Within the lavished banquet hall of the royal palace of Vegeta-Sei, restless creatures of power and bloodlust drank and cheered the night away. Another conquest won, Narsis-six had finally fallen under control of the Planet-Trade organisation. A pompous stench of victory hung high within the palace walls that extended to every one of the king's subjects, but not the king himself. Elsewhere however, a shadow stirred.
The prince, Vegeta, named for his father and the planet he would one day rule, arose prematurely from sweat-ridden covers for the fourth night in a row. Vegeta-Sei's moon had a strange effect on Saiyan's sleep, there were even tales of men going mad if they dared to gaze upon in its alabaster glow for too long.
Most irritatingly, the prince's mouth was as dry as the great desert of the eastern kingdom. With a huff, he snatched a blood-stained training garment from the floor and heaved it over his spikes. It would be improper to be seen within the royal palace with no top on, even at this time of night.
Eyes still blurred from sleep, but there was a smell of something in the air that reached the prince's nose the moment his eyes shot open. The scent of meat. Freshly cooked, so keen was his sense that the salty allure of the blood which seeped from the beast's chewy muscle with every bite could be tasted on the prince's tongue. A feast was set. The royals of other houses were staying at the palace tonight. From all four corners of Vegeta-Sei they had come to celebrate victory and toast the great name of the King. Peasants.
Vegeta danced about his room for a moment. Searching for nothing in particular as his vision awakened. He toiled through the ridiculous ceremonial garments that hung unattended in the corner of his room, passing each one along between two fingers absently. They reeked with the vile stench of embarrassment, only making the Prince angrier as he continued.
He hated this fucking room, he hated the palace. Vegeta was a warrior from birth, his battle power was unprecedented, and his heart ached to spill the blood of his enemies, but instead, he was reduced to nothing but training, forbidden from war until he became a man. Spending day after day in this fucking prison was the worst torture any Saiyan could endure.
It left Vegeta in a permanent state of spite, spite that was so pleasurable to relieve upon the royal guard
"Out of my way." The prince sneered as he strode from his room and brushed past an unexpecting sentinel.
"Prince Vegeta! Where are you going this late at night?" Parlslius demanded shakily, slamming his spear into the ground in a rare show of defiance. So rare in fact that the Prince stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning his head to smirk at the second-class Saiyan. "I'm going to steal a ship and fly it to Altrecka, and then I'm going to find your mate and fuck her like you never could."
"Why you little fucking—"
"Parslius."
Both males turned to face the gravelly voice, before the older of the two, red-faced from anger, straightened his body and saluted. Vegeta flashed the man another smirk as he watched him struggle to maintain his composure.
From within the next room, came the familiar form of Herald, leader of the palace guard. His tussled grey moustache and balding head always made the prince chuckle darkly, and tonight was no exception. Herald was a walking scar. He had seen more battles than hot dinners and the word about the guard was that the old relic was slowly losing his mind.
"Herald, I think one of your toy soldiers is defying his superior, perhaps you should keep him on a tighter leash. We wouldn't want the king to distrust his own personal guard now would we?" The prince offered sardonically as he left the two men to fester behind him. He'd insulted every member of the royal guard enough times to know exactly how they would react. Which didn't make it any less hilarious. Vegeta loved leaving those fools in a state of outrage and shock, there was a power to knowing that the King's men hated and feared him. He wanted so much for them to challenge him, so he could cut them down one by one, and show Vegeta-Sei and father that the Prince of the Saiyans was bloodlust incarnate.
Behind, Parslius mumbling struggled against Vegeta's own cruel laughter echoing down the palace halls. He knew that his royal title pretty much gave him immunity to any Saiyan other than the king himself.
Herald had been growing tired of playing peacekeeper, as he was now, consoling the infuriated Saiyan, and the prince knew it. He had a gift for pushing people's buttons, and it was something the King encouraged, though Vegeta doubted his father knew the true extent of his prickliness toward his personal men.
The endless corridors of the royal palace were something of a burden to navigate through. Every section bar the king's quarters, which housed Vegeta, Herald and the king himself, looked the same.
