It wasn't long before the pair were on their way back to the Desert world that Yota had called home. Finding another ship was easy enough, Turles' compound had no shortage of spare vessels lying around, and these were even faster than the light craft they'd taken to get to the planet. A three-day journey would look much more like a two-day in any of these. The one they selected was an Icee-Class corvette, a big, burly-looking thing that was designed for long range combat missions and built to move in swarms. Its body was a blocky, made up of metal rectangles and copper squares that gave the ship a patchwork look, like someone had welded a dozen smaller vessels together and called the result a ship. But its design by no means made it slow, and the extra metal was present for a reason- it might not stop a shot from Frieza, but it'd halt anything short of a Capitol Ship's point defense, and even then the unsightly armor would still give the occupants time to eject. It even had lightspeed engines that would let Garkos go to any system in the Galaxy if he so chose.
It would do what he needed it to do, but it wasn't his baby. His personal craft outdid the big, bulky corvette in every way imaginable, it was faster, its weapons could disable a Capitol Ship well before any point defense guns could hit it, and its shields made short work of anything a ship could throw at it. Not to mention, his baby wasn't hideous to look at. But Garkos knew he'd have to wait for at least another few days before he'd be reunited with her. Once they rendezvoused with what remained of his fleet, he'd trade the Icee out for his personal craft after making sure Yota was safely back with her parents. From there they'd make their way back to the Forest Moon and use that as their base of operations until they could secure Turles' planet and recover the Cohbrins. Then, all that was left was to transport the refugees to the Terrax Six. After that...
Well, Garkos wasn't sure what would come after. His part of the rebellion had been the largest single fighting force that was resisting Frost Demon oppression, but its size didn't correlate to its power. The average power level of his fleet had been a scant two-thousand, with the more powerful of his men holding a power five times as much, but it hadn't been enough when the Crusher Corps came down on them. Even accounting for his lieutenants, some of whom had almost been as powerful as Garkos himself, their strength would only barely have been enough to defeat a few members of the Ginyu Force. Before the Crusher Corps had come, Garkos had planned a series of hit-and-runs against important Cooler Force strongholds for exactly that reason, his men couldn't face a full-frontal assault, especially not if the Armored Squadron were present. Especially not at their size. Once those strongholds were down, he'd have weeks or even months to recruit new faces from those planets, or to train resistance cells on worlds that wouldn't let themselves be recruited from. He wouldn't beat the Frost Demons in a head-on confrontation, he knew that much, but now that his fleet had been devastated? He needed to check over his losses, see how much of the main fleet remained and make a plan from there.
He knew Choso had escaped, he'd made certain of it before going off to face Amond, but how many others had managed to avoid capture or death? And of those, how many remained loyal to the cause and how many were only sticking around until they could find somewhere better to lay low? If the number was as small as the sinking feeling in his stomach was telling him, then it might be time to rethink his rebellion. It could take years or decades to rebuild his Rebellion to the level it was at before, and by then, Frieza and Cooler would have had their spat- it would be much too late to take advantage of the chaos to bring them both down.
So what of the others? Garkos' Rebellion had been the largest, yes, but it was not the only faction vying to end the rule of the Frost Demons. His friend Forrest and their allies could be a benefit. Before now, Garkos hadn't been sure about how highly he thought of the coalition of mages and so-called "Guardians", but they shared similar goals to his Fleet and he was good friends with Forrest already. They'd even asked him to band together at one point, but he had refused due to the potential for his Rebellion to transform into a theocracy if he paired with them so soon after its forming. The fanatical elements within their group were still a danger, but The Spiritualists might be his best bet to recoup the losses he'd suffered. Garkos frowned as he set the ship to autopilot, his mind at last freed to fully be elsewhere. There were a few other factions left, but could he really trust the Communists after the massacre that took place on Soyin? What of the men Choso had come from? The Technocracy weren't filled with the kind of people Garkos wanted to throw his lot in with, but maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe the reason his Rebellion had ultimately failed wasn't because of the Crusher Corps, maybe it was always doomed to go that way for as long as he held on to his personal moral virtues. Maybe it was time he sacrificed something, even if he didn't want to do it.
He spared a glance towards Yota. His mind turned away from thoughts of the future and focused on the present. At least for now, he needed to worry less about what was to come and more about what was coming now. The girl had been through a lot and for the first time since he'd met her, she was showing it. Without Frieza to pester for questions, she had taken to exploring the ship for the first thirty minutes of their journey back, but she'd been quieter, much more somber than he'd ever seen her... Aside from when she thought no one was looking, at least. There were times on the journey here that he had caught glimpses of her true emotions hiding under the surface. Now though, she sat at a table in the back of the ship, head laying on her arms. Bored, yes, but her eyes told a different story. Grief. The girl didn't deal with her emotions like others did, that had quickly become clear to the man based only on the fact that she had stowed away instead of staying behind with her mother. It wasn't healthy, but he wasn't her mother. He could only let her process her emotions on her own, it would be better that way, and besides...
He was terrified of asking any more about the Arcosian-shaped Bantha in the room. Frieza, and the way these people spoke of him, remained a sticking point in the Zaltian's mind. Every time he thought about how they had interacted with him, what that meant, it felt like someone had struck him over the head with a lead pipe without warning. The very idea that the tyrant he'd grown up hating for his entire life was anything more than a demon was anathema to him. He'd spent so long convincing himself that Frieza was nothing more than a despot that he couldn't begin to fathom why someone would think otherwise. He couldn't imagine it, it was as foreign to him as the concept of a star was to an ant. It felt like being told some kind of cursed knowledge that even scholars shied away from, it didn't make any sense. Frieza was responsible for genocides of entire species, the enslavement of whole cultures, the murder of men both good and bad. Everything that he had done during his reign was monstrous in one way or another. For every good he did for one planet, another ten had its people conquered, its freedom taken, its way of life obliterated, the people there treated as less than germs to be disinfected. Yet somehow, people did think otherwise. Somehow, Frieza had convinced not one person but an entire village that he was, on some level, good for them and worse... Worse was the idea that Frieza might have been good for them. The only thing that the Arcosian had demanded of the people was a way off the planet and in exchange he had fed the hungry, housed the homeless, provided water where there was none and defended them at every turn. Worse was the fact that Garkos could almost see the good within the monster.
