In the cosmic void where Planet Vegeta once hung, Frieza floated, his chest heaving with barely-contained fury. He scanned the emptiness—up, down, every direction—his senses stretched to their limit, but found nothing. The two Saiyan vermin had vanished completely.
Whoosh.
A presence. Right beside him. Frieza's head snapped around. Rhode stood there, materialized from nothingness, his expression unreadable.
"You DARE return, you wild monkey!" Frieza's aura erupted in a violet inferno. He was before Rhode in a blur of motion, a killing strike aimed to obliterate.
But as Frieza's intent solidified, Rhode's mind had already issued the command. Whoosh. He was gone, reappearing a kilometer away, watching calmly.
He glanced at Frieza, then at the expanding debris field that was all that remained of a world. Inside, he felt… a strange calm. No rage. No grief. Perhaps it was the detached perspective of a transmigrator, viewing this as a narrative event. Perhaps it was an understanding of karma—the Saiyans had sown cosmic violence for generations; this was the bitter harvest. At most, he felt a wistful melancholy, a quiet acknowledgment of an era's end.
Aira's raw, consuming fury was a stark contrast. Is it me who's too detached? he wondered. To achieve the Super Saiyan transformation required a brutal, emotional catalyst—a rage born of profound loss or injustice. Aira, had her power and S-Cell count been sufficient, might have ignited at this very moment.
But for Rhode? His nature was antithetical to such loss of control. He was a planner. An ambusher. He'd come to test Frieza's first form with a Senzu Bean in his mouth and a healing pod prepped in the Time Chamber. Victory was a calculation; defeat, a contingency to be managed and retreated from. This meticulous, survivalist mindset—the very thing that kept him alive—was the wall between him and the primal emotional surge needed for the legendary transformation.
Two paths, he realized, his mind working even as he kept a wary eye on the seething tyrant in the distance.
Path One: The Catalyst. Somehow find a way to experience a genuine, soul-shattering emotional shock without getting himself killed in the process. A near-impossible gamble with his personality.
Path Two: Overwhelming Fundamentals. Disregard the catalyst entirely. Push his base power and his S-Cell concentration to such ludicrous, unprecedented heights that they brute-force the transformation, bypassing the need for emotional turmoil. The Universe 6 Saiyans hinted this might be possible, but their starting point—both in power and innate peace—was leagues beyond his own.
Both paths stretched into a distant, arduous future. But they were paths. As Frieza, thwarted and furious, began gathering energy for a planet-buster aimed at the empty space Rhode had just occupied, Rhode made his choice. He wouldn't chase a rage he couldn't feel. He would build a mountain of power so high it scraped the heavens themselves. With a final, analytical look at the destroyer of worlds, Rhode's mind focused, and he vanished once more, leaving only the echo of his resolve in the silent dark.
At this thought, a sudden clarity washed over him, dispelling the vague melancholy. His emotional stability wasn't a flaw; it was a different kind of strength. While it barred the path of the Super Saiyan's rage, it might be the perfect foundation for the serene, emotionless focus of Ultra Instinct. He exhaled a long, steady breath. I'm thinking too far ahead.
While Rhode was lost in his internal reckoning, Frieza in his final form had closed the distance again but held his strike. He'd realized the futility. This 'monkey' had a teleportation trick. If he chose to flee, no amount of raw power could catch him.
"Boy," Frieza's voice was a controlled simmer of annoyance, "what is your name?"
Annoyance warred with a grudging need to know his foe. I must devise a way to counter that technique, he thought, his eyes boring into Rhode.
"Rhode," he answered after a moment's consideration. In this world, a name held little mystical power. There was no harm in giving it.
"Rhode," Frieza repeated, tasting the name. "I do hope the next time we meet, you won't scurry about like a cosmic rat."
Knowing he couldn't finish this now, Frieza settled for verbal barbs, confident this pest would return to challenge him again.
"Don't worry, Lord Frieza," Rhode replied, unruffled. "Next time we meet, I'll be sure to send you to hell. No—" he corrected with a faint smile, "for someone of your stature, heaven seems more appropriate. I'll send you there."
"Oh ho ho ho~!" Frieza's laughter was genuine this time, a high, cruel sound. The idea of himself in any form of paradise was absurdly hilarious. "I shall hold you to that!"
Seeing Frieza's amused reaction, Rhode's own smile deepened with unspoken meaning. He said nothing more. His figure wavered and vanished, leaving not even a ripple in the cosmic energy.
After Rhode's departure, a flicker of genuine puzzlement crossed Frieza's face. The method of departure was utterly undetectable. Furthermore, Saiyans couldn't survive in a vacuum… yet both of these had. Anomaly upon anomaly. These two were riddles wrapped in fur and battle armor.
An investigation is in order, he decided, filing the thought away. With a final, contemptuous glance at the debris that was once Planet Vegeta, he turned and glided back to his command ship, the mundane burdens of his self-styled cosmic emperorship awaiting him.
On a random, airless moon Rhode had selected, he raised his hand. The portal to the Portable Time Chamber shimmered into existence.
The moment it opened, Aira shot out like a cork from a bottle, her eyes still blazing with unfocused fury.
Rhode was faster. His foot lashed out, catching her squarely in the midsection and kicking her unceremoniously back through the doorway. He followed in the same motion, the portal sealing shut behind them.
Inside the sterile white expanse, Aira scrambled to her feet, a growl building in her throat.
"Aira. Calm down." Rhode's voice was a whip-crack in the silent space.
She wasn't listening. Her aura flared, chaotic and aggressive.
Seeing this, Rhode abandoned words. Some lessons had to be taught kinetically. His figure blurred.
If reason wouldn't work, then exhaustion would. Once she was drained of energy and spirit, she would be ready to listen. And he was more than capable of administering that particular lesson.
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