Dark, tarnished wooden walls, velvety red carpets, and scattered portraits depicting ancient Saiyans or glorious battles hung valiantly on either side of the walkway. Each hall was illuminated by the dim, smoky glow of candlelight. Vegeta, and indeed most Saiyans who took residence in the palace always questioned its ancient design. Thanks to a partnership with the Arcosians, Vegeta-Sei was blessed with some of the most state-of-the-art technology the universe had to offer. Hell, those conniving little bastards had even mastered interstellar travel. Yet the king demanded his house be kept as traditional as practicality would allow.
King Vegeta was a lover of the old ways. Like Herald, he was a symbol of a bygone era. The last bastion of the grizzly days of the past. Back when Vegeta-sei was a scattering of wild tribes. He was a stern man who rose from the blood-stained ashes of war to unite his people together, and to serve as one omnipotent kingdom. A natural leader of men, unafraid to scathe his closest friends in times of jubilation, but also effortlessly inspire confidence with the simplest of acts when the Saiyans were at their darkest. He had built Vegeta-Sei from the ground up, that's what he would tell his son. The king was a man of few words, but when his deep voice sounded atop the balcony of the royal palace like the great drums of war, people would listen, and that's what made him great.
Oddly, the ancient ruler was also an enormous fan of art, he marvelled at the capturing of the most powerful of moments within a frame. There was something beautiful about making those battles or those ancient men eternal he thought, which is why the palace was littered with them. In truth, the paintings were somewhat helpful to Vegeta as they were the only real way of deciphering one hall from another. His care for them extended no further than that.
Left, left, left, left, right, right, left. That was the order, wasn't it? It was never as fucking simple as that though. Certain doors would be locked and alternate routes would have to be thought up.
The prince needed to get to the kitchen, his stomach had started to moan greedily and drinking water always made him ravenous for something he could chew between his teeth.
As Vegeta proceeded he realised that Unnervingly, the halls were unusually silent. There was a stillness that shrouded the air. No doubt the bulk of the royal guard were at attention in the banquet hall, Vegeta-Sei could celebrate for days after a victory so grand, and the prince pondered if there was any mischief he could accidently get caught up in with so much space to wonder freely.
If the King hadn't been acting so strange the past few weeks Vegeta probably would have. But one day previously, when Vegeta-Sei's moon was nearly half-full, a time of seasonal celebration, the king had requested his son join him by the throne.
The prince strode into the royal hall not knowing what to expect, but exuberating his usual arrogant confidence. That was until his father spoke.
"Sit down my Son." King Vegeta whispered. The prince couldn't believe his ears; he had never heard his father speak in a tone so soft, or seen his face so passive. Normally there was fire in those dark eyes, and a furrow of his brows. But the king looked a different man that day. The sombre lighting of the stained glass that dimly illuminated his face didn't help the façade.
The prince said nothing as he sat beside the king on his own personal throne. A sickly hand reached for the goblet by its side. King Vegeta swirled his wine around for an uncomfortably long time before he could look at his son.
The prince waited expectantly, his face wrought with mild irritation and his fingers tapping to an agitated rhythm upon his throne as the seconds stretched out unbearably.
King Vegeta bit his lip before he spoke in that same foreign tone of frigidness. "Are you proud of me my son?"
What the fuck?
Vegeta's expression hardened at his father's words. But the King continued to look at his son longingly, as if watching him die, or leave in one of those space-pods for a new world, to never return to the blood-soaked planet of the Saiyans again. Was he finally giving the prince a chance at war?
"As king, I do what is best for my people, I hope you will understand that one day my son."
Patronising fuck.
Vegeta hated how his father could make him feel. Normally he was such a simple man who was as predictable as Vegeta-Sei's weather. But this was so strange and out of character for the mighty king. Moments of compassion were moments of weakness, that's what the prince was taught. Was the ruler of the Saiyans growing weak with old age? Doubtful, although what was certain was that the prince was right in the middle of sparring with that clown Parslius, and getting any further information out of the King could be a thankless task. Father's volatile mood swings were something of a fable amongst the court of Vegeta.
