This chapter is extra long do give me your Stones and comment.
Pleaseeeeeeee l need this.
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Frieza twisted the throttle one last time, the Ducati Panigale V4 screaming through the final stretch of open highway before the city lights began to thin. The engine's roar softened as he rolled off the power, downshifting smoothly, exhaust popping and crackling on deceleration like distant gunfire. The bike coasted to a gentle stop on the shoulder of a quiet overlook, tires hissing softly against the pavement.
The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and distant rain. Frieza killed the engine.
Silence rushed in — sudden, almost reverent.
He swung a leg over the tank and dismounted with deliberate grace, boots touching the ground without a sound. The Ducati stood there — matte black and blood-red, still ticking with heat, exhaust pipes glowing faintly in the moonlight.
Frieza placed a gloved hand on the fuel tank — palm flat, fingers splaying.
He closed his eyes.
A pulse of god-ki flowed from his palm — soft blue-purple light tracing the bike's lines like liquid starfire.
The Ducati shimmered.
Reality bent.
The machine folded inward — not shrinking, not vanishing, but slipping into a pocket dimension anchored deep within Frieza's soul. A personal vault, created with the vast ki reserves and forbidden spatial magic he had absorbed from Porunga's knowledge — simple for him, impossible for almost anyone else.
The bike disappeared completely.
No trace.
No sound.
Just gone — stored safely, ready to be summoned at a thought.
Frieza opened his eyes.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
Convenient.
He raised two fingers to his forehead.
Space folded.
Instant Transmission.
He vanished.
Frieza reappeared on the bridge of Bucephalus — the golden throne room welcoming him with its familiar opulence. The viewport showed stars streaking past in hyperspace, the ship already on course toward the feline world.
He glanced at the navigation display.
Half an hour until arrival.
Perfect.
Frieza walked to the throne and sat — legs crossed, wine-red suit shifting flawlessly.
He leaned back.
A glass of centuries-old nectar-fruit wine materialized in his hand.
He sipped — slow, savoring.
Frieza's eye gleamed — red in black sclera, sharp with anticipation.
Half an hour.
A man's paradise.
And then…
The real game would begin.
He smiled — small, cold, victorious.
The countdown continued.
And Frieza was ready.
Frieza stood on the observation deck of Bucephalus, hands clasped behind his back, wine-red suit immaculate as he gazed at the enormous planet below — a Jupiter-sized world of violet storms, crimson oceans, and golden mountain ranges that shimmered under twin suns.
The sheer scale of it — capable of swallowing 1,300 Earths — filled the viewport like a living jewel, its atmosphere alive with auroras that danced in impossible colors.
He turned his head slightly toward Cym, who stood at his side, tablet glowing in his hands.
"Status report on the planet," Frieza said, voice calm but carrying the quiet authority that demanded precision.
Cym's fingers danced across the screen, pulling up the latest scans.
"They have two primary leaders, my lord — both referred to as 'Queens.' One rules the feline territories, the other the broader coalition.
Technologically, they are somewhat advanced compared to the empire's baseline —Early fusion power, orbital stations, advanced bio-engineering, and rudimentary space travel. They lack true interstellar capability, but their military tech is… respectable."
Frieza's lip curved — a small, satisfied smirk.
"Respectable is acceptable. Primitives are easier to control."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"Are any other system aware of this… paradise?"
Cym shook his head quickly.
"No, my lord. The planet is highly stratified. The Queens control access tightly.
They have several distinct species — cat girls, dragon girls, bunny girls, and others — each with their own territories and hierarchies.
The cat girls dominate the central equatorial regions, known for beauty, agility, and… affectionate nature. The planet is not unified; it is a collection of kingdoms under the two Queens' loose alliance."
Frieza nodded once — satisfied.
"Name this planet under my name. Mark it as my private property. No ship is allowed near it. No scans, no probes, no traffic. This world is sealed."
"A private Domacile.... for vacation… and other recreational purposes."
Cym bowed — already anticipating the order, fingers already moving across the tablet to issue the imperial override codes.
"It is done, my lord. Sentinel drones are deploying now. The sector is locked. Any unauthorized vessel will be warned, then disabled… then erased."
Frieza's smirk deepened — cold, possessive.
"Good."
He turned fully to Cym.
"Which part of the territory do you suggest we land in?"
Cym didn't hesitate.
"Without question, my lord — the cat girls' territory. Central equatorial zone. The most developed, the most… accommodating. After Hacking into their system The Queen is said to be intelligent, beautiful, and pragmatic. She will understand the value of an alliance… or the cost of refusal."
"And if l am not wrong she is a Ninetall Fox"
Frieza's eye gleamed — red in black sclera, sharp with anticipation.
"Cat girls, then."
He turned back to the viewport.
"Take us down."
Cym bowed.
"As you command."