On some level, Garkos had always known that Frieza had to be a full, three-dimensional, person, but he'd never spared it more than a passing thought. He knew of the social programs his administration had implemented across hundreds of poorer worlds. He knew of the foundation his mother had started that Frieza funded year after year. He even knew of the protection from piracy that the Frost Demons as a whole had promised the Galaxy after the disappearance of the Jackyls several hundred years ago. But none of that had ever mattered in the face of his overwhelming evil. None of it had ever mattered in the face of the sadistic tyrant that Garkos had encountered in his youth, the abominable thing that had slaughtered his father with a grin on his face. What did social programs do in the face of stomping out anyone who had the crime of disagreement? What protection could be provided by the man responsible for killing you? Those things that Frieza had done, the good that he'd done for the Galaxy had all been for the sole purpose of projecting the image of the "Good King" to the core worlds of his Empire. To anyone outside of those small holdouts where wealth was plentiful and the poor knew not of real struggle, the facade of the Good King was dropped quickly in favor of showing his real face, the face of The Emperor. Garkos knew that Frieza must have had something he really loved, something he really cared about, he knew, on some level, that Frieza was a sentient being, but it had never mattered.
Garkos sighed, now feeling a hotness in his chest that he rarely felt for reasons outside of combat and tapped a few buttons on the console in front of him, causing a screen to come up. He adjusted the dials on the long-range frequency tuner until he accessed the Rebellion's secret frequency, then he waited. Choso would detect him using this channel and switch over to it, he just had to be patient, which unfortunately meant he would be alone with the one thought that could possibly rationalize Frieza's behavior. Queen Cold.
The Queen's reign had been short, but Garkos remembered it with the fondness and nostalgia of boyhood. He recalled the wealth his planet had under her care, the prosperity that he had been looking forward to using in his youth. Things that were just as quickly trampled by Frieza in his own quest to expand his Empire, but his mother... her charity had been well known throughout the Galaxy. King Cold made the majority of the decisions as King, but the Queen had been quick to use the power invested in her by marriage to better the lives of those she ruled. It had been her life's work, no matter how much it cost her family, she'd forced her Husband to lend aid across the universe and had actually been responsible for The Cold Family's lesser-known moniker. Yes, Cold the Conqueror was the name known to most throughout the universe, but Cold the Charitable had once been their title as well.
Certainly, her methods weren't perfect. She could never quell her husband's thirst for greater power, and under her watch, King Cold had exterminated and enslaved countless races beneath the banner of his Empire, but the Queen even extended her hands out to the recently conquered. With her at the helm, Cold's rule had been better than any of the Kings before or after him, but it had been short lived. Once she had fallen ill, her charities fell by the wayside, and when she eventually passed, while the Galaxy mourned, Cold turned his attention to expansion. Expansion that simply couldn't be sustained, and by the time Frieza took over, many of the programs she had set up before her death were cut to save money for wars to be waged across every arm and star system of the Galaxy. But if anyone had influenced Frieza in the right direction, it would have been his mother. But she had been dead for a decades now, at least, and though Garkos knew that Arcosians aged much slower than other lifeforms, it didn't make sense that Queen Cold would still be influencing her son all these years after her death, did it?
Before the man could get an answer, a voice crackled through the speakers, "Hello? Gar? Is that you?" Choso's voice was a thin and slightly nasally one, but hearing it flooded the man with incredible relief. The Varga's words were like a drink of cold water after an eternity spent wandering the desert. At long last, Garkos' ordeal was coming to an end. The hotness that had raced through his chest now began to cool as he smiled gently at the worried stutters of the bird-like alien, "Hello? Sol, is this thing on? Am I coming through clearly? Yes? Okay then- then are we receiving any audio?"
Garkos let out a chuckle into the mic, shaking his head, "I hear you Choso." Garkos said in a good-natured tone. Choso's antics often brought a smile to the Zaltian's lizardlike face, and were a welcome respite from the events of the past few months, but Garkos knew he didn't have much time to mess around, that could come later, much later- over drinks, when the Rebellion was fully back to fighting shape, "Its been a long time, friend, but I'm afraid I can't play catch-up right now. Me and the missing refugee I'm sure you've spent the last few hours searching for are on our way back to you with intent to meet the fleet halfway, round up the refugees and prepare to embark."
Choso was silent for an unusually long amount of time, but Garkos didn't panic. On more than one occasion, it had taken more than a few minutes for the Vargas to gather all of his thoughts. The man was genius, and that often came with the unfortunate side-effect of being a little scatterbrained when it came to articulating his words. Plus, given the fact that they'd been apart for several months, he imagined that his friend had much to say. But those truths didn't quell the prickle of unease that slowly crept its way into his stomach when his compatriot didn't respond after two minutes. The prickle grew worse as he heard shuffling in the microphone and the birdlike alien clearing his throat nervously, "Ah, well... the thing about that is..."
Choso nervously ran his fingers around his beak, then trailed his hand up to ruffle through the plume of dark red feathers on top of his head. He hated giving bad news. Not only did it never go over very well interpersonally- Choso hated the look on someone's face when he had to be the one to explain that their loved one had fallen in combat, or that the ship was going down- but in his line of work, bad news was Bad News. It usually meant that something had gone completely, catastrophically wrong, and that was never a good thing to hear from an engineer. But, given that Garkos had put him in charge of the very little that still remained of the Rebel Fleet, that put him in the spot of being the only one capable of giving bad news, and he hated it.
"There's um..." He swallowed, then spared a glance through the fiberglass shielding of the ship one more time, and this time he made sure to pull the red-lensed goggles from his eyes before he did, just to be sure that the red lenses and red sunlight weren't causing him any blindness. After all, with how reflective the sand was, it was a possibility that he or one of the few dozen soldiers he'd had spread out across the planet had missed something. But still, despite the new perspective, the Vargas saw absolutely nothing in front of him. The Scouters built into the ship had detected only a few animals, and the tunnels of the massive structure they'd found, while they had been lived in, had been similarly abandoned, "Well- and I'm not sure how to put this but- there's nobody here."
