Age 763
Planet Arcos
Chilling winds rushed past the surface of the enormous world, fifteen times larger and more massive than Earth. They blew past thousands upon thousands of ice-like buildings, divided into just as many streets and alleys, before settling down into vast frozen lakes that were surrounded from all sides by the urban sprawl. White and a faint light blue, as far as the eye could see. Millions of years ago, Arcos was almost entirely encased in ice and snow, having been thrown too far from its parent star, yet, over a very long time, the plains and valleys were replaced by buildings to such a degree that the entire planet was now a singular, enormous city.
Yet, a city without any residents. Over time, the race which gave birth to Frieza and his family vanished into the nothingness of history, generally thanks to each other, betraying and slaughtering and murdering their own kind by the millions in order to rise up higher in the galactic hierarchy. By now, the handful of survivors had long since left their homeworld, leaving it into a ghost megalopolis.
This world was the only one which Frieza was said to cherish, and under his orders, not a single person that wasn't of his own kind was allowed to settle there. It was relegated to a symbolic capital of a galactic-wide empire, a planet sized memorial to their species' long rise to greatness.
A vast palace stood in the planet's northern hemisphere, and within it, hundreds of soldiers and scientists were working in the main hall, desperately working at haste designing new cybernetics. Their patient – a crippled, barely conscious emperor, lying on a bed in the centre of the room. Every single one of the scientists felt schadenfreude, of course, but they could not show – so, they expressed their glee at Frieza's downfall in ways they could. Secretly fudging numbers and ordering slightly lower quality materials than normal, so that even if they have to revive the emperor from the precipice of death, he will hardly be able to enjoy it.
From above, on the other side of a reinforced glass window, a tall, horned, armoured alien watched the ongoing assembly, his eyes staring at each scientist below, ready at any time to stop and execute anyone daring to euthanize his prince. His tail nervously flicked from one side to the next.
Don't worry, son. It won't take much longer. You will return stronger than before, and then we will lay waste to those who dared to defy our Empire.
While the alien was in the middle of his thoughts, one of his underlings, an amphibian soldier in battle armour, ran up to him and immediately went down to one knee. After a few winded breaths, he shouted:
"King Cold!"
"What is it? Has he arrived?"
The soldier nodded. "Yes, sir. The transport ship we were expecting has just touched down in front of the palace."
"Then invite him here. I will not leave the premises of this building until Frieza has been reconstructed."
Once again, the soldier nodded – but as soon as he stood up and turned around, he froze in shock and made a step back. From the darkness that set throughout the icy palace beyond the lights that illuminated Frieza's bed, a foot with three toes stepped forth, then a second one. Finally, moving past the veil, the visitor stepped forth.
Though similar to Frieza, he was taller, and his skin underneath the natural bio-armour of his race was dark purple. Once King Cold saw his face, he put on a faint smirk, saying:
"You haven't changed since the last time I saw you, Cooler."
"It's only been three decades, give or take," the retired king's son answered, briefly looking down at his hand and clenching a fist. "Though, I wouldn't be so quick to judge."
After all, while thirty years wasn't much as far as their lifespans were concerned, a lot certainly changed during those years. Ever since Frieza decided that he wished to rule the Universe all alone and he was forced to flee with a handful of his most loyal men to the farthest intergalactic space, Cooler had searched for nothing else but a power with which he might topple his brother and reclaim his birthright. By a whim of fate, however, Frieza suffered his first defeat right as he reached the end of his preparations – however, this only means that he will find a new path to rulership.
"I hope for as much," Cold answered bluntly, then turned his face towards Frieza. Looking down at his brother's corpse, the visible flesh that was burned off by Namek's explosion, Cooler couldn't help but smile. "I am sure I do not need to brief you about what happened..."
"Indeed. From what I heard, however, it was not another empire which deployed this "Super Saiyan" to kill my brother, right? It was a ragtag group of wannabe heroes who stopped him on Namek."
"That is true, but while Frieza is incapacitated, this Super Saiyan continues to roam the Galaxy, while what used to be our empire has shattered to pieces. Warriors who claimed to be loyal to our rule turned against us as soon as they heard of the news, carving out little warlord cliques, clashing with one another and sapping their planets of the last resources they have left. This is why I chose to lift your exile. It is not time for the last members of our race to be divided by petty squabbles. We must work together to restore our hegemony."
Cooler raised his eyebrow. "Surely, none of these "warlords" could challenge you in a fight, could they?"
"Of course not. But I won't leave Frieza at the hands of these charlatans. They'll try to kill him in his sleep as soon as I leave this planet, I'm sure," Cold answered with a disgusted tone, then glanced towards his son. "And besides... it isn't right for members of our race to bloody our hands. The rest of the universe's inhabitants are supposed to be so far beneath us."
"Sure, but times have changed... and if this "Super Saiyan" emerged with power to challenge someone like Frieza, then there may be others," his son replied. "If you desire my help, father, then we will need to be proactive. Take the fight to these traitors, and then – to the Super Saiyan."
"What do you propose? There may be thousands of warlords scattered throughout the Universe. Subjugating them all, one by one, might take as long as the creation of our empire in the first place – centuries."
A smirk crept up to Cooler's face.
"If you read them like a book... it won't take nearly as long."
He folded his arms, turning his eyes to the ceiling, looking through the ornate architecture surrounding them.
"Getting temporary reprieve from Frieza's rule won't change who his underlings are. Afraid, worried for their personal belongings and lives. They served under my brother for so long purely as a matter of survival. And if we play to their desire to survive... we can gather them all in one place. Send messages offering a truce to the Galaxy's warlords and offer them to gather on a planet where the Frieza Force will be refounded. Those who don't arrive will be deemed enemies and will know that we will come for them – and so, the majority will bend, afraid for their lives."