The ship began its descent — engines whispering, gravity pulling them toward the planet's embrace.
Frieza stood motionless — hands behind his back, gaze fixed on the approaching world.
A private Domacile.
A new playground.
But first…
Frieza would claim what was his.
And the cat girls…
They would learn to purr for their new emperor.
---
Frieza's ship — the colossal Bucephalus — descended in absolute silence, its shadow swallowing an entire marble courtyard of the feline kingdom's grandest palace. No engines roared, no wind howled; the vessel simply settled like a dark crown upon the planet, golden hull gleaming under twin suns. The landing was perfect, deliberate — a declaration that this world now belonged to him.
The main hatch hissed open.
A wave of aura rolled out first — thick, suffocating. The air itself seemed to curdle. Flowers in the courtyard wilted instantly. Guards staggered.
Civilians screamed and fled. The aura pressed down like gravity made of malice — every breath felt poisoned, every heartbeat labored.
Then Frieza stepped out.
Wine-red suit pristine, golden accents flashing like fresh blood under sunlight, white hair flowing, red eyes burning in black sclera.
He walked down the ramp slowly, hands clasped behind his back, the aura coiling around him like a living cloak of death.
Aura farming was just as IMPORTANT as getting stronger
Frieza then stood motionless in the grand marble courtyard, his wine-red suit pristine and untouched, golden accents gleaming mockingly under the twin suns.
The white-furred cat-girl leader — tall, proud, silver armor hugging her lithe form, emerald eyes blazing with righteous fury — leveled her plasma rifle at his chest.
"Raise your hands, invader!" she barked, voice sharp and commanding, tail rigid, ears flat against her skull.
The other cat-girls — dozens of them, beautiful and deadly — fanned out in a perfect semicircle, rifles humming, plasma barrels glowing hot.
Frieza did not move.
He did not raise his hands.
Instead… he laughed.
A low, rolling sound at first — then louder, crueler, manic — echoing across the courtyard like shattering glass in a cathedral.
The laughter grew — unrestrained, psychotic, shoulders shaking, head tilting back as if the very idea of her threat was the funniest thing he had ever heard.
The white-furred leader's finger tightened on the trigger. Humiliation burning deep in her heart. At that moment she didn't care what her queen had order her.
This was bastard was laughing at her. People didn't even days to meet her eyes. So she did what would be her greatest mistake on life.
She fired.
A searing bolt of plasma lanced straight for Frieza's heart.
The shot hit.
And Nothing happened... Absolutely Fucking nothing.
The plasma splashed against his aura like water against stone — dissipating in harmless sparks, the energy evaporating before it could even warm the fabric of his suit.
Frieza kept laughing — head thrown back, the sound rising to a crescendo of pure, mocking hysteria.
The cat-girl's eyes widened in disbelief.
Her rifle trembled.
Frieza's laughter died abruptly — cut off like a blade.
He blurred forward — faster than sight, faster than thought.
His open palm cracked across her face.
The slap rang out like a gunshot — the impact so violent her head whipped sideways, cheek splitting open in a spray of red blood, body ragdolling across the marble in a crumpled heap.
"Begone Thot"
She hit the ground hard — rifle clattering, ears pinned flat, tail limp, armor dented where her face had struck stone.
Blood poured from her mouth — thick, red, mixing with tears of shock and humiliation.
Frieza towered over her — hands behind his back once more, aura coiling lazily around him like a serpent savoring its prey.
The courtyard was deathly silent.
Only the soft drip of her blood broke it.
He crouched slowly — knees bending with deliberate grace, bringing his flawless face inches from hers.
His voice was soft — almost tender — yet carried the weight of annihilation.
"Look at you," he whispered, red eye gleaming. "So proud. So fierce. Pointing your little toy at me…"
He reached out — gloved fingers brushing a strand of silver hair from her bloodied face, the touch light, mocking.
"…and you thought l would give a Flying Fuck."
She whimpered — body shaking, ears flat, tail curled tight against her legs in primal submission.
Frieza leaned closer — breath ghosting her torn cheek.
"Call your queen."
He paused — letting the command sink in.
Then, with a cruel, intimate whisper:
"Daddy Frieza is here."
The words dripped like poison honey — gentle on the surface, venom beneath.
The white-furred warrior's breath hitched — a choked sob escaping her bloodied lips.
Her pride — shattered.
Her defiance — crushed.
Her body — trembling in humiliation so deep it burned hotter than any wound.
The other cat-girls stood frozen — rifles lowered, tails limp, ears pinned back in terror.
Their crotchess dripping Wet from this display of Toxic Masculinity
Frieza rose — slow, regal — hands still clasped behind his back.
He looked down at her — crumpled, bleeding, broken.
His smile was small.
Satisfied.
Absolute.
The palace gates groaned open in the distance.
The queen was cuming.