The Seed of Darkness was a rather impressive vessel. One of the only types of its kind, it was a black Krell-Class Star Destroyer with a sleek design reminiscent of that of an arrowhead, with a pointed bow, a thin middle and a wide back. What made The Seed so different from other Krell-Classes, however, was the sheer enormity of its construction. From back to front, it was roughly the size of a city, and from above, one could be forgiven for mistaking the vessel as a small, flat mountain. It had been specially designed, and cost more to build than some planets would ever produce, but it had been worth it in the end. So far, The Seed of Darkness was unmatched in naval combat. Its weapons were two, three times the scale of most ships of similar size, and it could hold a crew of nearly ten-thousand, with five-thousand spacefighters ready for launch at a moment's notice. The best part? It hadn't cost its owner a dime. Indeed, he'd taken the vessel alongside everything else Lord Slug had when he'd killed him. It was the man's prize, his joy, but to call it the greatest thing he owned would be a erroneous mistake.
For despite the titanic nature of the Krell's greatest feat of engineering, it was less than a fraction of the primordial abomination it sat before. Behind the vessel was a massive structure, cyclopean in scale. So great in its design that its arms stretched out and blotted the burning gaze of God's red eye. No light could reach the floor beneath the twisted wooden limbs of the titan, and so all things which were covered by it's shadow came to rot as though corpses drained of blood. And of those which refused to rot away, refused to give up their essences as easily as the others had, they were pulled up by their roots by the spindly, gnarled legs of the colossus which were so long and so far-reaching that at their longest they burrowed through the planet and burst through the other end, and even their shortest stretched on for hundreds of miles. Like great serpents, they stretched themselves across the planet and like the stories of old they coiled around it and constricted so violently that they tore through continental plates as easily as a worm carved through dirt. Then like the hungry heads of an ancient leviathan, they began to consume, drinking away at the vitality of an entire world. Soon the once-blue planet would turn a sickly brown as its oceans were drained, its forests shriveled, its poles melted, leaving the only green thing left in the world to stand proudly upon its corpse, a headstone for a dead world.
Turles looked towards the trunk of the antediluvian behemoth and smiled before taking a sip of the red wine in his hand. This world was not teeming with life, but the fruit it would bare from its sheer size would be more than enough to empower him and his crew for what was to come. Frieza was on his way, and it would not be long before Turles would be forced to face him in combat, the thought made his heart race. It was not only the natural inclination of his race to become excited by the prospect of a powerful opponent that made Turles's blood surge with excitement. No, it was the fact that today was the beginning of a new dawn for the universe. No matter who won their bout, Turles knew that the Galaxy was on the precipice of something grand. A war unlike any war it had ever seen before, a war that would shatter the longstanding Empire of the Frost Demons and bring about either its end... or a change in it that hasn't been seen since the days of the Jackyls.
Should he win, he would take Frieza's defeated form to the center of the universe, and broadcast his victory over the Arcosian to all those in the Galaxy. He would execute Frieza on his own throneworld and unleash a call to arms so great that it would ignite a civil war far beyond anything Garkos or his ilk could have ever hoped to see achieved on their own. He would throw the balance of power in the Galaxy completely out of order. One Super Saiyan was one thing, but two? Turles couldn't help the grin that etched over his lips as he took another drink, the cool wine slipping down his throat only serving to make him smile all the more. Two Super Saiyans would prove to the Galaxy that the defeat on Planet Earth was more than the fluke Cooler had been touting it as. Turles could only imagine the flames that would come as hundreds of thousands of worlds surged into rebellion at once, dozens upon dozens of warlords now seeing the opportunity to finally throw their names down in history. He could envision the battles that would come from it, and it made him shudder with anticipation. No battles would be greater than his own however. Not only would those same warlords see him as the most immediate threat, but Cooler would come for him, and when he did... it would be glorious.
And should Frieza win? The same would come, he assumed, but the civil war would be far less exciting. Not the least because he himself wouldn't be present for it, but also because Frieza's claim to the throne wouldn't need to be proved. He and Cooler could settle the score on their own without involving their men, and the balance of power in the Galaxy would remain forever pitched on the side of the Arcosians. Oh but that battle would be glorious, and something told him that no matter who won, it wouldn't end there. Certainly there would be no great revolutions, no powerful warlords would see fit to make an attempt against the Frost Demons after a display of their full power, but Garkos would surely try. Then would come the Communists and the Guardians, the Technocrats, even the other Pirates might throw their lot into the ring. It wouldn't be quite as explosive, but such a war would be grand and even if Frieza came out on top, he would need to change how he ran his Empire, or else there would be more revolutions, more rebellions. His reign would never know peace if he did not.
He would kill to see it for himself. But alas, he knew his fate would be decided here. Either he would destroy the former Emperor and battle his brother, or he would die before the brothers did each other in. Frieza was not the merciful type, nor was he one for sparing Saiyans in particular, it was an unfortunate truth. He took another drink, making sure to taste the wine on his tongue- it was sweet, with a slight tang- then turned to look back towards the five or so men left on the planet with him. He'd made sure to evacuate the world before Frieza's arrival, just as he'd made sure to plant the Tree of Might three days ago when he became aware that Frieza was coming. His men didn't stand a chance against Frieza, not like he did, and Turles wouldn't force them to stay. Such deaths would be pointless and worse, dishonorable, he couldn't bare to allow his men to suffer such a fate, "Are you all sure about this?" The dark-skinned Saiyan asked after swallowing, now swiveling the wine in his glass as he did, "I can't lie to you about your chances."
The men had been with him since the beginning. Some were glory hounds, others wanted a chance at revenge against Frieza, but most? Most wanted the power that would come if they survived the battle, the reward that Turles offered any man under his command for a job well done- a Fruit of the Tree of Might. Even just a bite of the Fruit was enough incentive for most men, they'd die for the chance at its power. Turles couldn't blame them, the power it provided was far more than anything that any man could ever dream of attaining on his own, "Of course, Lord Turles." One of the men stepped forward with a nod. He was a short but muscular man with a shock of red spiky red hair on top of his head. His name was Likume if Turles's memory was serving him, he was one of the men that had been recruited after the conquest of Alt Kreilor. Turles smiled at the memory, he was a good man, a good soldier, one worthy of his respect, "We'd follow you anywhere, sir. And hell, a chance to battle Frieza?" Likume smirked, jerking a thumb towards his chin. "Sign me up."