"Can I go now father?" The prince suddenly asked amidst the mounting awkwardness stagnating the royal hall.
King Vegeta smiled weakly at his son before the prince of the Saiyans hopped from his throne and left for the exit, his mind ablaze with more questions than when he entered. And his silk cape scraping the floor with each confused step.
What was eating away at the King? Narsis-six had been a seven-month, glorious conquest of blood. A battle that would be sung for generations. Surely he would have been his normal triumphant self at such a time of victory. He should have been radiating dominance and authority with those wordless stares atop the royal balcony. The endless masses of Saiyans should have been at his beck and call outside the palace as the king dramatically lifted his arms up into the air in a sign of heroic perseverance against the Narsians. And he should have borne that stupid fucking smirk the prince had inherited that he liked to wear when he had proven his advisors wrong. But no. The war was over. Narcis-six had wilted beneath the might of the Saiyan empire. And the fucking king was moping around like a lost cub.
Although in truth, the ruby planet that looked so much like Vegeta-Sei had fallen weeks ago, when its people's legendary commander Tirius was slain in battle. That day was truly the beginning of the end for the Narsians. They had been holding out by the skin of their teeth before, but as soon as the great behemoth of a man felt the cold steel of a sword slice through his lungs like wet tissue, the tide of battle truly turned in the Saiyan's favour.
It was a first-class warrior by the name of Cumbersan whom had secured the honour of ending the Narsian commander's life. Tirius fell on the outskirts of the planet's capital, Merkah, during a period of days that had seen some of the most intense fighting of the entire campaign. And two weeks and four days later, the hallowed city which had stood as the jewel of the Narsian empire for millennia was razed to the ground.
Narsis-six was a planet orbited by no moons. Meaning that the Saiyan offensive had to be carried out by thousands of troops, as opposed to a task-force of several highly trained warriors who could transform using blutz-waves.
The ruby planet's inhabitants, namely, the Narsians, were a race of humanoid creatures. The males all had long, strikingly blue hair, and the women a watery jade. Their faces were sharp and feral to invaders. Narsian as a language was harsh and tribal sounding, few amongst the Saiyans could understand it, but the ones who could, spread word of the hidden venom sack that sat behind a Narcian's ribs which could be pierced for an excruciatingly slow death.
They had pointed chins and elongated eyebrows which made them look distinctly alien and their skin was a hideous, deathly grey colour. Narsians weren't an advanced race but they had numbers and strategy, and were extremely territorial. Their clothes were crude and reminiscent of Saiyan-wear before the tribes of Vegeta-Sei were banded together. And their thick skin was normally marred by archaic symbols tattooed on in some backward ritual.
Narsians had no tails but their mouths were sharpened with deadly fangs that their venom seeped through, and their eyes burned with an icy light when they fought.
Scum.
The conquest of Narcis-six had of course been at the instruction of Lord Frieza. Apparently, the planet held strategic value, and could be used as a bargaining chip to the rest of the planets in that system. The Saiyans suffered heavy casualties in their conquest, and the lord of the planet-trade organisation was remaining oddly persistent in his desire for the world to be under his thumb.
The king dared not question Frieza as the universe feared his wrath. Vegeta was ashamed of his father for how easily he was twisted to the tyrant's desires. How quickly his will snapped at the clucking of Frieza's tongue. The Saiyans were a proud warrior race destined to rule the cosmos with an iron grip after all, and that bastard treated them like ants.
It all started when Frieza had come to them one day, before the prince was born, apparently, he sliced the king's brother in two with a mindless flick of the wrist, and from that point on, no one questioned his omnipotence. Vegeta didn't ask his father about that time as the old man didn't like to talk about it. The tyrant then gave them a choice, serve or die. Vegeta-Sei had to carry on surviving, that was imperative, and though Vegeta could never blame the king for saving his race from certain doom, he could certainly blame him for becoming that monster's bitch.
