — stood rigid, speed meaningless now.
Ginyu straightened slowly, face pale but hardening with forced resolve.
He turned to his team — no pose, no flair.
Just cold orders.
"You heard Lord Frieza."
His voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on.
"No mercy. No hesitation."
The ship's engines roared to life.
They descended streaks of light piercing Namek's atmosphere.
The first village.
Elder Namekians gathered, sensing the evil approaching — green-skinned warriors standing protectively in front of homes, children huddled behind mothers.
Dende among them — young, innocent, clutching an elder's leg.
The Ginyu Force landed with a thunderous boom, dust billowing.
Ginyu stepped forward — no dramatic pose this time.
Just a raised hand.
Ki blasts erupted — purple beams lancing through the air.
The first Namekian warrior charged — only to be vaporized mid-leap, his body exploding in a spray of green blood and gore, limbs scattering like broken dolls.
Recoome charged next — massive fists crushing a defender's skull with a wet crunch, brains splattering across the grass as the body crumpled, neck twisted at an impossible angle.
He grabbed a fleeing child — small, screaming — and slammed it against a tree, the impact caving the tiny chest in a burst of blood and shattered bone, the body going limp as he hung it from a branch by its own intestines, steaming in the air.
Jeice and Burter flanked — beams slicing through crowds, bodies bisected in clean, cauterized cuts, torsos sliding apart in geysers of green blood, legs still twitching on the ground.
Women screamed — dragged by the hair, clothes torn, forced to the dirt as the Force took what they wanted, cries turning to gurgles as throats were slit mid-assault, blood pooling beneath violated bodies.
Guldo froze time — walking through the chaos calmly, snapping necks with casual twists, spines cracking like dry branches, heads lolling unnaturally before time resumed and bodies dropped in heaps.
Villages burned — ki fire igniting homes, flesh melting off bones in sizzling agony, Namekians rolling on the ground as skin sloughed off in sheets, screams turning to wet rasps as lungs filled with smoke.
Bodies hung from trees and poles — children gutted and displayed, entrails dangling like grotesque garlands, eyes wide in frozen terror.
The assault was systematic.
Brutal.
Unrelenting.
Half an hour.
Dragon Balls located — elders tortured, fingers broken one by one, nails pulled, until locations spilled in broken whispers.
The orbs gathered — seven glowing spheres clutched in blood-soaked hands.
But resistance lingered.
One elder — Moori — stood defiant to the end.
Ginyu ended him personally — death beam through the chest, exploding out the back in a spray of green blood and organs, the body collapsing in a twitching heap.
The planet bled — rivers running red-green, air thick with the stench of burning flesh and death.
As for Dende.
In one small settlement, nestled among rolling hills and peaceful ponds, Dende hid with a group of young Namekians — children like him, clutching each other in terror as the sky darkened with incoming ki signatures.
An elder — Nail's distant cousin — stood guard, arms outstretched.
"Stay behind me," he whispered. "The Dragon will protect us."
Spoiler alert:-It didn't
The Ginyu Force landed.
Recoome first — massive frame crashing down, the impact cracking the earth.
He grinned — manic, forced.
The elder charged — ki blast forming.
Recoome punched through it — fist connecting with the elder's chest, exploding out the back in a spray of green blood and organs.
The elder collapsed — gurgling, dying.
Children screamed.
Dende froze — small body trembling, eyes wide with horror.
Guldo stepped forward — time freezing.
The world stopped.
Guldo walked calmly through the frozen screams.
He grabbed Dende by the throat — tiny neck in his grip.
Time resumed.
Dende gasped — choking.
Guldo squeezed.
Bones cracked.
Dende's eyes bulged.
Blood trickled from his mouth.
He clawed weakly — too small, too young.
Guldo twisted.
Neck snapped.
Dende's body went limp small, broken, eyes staring blankly.
Guldo dropped him like trash.
The other children scattered only to be cut down by Jeice and Burter's beams, bodies bisected, limbs flying in arcs of blood.
Recoome laughed as he hung Dende's tiny body from a tree branch by his own antennae, the corpse swaying gently in the wind.
The village burned.
Dende's fate — like the rest.
Erased.
In blood.
In fire.
In screams that died with him.
The Ginyu Force rose — Dragon Balls in hand, ship stained with gore, faces splattered.
They had thirty minutes.
They made it in twenty-eight.
The assault was over.
Namek broken — villages ash, bodies desecrated.
The price paid in full.
In blood.
In fire.
In screams that the stars would remember forever.
And Frieza's will enforced.
Without mercy.
Without remorse.
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Author note.
This chapter was important to show despite Frieza looking like a human. He is infact still a monster who would do anything to achieve his goals.
He might have combined with a human soul but that doesn't mean Frieza was completely erased.
They have merged to become.....Perfect.