Turles smiled a bit more at that. Power is what drove them, but it wasn't all they were loyal to. These men had faithfully served under Turles across countless battles, and at the end of each one, he'd been sure to commend them for their efforts, as he did with every man and woman in his employ. Certainly, his inner circle- the original members of the Crusher Corps- had received the greatest praise, but these men had been compensated just as fairly for their work. They had shown valor, honor, and above all, a love for combat that would make even the greatest Saiyan warrior nod his head in respect. They understood power, real power, just as well as any Saiyan did, and though they weren't of his race, Turles considered them just as strong as he did any Saiyan, "Then a toast!" Turles raised his glass and the other men lifted their own cups of wine, each having been poured by one of the slaves that had been left behind to serve them before Frieza's arrival, "To the Crusher Corps!"
"To the Crusher Corps!"
Turles lifted his drink to his lips, then turned as one of the men stepped up to him, a datapad in his hand, "Sir, we've received a message from Captain Amond." The man said, and Turles gave him a nod to continue, "He is currently on course to arrive at the planet within the next fifteen minutes. He says he's recovered a new batch of slaves, about fourteen more than he had previously."
Turles nodded again, his face hardening a bit. Amond well knew the price for failure, and no one had failed greater than Amond had by losing Garkos. Even so, it was forgivable, and the Captain had made an effort to make up for his mistake. When he'd first been shown the transmission they'd intercepted, Turles had thought about telling Amond to leave the survivors be and simply return to base, but the Captain had insisted that by leaving the world behind they would be tarnishing the final actions of Lakasei and Rasin. Turles knew that Amond was simply trying to bribe his way back into his superior's good graces with a new set of slaves, but at the same time... Amond had provided them valuable information. The slaves were one thing, but the "secret" Rebellion frequency? That was something Turles could use to his advantage. So he allowed it, though Amond would still be losing out on his share of the Fruit, the standard punishment for anyone who pulls less than their weight, "Very good then, anything about Frieza and Garkos?"
The man swallowed, then glanced down at the datapad before glancing back up with a nod, "A ship has just entered the atmosphere. We believe Frieza is on his way."
Turles nodded one final time before tilting the wine glass back and downing the entire thing. It was time for war.
Frieza hadn't expected them to come to him. Usually it was the other way around, but he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, Saiyans were a worthless species of battle junkies after all, it was only natural that this one would seek him out. When he "landed" the vessel, the Arcosian was quickly surrounded. About six or so men in total, all wearing bootleg versions of Frieza Force armor. Though he couldn't see some of them, the ship had alerted him to their presence with some kind of radar. Well, it was time to get started then.
Frieza shut his eyes and took a deep breath, no matter what happened, he couldn't allow the nightmare that had plagued him earlier in the day to strike again. He had to maintain his composure. He didn't know what to expect, but the butterflies fluttering around his stomach were a strong warning- his mind could still easily betray him. But as those thoughts crossed his mind, Frieza gently swept them aside with one affirmation, "I am Lord Frieza." Came the hiss as he stood. He turned to face the wall that would lead out and took one final breath, steadying the sea of nausea swirling in his stomach. This Saiyan, this Turles, whoever he was, was nothing in comparison to that fact. He had been the Lord of the Universe, he had been known as the most powerful being in all existence, barring only the likes of the Gods themselves. The strength of the Saiyan race might have been on the rise at the eve of their destruction, but it had taken a very particular set of circumstances to bring the likes of Vegeta and Son Goku to his level on Namek. Circumstances that would not be repeated.
Frieza's eyes opened, and he walked to the door. His hand swept the button to open the pressurized bulkhead. The Emperor set his shoulders back as steam hissed out from beneath the heavyset door. He smirked as the hydraulic presses began to whir and creak to life, prying the metal entrance open. And as the first glints of red sunlight began to heat his skin, Frieza's smirk transitioned into a haughty grin. Then his eyes fell upon the man standing at the bottom of the ramp and everything died on his face. The sunlight no longer felt warm as his veins went cold, the grin ceased like it had been murdered and Frieza nearly felt his posture give way and his body slump down in time with his dropping jaw.
'It can't be...' Frieza wasn't sure if he spoke the words or if they had only been heard in his mind. His skin prickled with sweat either way, and before Frieza knew it, he felt blood rushing to his head and pumping through his torso. The Saiyan that was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps leading from the ship to the ground looked horribly familiar. His skin was an ashy, greyish color, his armor was a dark purplish blue, and his Scouter was bright pink, but none of those details stood out to Frieza. Instead, his eyes latched onto something even more distinct, 'That hair...' They trailed the outline of each individual locke, and as they did, a flicker of memory came over the Emperor again. Once more superimposing itself onto reality, the image of Son Goku came over the Saiyan. Frieza caught himself sucking in ragged, short breaths, but even though he noticed, he couldn't stop. It felt like he was drowning, and no amount of oxygen would be able to convince his body otherwise. The Saiyan was the spitting image of Son Goku. Frieza felt his joints start to lock up again as the image of Son Goku began to grow stronger in his mind, but just before the demon could fully arrive, the Saiyan spoke.
"What's wrong? I thought I was about to meet the mighty Lord Frieza but you look like you're a moment away from wetting yourself!"