In all honesty Vegeta was getting a rising feeling of uneasiness about his father. Perhaps he would stop in by the banquet hall for a little discussion on the way to the-.
Something caught his eye. What was that?
Vegeta had never seen that painting before. Its golden frame had a shimmer to it and was lined with no dust like the others.
"Magnificent, isn't it?"
The prince snapped out of his daze and turned to look at the fool who would dare to address him so haphazardly. Before he could speak however, the man stepped forth into the candlelight, arms behind his back as he studied the painting like a curator.
"They found it on Narcis. Over a thousand years old apparently."
His eyes never left the piece of art as he spoke. It was a guard. Though the prince didn't wholly recognise him. His armour bore the mark of the house of Vegeta so he must have been stationed at the palace.
As a Saiyan, he was a fairly ordinary specimen. Over six foot, Long dark hair, square jaw, dark eyes, scarred face, bulky build. Vegeta couldn't put his finger on something that felt off about the man however.
The prince decided not to respond as he scanned one of the many spoils of war with a satisfied grin at the thought of how many Narsians that probably died in protection of it.
His searching eyes instantly moved to the backdrop. Many worlds of different colour and size shone from their place in the night sky, and between them were great ribbons of white light tearing through the cosmos and in between the stars. something that seemed strange to a resident of Vegeta-Sei, the Saiyan home-world's atmosphere only harboured a picture of the usual endless stream of stars and an enormous moon. One planet caught the prince's eye above all else however. Larger than the rest, and dominating the piece was an emerald world enshrouded in a mist of jaded blue. Vegeta bit his tongue subconsciously as he strained to remember where he had seen that blasted planet. It screamed to his mind with an unignorable sense of familiarity.
"You recognise him?" The guard suddenly asked, forcibly pulling the young prince out of his trance.
Vegeta stuttered as he eyed the man in the painting. He hadn't even bothered to notice anything other than the green world that was already giving him a headache. Now that he looked however, how the fuck could he recognise him? The man had his back turned. Vegeta could see It was a Saiyan, that much was obvious. The tail wound around the man's waist and the thick charcoal hair that sprouted from his head all the way down to his shoulders was enough of a clue. The painting scarcely revealed any discriminate detail. The man was holding a large sword aloft and the way his shoulders were hunched it made it look as though he was shouting. Facing him on the other side of some field they were standing on where the grass was green as opposed to red, was a shapeless conglomeration of darkness melding into the ground and the sky. And a tiny fragile white light amongst it.
Something did catch the prince's eye about the Saiyan however. It was how he was wearing traditional battle armour. Not the scientifically engineered uniform of the planet trade organisation they were forced to wear now. A relic Vegeta had only seen in person on a handful of occasions. It was refreshing, such crude attire for war suited their people better than the graceless bulky monstrosities Frieza and his goons wore. It also served as a reminder of a time when the tyrant's empire didn't stretch to Vegeta-Sei.
"No, who is it?" He answered finally, although Vegeta couldn't take his eyes of the painting for a second, but he could feel the stare of the guard boring into his back now, and in that moment, he had an irrational fear that the man might scold him.
"Tell me young prince, have you ever heard of a planet called Manaar?"
"Is that what that green planet is?" Vegeta's tongue answered for him before his mind could even process the question
"No, but it is what planet that Saiyan is on."
The prince blinked sheepishly. He hated for any of the guard to see him without his mask of confidence, but that picture was starting to fuck with his mind.
"So who is that Saiyan?" Why did the Prince even care? And who was this cretin? Vegeta scarcely recognised him, but like that fucking planet there was a dwindling familiarity.
"Peranus." The guard answered sternly.
The name didn't ring any immediate bells. The more the prince lost himself in the painting however, the more details became apparent. Like the crest of the glimmering claymore this Peranus person was holding. Sculpted onto the hilt was the snarling face of a monstrous green dragon with blazing red eyes and two axes crossing atop it's mighty horned head. Vegeta hadn't seen that symbol since he was barely a cub. Yet he still recognised it, this was growing annoying.
