The Benshekanrenkeno were dying.
For millennia, they had ruled the galaxies fairly, kindly, and honestly. But their time was almost gone.
They had evolved so peacefully....they had forgotten the art of war.
The Nenkashangetaki didn't care. They knew the art of war, worshipped it, mastered it, honored it. War was their life. To fight was to live. Male, female, nenshokaru, bentokani, gender didn't matter. Killing was sport, domination the norm, Nenkashangetaki deaths rare. But that was hundreds of millions of years ago.
The Denshakenras were a mad, insane race. They lived, they dominated, they died. They found the Nenkashangetaki and attacked. Warships containing billions of soldiers landed, dispatched fighters, exploded.
After two Earth years, the Nenkashangetaki population had decreased from 9,034,234,523,235,265,980,187,940 to a mere 9,000. The Nenkashangetaki blamed the Benshekanrenkeno for the Denshakenras, and, under Denshakenra rule, 'fought back'.
The Benshekanrenkeno could do no more then cower under the fierce attacks of the Nenkashangetaki troops. The entire race of peaceful people watched their graceful cities fall, watch their temples and statues crack and melt, watch their ancient library burn.
The few genetic scientists the Benshekanrenkeno had had hidden far below the crust of planet Sunkarai. They had worked madly, building a race of powerful soldiers that had the immediate potential the crush the Nenkashangetaki warriors.
Warriors so powerful, galaxies full of planets would tremble with the vibration of the galactic shudder when their name was spoken.
Warriors so subtle, no race would realize they were defeated until they were brought in chains at the warriors' feet, forced into slavery on pain of death.
Warriors so intelligent, the most advanced technology a planet had to offer would be an infant's toys, the most powerful weapons pathetic to the warriors.
A single page of the journal of a genetic scientist who worked on the race remains. What we have is a rough translation... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Worked for the last hours today on (untranslatable) warriors. We've made a lot of progress; so much, in fact, that we know for a hideous fact that if these warriors cannot stand up to the Nenkashangetaki troops, none can.
Ah! Kenrotana has news! The (scribbles, blotting) machine is done! As are our warriors.
They have a name for themselves already, but those damn-fool idiots Thomanksheroni and Konre are laughing so loud I can't hear the computer.
Kenrotana has news! A mere three words, but three is the amount of races we helped become peaceful again, and the amount of High Goddesses the ancients believed in. Kenrotana's words are clear, amazing, terrifying, and wonderful. "They are complete!"
Wait, what's this? A warrior-----coming out of the tank? Armored?
It's horribly clear now, the warrior will destroy his creators, and the planet that they were made to protect!
The warrior has his hand raised; a strange globe of light is glowing in his hand!
The globe has shot through Konre! He's----dead. Oh, no, the warrior has turned on the huddled figure in the corner, scribbling in an unmeltable procone steel book! His hand is raised (gash), pointed at me, the globe- through me! Through a dim haze I can hear the warrior as if he were far away, crying: "We are Saiyajin!!!!!" (scribbles, blue-orange bloodstains)
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
Review!!! I thought this would be cool, I like making up aliens and, well, Veggie told me how the Saiyajins were 'born', so I wrote it down! Bye!!!
For millennia, they had ruled the galaxies fairly, kindly, and honestly. But their time was almost gone.
They had evolved so peacefully....they had forgotten the art of war.
The Nenkashangetaki didn't care. They knew the art of war, worshipped it, mastered it, honored it. War was their life. To fight was to live. Male, female, nenshokaru, bentokani, gender didn't matter. Killing was sport, domination the norm, Nenkashangetaki deaths rare. But that was hundreds of millions of years ago.
The Denshakenras were a mad, insane race. They lived, they dominated, they died. They found the Nenkashangetaki and attacked. Warships containing billions of soldiers landed, dispatched fighters, exploded.
After two Earth years, the Nenkashangetaki population had decreased from 9,034,234,523,235,265,980,187,940 to a mere 9,000. The Nenkashangetaki blamed the Benshekanrenkeno for the Denshakenras, and, under Denshakenra rule, 'fought back'.
The Benshekanrenkeno could do no more then cower under the fierce attacks of the Nenkashangetaki troops. The entire race of peaceful people watched their graceful cities fall, watch their temples and statues crack and melt, watch their ancient library burn.
The few genetic scientists the Benshekanrenkeno had had hidden far below the crust of planet Sunkarai. They had worked madly, building a race of powerful soldiers that had the immediate potential the crush the Nenkashangetaki warriors.
Warriors so powerful, galaxies full of planets would tremble with the vibration of the galactic shudder when their name was spoken.
Warriors so subtle, no race would realize they were defeated until they were brought in chains at the warriors' feet, forced into slavery on pain of death.
Warriors so intelligent, the most advanced technology a planet had to offer would be an infant's toys, the most powerful weapons pathetic to the warriors.
A single page of the journal of a genetic scientist who worked on the race remains. What we have is a rough translation... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Worked for the last hours today on (untranslatable) warriors. We've made a lot of progress; so much, in fact, that we know for a hideous fact that if these warriors cannot stand up to the Nenkashangetaki troops, none can.
Ah! Kenrotana has news! The (scribbles, blotting) machine is done! As are our warriors.
They have a name for themselves already, but those damn-fool idiots Thomanksheroni and Konre are laughing so loud I can't hear the computer.
Kenrotana has news! A mere three words, but three is the amount of races we helped become peaceful again, and the amount of High Goddesses the ancients believed in. Kenrotana's words are clear, amazing, terrifying, and wonderful. "They are complete!"
Wait, what's this? A warrior-----coming out of the tank? Armored?
It's horribly clear now, the warrior will destroy his creators, and the planet that they were made to protect!
The warrior has his hand raised; a strange globe of light is glowing in his hand!
The globe has shot through Konre! He's----dead. Oh, no, the warrior has turned on the huddled figure in the corner, scribbling in an unmeltable procone steel book! His hand is raised (gash), pointed at me, the globe- through me! Through a dim haze I can hear the warrior as if he were far away, crying: "We are Saiyajin!!!!!" (scribbles, blue-orange bloodstains)
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
Review!!! I thought this would be cool, I like making up aliens and, well, Veggie told me how the Saiyajins were 'born', so I wrote it down! Bye!!!