'His voice.' Desperate to free itself from the grip of the monstrosities it had created, his mind clung onto the one detail that was slightly off between Goku and Turles like it was a hand in the darkness. Slowly, the Saiyan's manner of speech began to pull his mind free from the oceans of terror that it had been sinking into. Frieza began to feel his breathing start to steady itself, the vision of Son Goku fading a little, the sight of Turles growing stronger in his mind. Turles spoke with an accent that befit someone of a higher class, one that was hardly seen on Planet Vegeta itself, and one that the Saiyan named Goku did not share. It wasn't much, and Frieza's heart still thundered in his chest as his eyes studied Turles's hair and face, but it was enough for the Arcosian to force out a smirk, "My my, I was just a little surprised that's all." Frieza admitted that much freely, he hadn't been expecting the Saiyan to look so much like Goku. But since he did, "After all, you look like someone I particularly despise, you'll have to forgive me for mistaking the pair of you." Part of him wanted to say that all Saiyans looked the same to him, but he couldn't bring those words to emerge, not when the memory of Son Goku in that hideous transformation flickered in his mind. It only happened for a moment, like a candle being lit and then quickly snuffed out, but it was enough to make Frieza frown. He was reminded of the facts of this situation. No matter what happened, it was imperative that he take Turles with absolute seriousness.
Turles quirked an eyebrow at first, clearly not comprehenind what Frieza meant for a moment, but slowly it began to dawn on him, his eyes going wide as he crossed his arms, "Ahh, I see. So then, the Super Saiyan you encountered was a low-class? I had thought it would be Vegeta." He replied, and Frieza felt himself relax a bit more at his posture. The more the Saiyan did, the more of his personality he revealed to the Emperor, the less that Goku's otherworldly afterimage began to impose itself on the Saiyan. The less it did, the more control Frieza started to regain over his senses. But one thing didn't leave him. His heart might have started to beat less, his vision might be losing the ghoulish visage of the other Saiyan, but Frieza couldn't shake away the pit in his stomach, the gentle hiss of fear at the back of his mind that wanted him to run away.
He ignored it as he spoke, "Unfortunately for you my dear monkey, it is exactly as you say." Frieza smirked in a calm, sadistic manner, "I did encounter one of your kind's lower classes, and they did unfortunately do this to me." Frieza gestured at his mechanical limbs as he spoke, carefully ignoring the flashes of memory that wormed their way into his mind like an unwanted visitor. Each one was like a perfect photograph of a particular moment on Namek, and each one correlated to a shooting ache somewhere on his body. Either on his arms, along his waist, or even a tingle at his back where his tail should have been. His mind shoved the thoughts aside like it was shoving through a crowd while being chased by something behind it. The gentle hiss of fear had begun to ramp up as Frieza began to loosen the many valves holding his power back, transforming into a steadily increasing hum like that of a starship engine. He wasn't sure why, but it felt stronger now that he began to power up, like increasing the pressure valves on a boiler, steadily causing his pulse to quicken, his heart to thunder louder in his chest. Still, he smirked, masking these feelings under layers of a different sensation.
"And since you look so similar to him... I'm going to enjoy this very, very much." Purple fire spouted from Frieza's torso and spread across his mechanical arms and legs like a blaze spread over a forest as Frieza braced himself for Turles's opening attack. The Saiyan had not been so arrogant as to wait for Frieza to fully power up, but it made no difference either way. A crater left in his wake, Turles sped towards the Arcosian Emperor while drawing a fist back, his body a blur that would have easily outdone the likes of the Ginyu Force, Cooler's Armored Squadron and even, perhaps, one of Frieza's own lower forms. But to the Emperor, he may as well have been moving through mud. In his reduced state, Frieza was unable to use his power at its maximum output, but he didn't need to in order to face Turles, and quickly shot forward, outpacing the Saiyan but still raising his metal arm up to absorb his opening strike. Flesh struck metal with enough force to crumple the durasteel ship behind Frieza and blow away the nearest trees, but Frieza felt no more than a light breeze from the shockwave.
Before Turles could do more, Frieza swept his arm through the air to knock the Space Pirate off-guard before quickly shooting a sharp jab into his nose. To his credit, the Saiyan managed to absorb the blow without breaking the cartilage in his nose, but he was still sent careening away from Frieza and through several trees. The dying wood splintered and cracked more easily than healthier trees might have, slowing the Saiyan down only by fractions and allowing him to split through dozens of them before he managed to come to anything resembling a stop. Frieza grinned, his thirst for Saiyan blood allowing him to swipe aside the now droning warnings in the back of his mind as he finally unleashed a full torrent of energy around his body and shot towards the Saiyan.
Frieza quickly closed the distance between himself and Turles, and his eyes blazed with adrenaline fueled hatred. His body screamed for vengeance, his mind screamed for blood, his instincts screamed to run, but Frieza merely grinned wider as he reached the Saiyan. One fist shot up from his side in a left-hook, but Turles was not nearly as helpless as he looked. He might have been unable to stop his momentum, but he maintained the wherewithal to bring both of his arms up and cross them over his face, absorbing Frieza's blow before sparking his own dark blue aura and shoving his arms out in an X-shaped cross-cut, forcing Frieza's hand back and giving the Saiyan enough time to finally regain some control over his body's motion. Turles was quick to act and shot higher into the air while extending his hand down towards Frieza in the same motion, already charging a vibrant ocean-blue ring of energy through his palm. Frieza didn't give the Saiyan quarter however, and wasted not even a second in giving chase. He had learned from his mistakes on Namek, and though Turles's strength was most definitely below his own, the man certainly still had the power to put up a fight, something Frieza knew could spiral out of control if allowed to progress.
So, when the inevitable energy surged through the gauntleted palm of the Saiyan Warrior, Frieza was prepared. A bubble of royal purple light surrounded Frieza's body while an aura of lavender energy filled the dead space between his skin and the edge of the shield. Nova Strike was considered the Emperor's most powerful move, but to say that its only use was for attack would be a gross misunderstanding of its purpose. It was intended to be a bludgeon that not much could withstand, that was true, but there was more to it than that. The aura it was made from was the ultimate form of defense, using layers upon layers of Frieza's own energy to create a shield that could even be vastly more powerful than the Emperor himself. Frieza needed not use that much power for this attack though, only implementing a fraction of his energy to carve through the energy beam, splitting the attack into two distinct waves of power like a knife surgically splitting flesh apart. Energy screamed and strained against his barrier, but no matter how much the Saiyan had poured into the attack at its inception nor how much the Saiyan pressed into it now, it was too late. Flying with both hands outstretched in front of him, Frieza struck the Saiyan in the jaw, snapping his head back and eliciting a groan of pain and a splatter of blood as the Arcosian sailed by him.