A wave of unexpected fear paralysed the Prince as he only now registered what the Saiyan was facing. Between the two forces depicted, in the blueish green grass, there was desecrated bodies with enormous chunks of flesh missing that looked as though they were ripped out. Peppered all around were the fallen soldiers relinquished weapons that sat eerily dormant on the blood-soaked floor.
Vegeta squinted at the visage of a tail curled up in the coldness of death. The bodies were Saiyans.
A blazing torrent of anger soared through the prince at his fallen comrades. It was strange, Vegeta never found himself batting an eyelid when hearing news of all the fallen Saiyans in previous conquests, in fact, if they were third-class, he often snickered at their demise. but for some reason these mutilated bodies truly resonated with something in the prince's soul on an extremely profound level. They were his glorious ancestors. His furious attention turned to the mass of darkness in the distance. On closer inspection revealing themselves to the prince as thousands upon thousands of nightmarish creatures of shadow and icy blue with great vampiric wings and snarling fangs that blotted out the sky. He now recognised the darkness for what it was, innumerable demons set to march forth across the world and Vegeta almost felt himself backing away as he gazed into their hellish burning eyes.
There was a chilling silence.
"W-What are those things?" The prince finally spluttered, his heart pounding restlessly.
The guard's expression turned dark for a moment. "Evil." Vegeta noted how his haunted eyes failed to look at the monsters on that wall for more than a second.
"A-And did the Saiyan, what was his name…Peranus? did he fall?" For some reason, it felt incredibly significant that Vegeta know.
The guard grinned proudly, demons suddenly forgotten. "Not that night, no."
Vegeta allowed himself more time to gawk at the scene, and at the chilly white light defying the army of darkness. Its pale glow was so strikingly similar to that of the moon. As he gazed deeper into it, the form of a person became more apparent within its shine. Vegeta wandered who would be brave or stupid enough to get so close to such creatures. "And what about him?" The prince asked aloud with a pointed finger.
The guard's smile dropped instantly. "An old enemy."
Cryptic as ever. Vegeta noticed his company's fist was shaking as he now stared at the light as well. "Sarlo the crazed his name was. Betrayed his own people and nearly wiped us all out by blowing up Manaar."
"He was a Saiyan?!"
"No. A Manaari."
Suddenly the guards arm was wound around the back of Vegeta's neck as he moved to the prince's ear to whisper something. "And let me tell you something my young Prince, even that sadistic fucker Frieza would run if he ever came across that." The man pointed repeatedly at the light, and then the vast army of demons. Vegeta could smell alcohol on his breath and in the air.
Suddenly the prince was relieved, something about the picture had unnerved him on a deeply personal level, but clearly these were nothing but folktales thought up by some simpleton with too much of an imagination.
In fact, the Narsians probably invented that story to unsettle their attackers. That had to be it.
Vegeta abruptly severed himself from the drunken man's grasp. "And tell me, what's that painting called?"
"The last stand."
"I see." The prince mocked in a sarcastic tone, his spiteful cockiness back in full flow. "And who is it by?"
"The artist never shared his name, only the title. Unless some poor kid was born to a Mr and Mrs Last stand that is."
The cunning prince almost found himself laughing at the joke. Almost. This imbecile had wasted enough of his time, and it was time to go check on father and get something fucking massive and meaty to eat.
"Well this has been enlightening my friend. But I'm going to have to love you and leave you, now piss off to bed before I slice your throat."
The drunken fool went to say something with an outstretched finger, before thinking better of it and slumping off into one of the many barracks that ran along the halls.
The prince marched on with a renewed confidence that shone on the outside like the heavenly white light in that painting, but something was still deeply troubling, that sense of familiarity felt so real, and why the fuck was the King acting so damn oddly?
Apparently Frieza wished to meet with Vegeta's father tomorrow, and the prince even heard that the topic of discussion for the two might have something to do with him.
That fact alone sent a chill slithering down the prince's spine. He would never admit to fearing the creature, but those cunning red eyes that blazed as deeply as Vegeta-Sei herself, were so very cruel when they wanted to be.
Sincerest apologies for the awful naming of the Saiyans!