And Frieza waited — patient, amused, victorious.
The courtyard belonged to him.
The warrior belonged to shame.
And the planet…
Was already his.
+++
The grand palace gates groaned open with a deep, resonant boom, the sound rolling across the marble courtyard like distant thunder. A hush fell over the assembled cat-girl warriors — rifles lowering slightly, tails flicking in nervous anticipation, ears swiveling toward the sound.
She emerged.
The Queen of the Feline Territories — a vision of regal, predatory beauty. Nine luxurious golden tails swayed behind her like living flames, each one tipped in soft white, flowing in perfect harmony with her every step.
Her long, silken blonde hair cascaded down her back, crowned with an ornate golden headpiece adorned with sapphires and fox-ear motifs.
Her gown was a masterpiece of deep purple and gold silk, off-the-shoulder design accentuating her ample curves, the fabric clinging to her hourglass figure before flaring into a long, elegant train that trailed behind her like molten sunlight.
Red eyes — sharp, ancient, knowing — locked onto Frieza from across the courtyard.
She walked with the grace of a predator who had never known prey, each step measured, hips swaying just enough to command attention without effort.
Her presence radiated quiet power — not the raw, overwhelming force of Frieza's aura, but something refined.
The white-furred guard — still bleeding on the marble — scrambled to her knees, bowing low as the Queen passed.
The Queen stopped ten paces from Frieza.
The air between them crackled — two apex predators sizing each other up.
Her voice was velvet — rich, melodic, carrying the weight of centuries.
"You are Frieza."
Not a question.
A statement.
Frieza tilted his head slightly — red eye gleaming.
"And you are the Queen."
She inclined her head — the smallest acknowledgment, regal, controlled.
"I am Empress Ninetails, Sovereign of the Nine Tailed Clans, Yasaka"
Her tails swayed once — slow, deliberate.
"You come uninvited. Your ship lands in my palace courtyard. Your aura chokes my people. And you strike my guard like she is nothing."
Her gaze flicked to the white-furred warrior — still bleeding, head bowed in shame.
Frieza's smile was small, dangerous.
"She decided to shoot her shot at the poor old me what else was l supposed to do Kiss her."
The Queen's eyes narrowed.
"She defended her home."
Frieza chuckled — low, amused.
"How Fucking quaint."
He took one step forward — hands still behind his back.
"I have claimed this planet as my private property."
The Queen's tails stilled.
The courtyard tensed — every cat-girl warrior gripping their rifles tighter, tails rigid.
"You claim what is not yours to take," she said, voice steady, but edged with steel.
Frieza's smile widened — slow, predatory.
"I take what I desire."
He glanced around — the palace, the warriors, the queen herself.
"This world. These people. You."
The last word hung like a promise.
The Queen's red eyes flashed — anger, defiance, something deeper.
"You think you can simply arrive and own us?"
Frieza's aura pulsed once — blood-red with black veins, pressing down harder, making several warriors stagger.
"I do not think."
He stepped closer — now only 6 - 7 paces away.
"I know."
The Queen held her ground — tails flaring slightly, golden fur bristling.
"Then you will find that the Nine Tailed Clans do not kneel easily."
Frieza stopped — close enough now that the heat of her body reached him through the thin silk of her gown, close enough to catch the faint jasmine and amber of her perfume mingling with the warm, feminine scent of her fur.
His aura — blood-red laced with black veins — coiled around her like invisible silk ropes, not crushing, but teasing, brushing against her skin in slow, deliberate waves that made her golden tails quiver ever so slightly.
His voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur — velvet-smooth, laced with dark honey, every syllable a caress that seemed to slide along her spine.
"You will kneel…"
He let the word linger — soft, almost tender, yet heavy with promise.
"…for me."
A slow, languid pause — his red eyes tracing the curve of her neck, the swell of her chest beneath the silk, the way her breath quickened despite her iron control.
"Or…"
He leaned in just a fraction closer — close enough that his breath ghosted across her ear, warm and deliberate.
"…you will break."
The last word was a whisper — intimate, seductive, dripping with the unspoken invitation to surrender, to yield, to let him unravel her completely.
The Queen's tails swayed once — slow, almost involuntary, the golden fur catching the light like molten silk. Her red eyes darkened — pupils dilating, a flush creeping up her throat despite her regal poise.
Frieza's smile was small — dangerous, knowing — as he watched the subtle war play across her features: defiance clashing with something deeper, something hotter, something she refused to name.
The courtyard was silent.
Only the wind moved.
The Queen stared into his eyes — red meeting red.
And for the first time…
She felt the weight of something....
Something inevitable.
Something that promised pleasure wrapped in ruin.
Frieza waited.
Patient.
Amused.
The queen's next words would decide.
Whether she bent…
Or shattered.
The tension was suffocating.
And Frieza savored every second.