Frieza deactivated the barrier and spun around just as the Saiyan's limp body flew towards him. He drew both hands back and clasped them together over his head, intending on slamming Turles back into the ground with a heavy double hammerfist. Then, without warning, something hard crashed against his own chin, snapping his head to one side and causing Frieza to miss his mark, granting Turles the chance to recover from the attack and spring a few meters away from the Arcosian. Surprised by the interruption, Frieza's dark, red eyes flicked onto the newcomer with a different feeling now filling his chest. The dull throb of worry still pounded against his heart in ways Frieza had never felt, but the new burning sensation that came over his heart as he noticed his attacker managed to bury it beneath a seizing flame of irritation. Before him, some kind of teal-skinned fish-alien stood, his arm connected to the fist that was currently pressing Frieza's face to one side.
Terror spread over his attacker's face as he noticed Frieza's stare, but to his credit the man didn't falter. Instead of allowing fear to take control, he pulled his fist back while swinging the other in a strike aimed for Frieza's opposite cheek. Again the blow connected, but now Frieza's head didn't snap to one side. Again and again, the fish-man attacked him, the force of his blows being enough to shake worlds, to turn entire continents to smoldering ash, each one holding enough power to make the greatest explosives in the universe seem like party favors by comparison. But not one turned the Tyrant's cheek.
Eventually, the alien pulled back and guarded his own face, taking up a stance that Frieza vaguely recognized as being that of a boxer's. Clearly the man had noticed how ineffective his punches had been and was now guarding for the inevitable counter. Instead, Frieza simply smiled at the alien, the anger that had consumed his worry now itself being replaced by a new sensation, "Is that really the best you can do?" Sadism dripped from every word, and stronger than that was the slow, almost carefree cadence with which he spoke, "Come now, surely you can do better. Or is this what passes for warriors these days?" Frieza's smile turned into a grin as the man's face darkened, a growl emerging from his lips.
This time the man shot his fist upwards in an uppercut, letting out a shout as he did, "I'll show you!" But the Arcosian snapped his hand out and took hold of the alien's fist well before it reached its destination. Frieza moved with all the ease of a well-trained battle-ball player, catching the man's fist in his hand no harder than if it were a battle-ball at the start of the game. The alien had a microsecond to look up into Frieza's eyes before the tyrant yanked his arm up, wrenching the appendage out of its socket and hoisting the alien high enough that Frieza's face was no eye-level with his chest. The fish-alien screamed in agony, but Frieza was sure it wouldn't last long as in the next moment, three spike-tipped fingers were jammed between the alien's ribcage. Bone and meat snapped apart like they were made from paper and long metal talons pierced holes through organs with all the ease of pressing a button.
Frieza grinned sickeningly as he felt his talons emerge onto the other side of the alien's body. As much as he detested these Cybernetics for denying him the true feeling of sensation, he appreciated them for the purity with which they killed. They were designed to be used as hunting tools and had been made to kill something while causing as little harm as possible. But under his employ, Frieza could see them as the perfect instruments of torture from which he could play the greatest symphonies. He made a note then, reminding himself to have these implemented into his future cybernetic augmentations somehow. It was with a sound like a shunk that he tore his hand free, carving the alien like a turkey, rending a few vital organs free before throwing his body away. Dead or alive, he was no longer a threat.
The alien sunk to the floor like a stone. Frieza watched its lifeless body twisting and twirling in the air as it fell, only turning his attention away when its form fell behind a canopy of drooping leaves and rotting trunks. The tyrant held his chin with the hand that hadn't been used to impale the alien and rubbed his metal fingers around his jawbone, testing to make sure that that the Boxer's hits had done no damage. Before Frieza could fully ascertain that however, a shout emerged from his right. "Damn you!" Another of Turles's men launched towards the Arcosian, but he wasn't alone this time. Unlike before, Turles had joined his comrade in arms, and was now speeding up to reach Frieza before his subordinate could.
The Emperor waited for the Saiyan to close the distance between them, only snapping his hand out when Turles was but a few feet away. Fist aimed for his chin, the Tyrant imagined that this would be a critical blow that he could use to disorient the Saiyan and open him up for another, much more powerful follow-up. But the Saiyan managed to surprise him. Managing to duck beneath Frieza's arm, Turles slid right past his defenses and planted a devastating jab between Frieza's ribs! Air rushed from Frieza's lips like it had been sucked out, offering the Saiyan a chance to do what his previous minion could not. Swirling, voidlike energy formed over Turles's fist before he brought it up onto Frieza's chin in an uppercut, snapping his head up and opening him up for a prolonged assault! Blow after blow rattled against Frieza's body, each one connected with just as much power as the first. One struck him hard enough to not only snap the Emperor's head back, but also sent him skidding through the air, where a new sensation connected with the back of his head.
Frieza's vision turned white as the boot of the other man Turles had been flying in with was suddenly brought down hard against his skull. The man behind the blow cheered, or perhaps grunted as he hopped slightly higher into the air, spinning his whole body around while shooting his other leg up for a follow-up. His victory was short-lived however, as Frieza finally regained enough control over his body to duck beneath that oncoming attack and in the same motion, launch himself backwards in the air while throwing his elbow out, catching the man in his own ribs. A delightful crunch followed the impact, and Frieza had to mentally restrain himself from chuckling as he felt what he imagined to be two ribs completely shattering beneath his attack. Frieza quickly turned, unwilling to give the man a chance to recover. Doubled over and howling in agony as he held onto his side with both hands, the man had the most minimal reaction to the Emperor's hand pressing against his chest. Peering through one eye, the Space Pirate only glared as dark red light flickered between Frieza's fingertips.