"Perfect. And then, they can serve as the bulk of our force in the conquest of the Super Saiyan's home world."
"...sure."
There was another idea that danced in Cooler's mind, but, for now, he decided to keep it to himself.
"It will be up to you to organize this, Cooler. I cannot leave this world for the next six months," Cold explained. "But, once your brother is in full capacity, we'll make each one of the peasants who defied our clan pay."
For a few seconds, the younger alien stayed silent, then, with a sly smirk, nodded in response.
"Of course, father. Nothing will be able to stop us."
"Cooler has returned," Caesa stated, almost in a casual tone, while he and Articho slowly departed from their quarters on Planet Frieza 4169. Though the Saiyan did not stop, it immediately got him to draw his attention to his comrade in surprise.
"What?" Although Articho only knew fragmentary information about Frieza's exiled older brother and rival, he could tell immediately that this was not good news. „What is he here for?"
"King Cold chose to lift his exile himself. And it seems that Cooler is working as his representative – he's sent forth a message to the whole Galaxy in his name."
Message?
What were the two aliens planning? Articho could tell something was not right, and the news that he would now have to contend with two unbelievably powerful leaders of the former Frieza Empire was overshadowed by his uncertainty of their approach. As if he needed even more things to stress about right now...
"What message?"
Caesa did not respond. Instead, the two soldiers arrived to the entrance of their spaceship – there, as soon as they stepped inside, the Brenchian led his superior to the bridge, where he pressed one of the buttons on the control panel and activated the stored holographic message there. A flickering visage of Cooler, sitting in a floating pod much like his brother, appeared before their eyes.
"Commanders of the Frieza Force. Aware of the deteriorating situation in the empire, I, Acting Supreme Commander Cooler, have chosen to restore order by my own hands. All of those who mutinied from their posts in the interregnum will become the enemies of our empire. However, I am not Frieza. To those wishing to reconsider their rebellion and return to our righteous fold, I offer lenience and amnesty, and you are welcome to arrive to Planet Frio to declare your allegiance. However, I only offer this, one chance. Those who refuse it will be destroyed, instantly – and you will see that I can be even more terrifying than my brother."
Articho listened to the speech intently, at first, but by the end of it, he could barely hold himself together. Then, suddenly, he slammed his fist into one of the walls of the room, trembling the entire spaceship.
"Damn it..." he gushed out, frustrated. First, the entire battle on Earth, then, the loss of two valuable team members, now this? While the Saiyan was fuming, Caesa folded his arms and turned to his peer, waiting for a few seconds to let the burst of emotions recede, before speaking:
"Captain... if I may, I would recommend going there."
"...What?" Articho muttered, turning to the Brenchian. "Are you insane? This couldn't be any more clearly a trap. He'd certainly just be there to kill all of us in one place."
A brief trail of sweat trickled past Caesa's brow. "Captain... Cooler is not Frieza. He was expelled from this Galaxy because he did not wish to rule the Galaxy in such a brutish manner. Perhaps, if he is far more refined, he would be willing to actually allow us to turn a new leaf."
Articho said nothing. Caesa continued.
"He cannot run a galaxy-wide empire by slaughtering its entire upper caste. He will need to keep someone from Frieza's regime to help him manage these planets."
Articho said nothing. Caesa continued.
"Because we hold a significant portion of the Galaxy, and you are by far the most powerful of the remaining warlords, we will certainly earn concessions from Cooler if he is willing to make such talks. Perhaps, as his right hand, you can rise to far greater power than either of us can predict."
With a sigh, the Saiyan finally left the punched wall behind and slumped into the captain's seat.
"We're all going to be executed if we don't follow along, anyway. Fine."
It felt... difficult to even continue, even if, in some form, he knew it was probably going to end like this from the very beginning. He was no more than an ant, struggling against the greatest titans of the Universe. It was never going to be likely that he will end up as anything more than an obstacle for the lucky few who truly shape the fate of trillions of people.
Emotionless, Articho sat in his seat, almost buried in it, watching Caesa punch in the necessary coordinated and activate the take-off mechanism.
Thousands of lightyears away, another conqueror sat down on his seat – confident and comfortable, in the middle of his giant mothership, surrounded by hundreds of men. From the large mass of soldiers, three lieutenants stepped out, each one immediately dropping to one knee and bowing to their overlord. Though each three of them were humanoid, their body sizes and shapes differed wildly, as was to be expected of the numerous species across the galaxy – one was a reddish-brown amphibian, the other was a green-skinned hulkish alien with a long black hair, while the one in the centre, a Brenchian, had teal skin and well-groomed golden hair. Their armours were a unique design, having only one shoulder pad – largely useless in battle, but a signifier of their status as the top commanders of Cooler's exiles.
"The messages have been sent out, Lord Cooler," Salza explained, raising his eyes towards the victorious alien. "Because of the damage that galactic-wide communications suffered in the year after Frieza's death, it will take time for it to be reached by everyone, but we expect the weak rabble to take the option and fly to Frio immediately."
"Good," Cooler answered, briefly. With a brief grin, Salza continued:
"It seems your long wait has paid off, my lord. Soon, the entire galaxy, and more, will be yours."
"Certainly, it is incredible to finally be back home after decades of exile," Dore added. "The galaxy's gotten only a little crappier since we last left it."
After a second of silence, the alien on the throne finally answered. "Frieza's downfall was a matter of time. He never truly learned how to run an empire." Briefly, he flashed a confident smirk. "And while he is out there, killing himself against the Super Saiyan with his new, shiny cyborg body... I will be here. Showing the Galaxy why it was I who deserved to rule."