"No!" Two gauntleted fists careened into the bio-gem on Frieza's head, cutting the Emperor's finishing move off and sending him soaring towards the tree line himself. Above him, Turles gritted his teeth before yanking both of his hands back. Lavender spheres of energy quickly formed between the man's palms, and by the time he had fired the first of what was to be many dozens of volleys, Frieza had already recovered from the sneak attack. A Sudden Storm of purple light raced towards Frieza like a salvo of missiles or the first incoming downpour of rain, the light emanating from them being enough to turn the entire world a deep, midnight shade. Illuminated by the innumerable and rapidly growing number of energy balls, Frieza allowed himself a moment to collect his thoughts. His mind worked at a hundred miles a minute, slowing down Frieza's perception of the world around him just enough to give him the space he needed to put together a plan of action. Not against the balls of light coming for him however. In fact, though they appeared formidable- even commendable with how they seemed to home in on his position despite being so haphazardly fired- Frieza felt no concern bubble up in his chest at the sight of the rapidly multiplying orbs of light.
What really bothered him were Turles's little helpers. He had only faced two of them so far, and while one was most certainly dead and the other was at least crippled from his last attack, that still left another three that Frieza hadn't seen. It wasn't their power levels that concerned him, nor was it their apparent use of various fighting styles if the two men battled with already were any indication, it was the fact that they seemed to be able to coordinate with each other that worried the Frost Demon. He had learned a few valuable lessons in fighting on Namek, and one of them was the importance of not allowing a group of weaker foes to bunch up together, lest they manage to pull something unexpected off. 'Hm... I suppose I'll have to take them seriously then, Turles alone is already quite substantial...' Frieza had to end his reflection early as the first of what had now grown into hundreds of the energy orbs reached him.
And it was only when he realized the sheer volume of energy blasts that Frieza felt a small twinge of concern. The idea that a mere Saiyan was capable of generating this many attacks so quickly was just enough to drive his heart into nearly a cardiac seizure, the organ pumping more than enough adrenaline into his veins to send a Purrgil into a frenzy. Without even thinking about it, Frieza's aura suddenly enveloped him like purple fires of hell and the Arcosian let out a yell as he flung both hands out to his sides. He turned his internal pressure valves further, releasing a roaring surge of much brighter energy from his body. The reddish-purple light of this power contrasted heavily against Turles's own, then slowly grew in both power and size as Frieza began to focus it. His body found itself at the center of a new, demonic sunrise. One strong enough to not only supersede the planet's real sun but even overcome Turles's own lightshow.
Waves of pure force rolled off of the aura surrounding his body in cycles, and even from his position miles above the nearest regular tree, Frieza's power was more than enough to pry the venerable forest roots out of the dirt, peeling the woodlands mile by mile. Trees were torn from the holdings they had been in for thousands of years, layers of soil, sediment and rock were blasted away at the point directly beneath the Arcosian, and even the gargantuan roots of the singular, gigantic tree that grew from the planet's core were not safe. They vibrated angrily, and swayed under Frieza's raw strength like buildings designed to weather hurricanes. Their footholds in the planet's mantle held, even as monolithic bark was torn free and sent flying for miles, even as their nearest roots began to disintegrate beneath the pressure and heat being unleashed by the Emperor.
His barrier easily held back the countless number of energy blasts that struck it, giving Frieza more than enough time to pool a substantial fraction of his power into his palms. These were not the same kind of energy as his barrier however, their energy was a darker shade and they crackled with violent bursts of red electricity as they formed. They were made of a purple so deep it might as well be black, their bodies were dotted with spots of hellish red and bright, plasmatic orange. Frieza wasn't quite sure what to call this new technique, but the voracity of their power, the magnitude of the destruction they were able to create from simply the aura he generated alone gave them a significance that must be honored. The Arcosian pulled both hands back, stretching the muscles along his shoulders and pectorals far enough to allow him to pitch both of the blasts like they were one of Jeice's famed Crusher Balls. For a moment, the Arcosian allowed himself to bask in what felt almost like tranquility. The dull, droning explosions of the Saiyan's onslaught pelted against his barrier much like rain, and the wind that Frieza's own technique was kicking up reminded the man of being at the center of a hurricane, deep within the eye of the storm and completely safe as a result. As that thought crossed his mind, Frieza realized just what he wanted to call this new attack of his with a black chuckle.
"God's Eye." With that, the Emperor glanced up and honed in one the source of the blasts. He took a moment to snicker a tad at the hopelessness that permeated an attack like this, only someone who was either truly desperate or truly foolish would commit to using thousands of small energy blasts instead of one large energy blast. Then, without another moment of hesitation, Frieza flung his own orb towards the Saiyan, who himself had not given up on trying to break through Frieza's barrier, if even he had realized there was a barrier at all. Shrouded beneath this many energy blasts, hidden beneath the warring lights conjured by their clash, it was fully likely that Frieza's defensive move had gone unnoticed by those above. But as Frieza's attack sailed through the Saiyan's blasts and reached the man, Frieza imagined the look on Turles's face as he realized his attack had been a complete failure. The thought provided the Arcosian with some small pleasure that only grew as his orb detonated in the air and ceased Turles's assault. The explosion itself marked an end to the flashier showings of power, its own aura burning brightly enough to completely blanket the sky above in a thick coat of black, like someone had suddenly replaced the atmosphere with coal.
But Frieza had no time to enjoy the splendor of his work, and quickly turned towards the planet itself, scanning it for any sign of the other three. He suspected that Turles had not been killed in that explosion, though he knew that if his subordinate was still standing near his master that he almost certainly was. As much as he wanted to pursue the Saiyan himself, Frieza knew that after that, it would only be a matter of time before Turles's other minions appeared to save their master. He had to deal with them first, and eventually he spotted a trio of men coming his way from the now-barren forest floor. The Arcosian wasted no time in throwing his opposing hand down towards them, that one still holding the remaining energy ball he'd created. Though his attack out-sped the men by nearly a thousand times over, the distance between its point of origin and them was great enough that the trio were able to quickly scatter away from one another, putting themselves outside of the orbs effective killing range but not outside of its effective damaging range. The Tyrant clenched his fist as the men split off from one another to avoid the orb, causing the energy within to undergo a chain reaction that detonated his newly christened "Sphere of Terror", blanketing everything within a mile radius in thick, black energy that atomized everything in its center and disintegrated anything else. Trees, rocks and even dirt were consumed and obliterated, but Turles's men faired a bit better.
One man had been caught in the shockwave of the attack and sent whirling through a portion of the forest that had been lucky enough to avoid the most devastating effects of Frieza's Eye. Frieza lost track of him, but he was among the luckier of the three. Another of the men had been slower than that one, and had been forced to take the brunt of the explosion dead-on with nothing but his energy and his armor to protect him. Hardened Plasteel plates burned and blackened underneath the incinerating heat of Frieza's Sphere, and the man's flesh faired little better under the strain, but he managed to hold out long enough for the force of the attack to send him flying away as well. Frieza decided to pursue that man, not bothering to focus on the final one, who had the unfortunate luck of being the slowest of the trio. In some ways, being completely absorbed by the attack was a mercy, his death would have been quick and- relative to his friends- painless. A painless demise was a mercy that would not be granted to those who had survived, of that Frieza was certain.
Pursuing the man who had taken on the brunt of his blas, Frieza felt another, more sadistic grin start to grip his lips, twisting them in familiar angles that he had sorely missed. He scraped his new metal fingers against each other as he approached, letting each grating scratch grow louder and stronger as he began to descend on the still-recovering form of the man, the sound like that of a butcher preparing to get to work. He was a small yet stocky creature, with a shock of red hair that reminded Frieza almost of Recoome. Though unlike the tallest member of the Ginyu Force, this man didn't have the good sense to realize the true power in the universe, and as the long knives attached to Frieza's hand began to make their way towards the soldier, he didn't beg nor scream. No, he raised his blackened arms and readied himself to fight, knowing already that there would be no mercy from Frieza.
Turles's eyes opened after a moment, and he quickly closed them. His vision was swimming, the entire world blurred like someone had taken a wet paint brush and swept it over the canvas of reality. Browns and greens and reds and purples all mixed and merged together in a psychedelic mixture that the Saiyan didn't appreciate. Tentative, the Saiyan opened one eye slowly and though the burning red light of the world's sun seemed a bit harsher than it had a second ago as it peered down from the canopy of leaves created by the Tree of Might, Turles managed to push past the pain and opened both eyes fully. His eyes widened as he took in the full breadth of what laid in front of him. Where once had been a lush and thriving forest now stood a completely barren wasteland. But even calling it a wasteland seemed to lend the site too much credit, this place was...
It was unlike anything Turles had ever seen. Under normal circumstances, an attack like the one Frieza had unleashed would have simply flattened the surrounding landscape. Nothing would ever grow there again of course, but any archeologist would have been able to tell that there had been a forest there once. That was not the case here. What Frieza had done to the world was nigh apocalyptic. Veins of molten lava churned up from the ground like new lakes, volcanic ash and dust drifted into the air and floated just above the tree line, pyroclastic flow seeped from one edge of the crater he had created to the other, drowning what little greenery might have been left over beneath a cloudy, black mass of volcanic gas. Smaller pockets of gas and magma shot up from the ground in geysers, their contents spilling out from them and flowing downhill, each one creating a new river of hell-born water.
'And... this is the power of Frieza?' Turles thought as he began to push himself to his feet, eyes uncomprehending. 'He... It didn't even seem like he was trying to do this! He was simply...' A new emotion surged through the Saiyan then, a feeling that he rarely experienced firsthand. One that he was accustomed to providing others, but had only ever felt in the most dire of circumstances. A feeling of terror. It poured through his body like ice water through his veins, sending a chill up his spine and a shudder through his chest as adrenaline began to fill him. He had faced foes with terrible powers before, many such opponents had come for his head, and all had been turned away but none... None had been so monstrous as Frieza. None had ever managed to do something like this to the world from the mere act of... 'Powering up...' Those words reverberated through Turles's mind, bouncing over and over like an echo in an empty cave, growing more and more distant the longer they did.
But fear was not the only emotion ravaging his body. Turles felt it rising up through him like a bat flying out of hell, each beat of its wings sending new waves of hellish brimstone through his veins. Heat blasted through his chest like the hot fuel of a burning starship exiting the atmosphere of a dying world, mixing with his fear and turning the adrenaline it gave him into a newer, more powerful sensation. Anger was one way to describe it, certainly. The men that Frieza had butchered, was butchering were good men, men that Turles had considered honorable warriors, men who didn't deserve their fates. But it wasn't merely anger, it was something much more dangerous for a Saiyan to feel. It was the lust of an addict, the hunger of a predator, the thirst of a man lost in the desert. The Saiyan drive for battle.
Despite the danger he knew was present, Turles found himself grinning. It was not with the mewl of a sheep that he would go out, it was with the roar of a beast that he flung himself back into the fray, eyes already locking themselves onto the monstrous Arcosian Emperor...
Author's Note: I accidentally deleted so much, and I'm very annoyed by it. I will not allow that feeling to taint my writing here though. SO! This was a nice chapter, a bit on the shorter side than what you're used to by now but it has a lot of redeeming qualities, a lot of set ups that are going to be paid off on later, so I hope you all enjoyed! With that said, I'm going to get onto the power levels and then start making replies to reviews!
Frieza (Suppressed due to Cybernetics): 3 Million
Frieza's God's Eye: 6 Million, this is due to the fact that attacks can be stronger than the person using them if charged (see: Piccolo's Special Beam Cannon).
Turles: 1.5 Million
Likume (Minion 1): 140,000
Boxa (Minion 2): 130,000
Kix (Minion 3): 110,000
Kyber: (Minion 4): 105,000
Dirge: (Minion 5) 100,000
As you can see, these guys are all fairly elite for this era of DB. My reasoning is the same as everyone else- they've been consuming the Fruit produced by the Tree of Might. Amond is still leagues above them and Turles is leaps and bounds ahead of Amond, but they are all fairly powerful guys who could make the Ginyu Force look bad. Now its just a question of why didn't they make the Ginyu Force look bad? Where were they during the main story of DB if they are all this powerful?
Well the answer is simple, its important to recognize that this is a year after the events of the Frieza Saga and nearly two years since the Saiyan Saga, they've had a lot of time to eat a lot of fruit, making them powerful enough to contend with Frieza's most elite forces. That said, not everyone in Turles's army is lucky enough to be here, most of the lower level soldiers could have taken on Raditz or Nappa, and some of them like the guards that Garkos fought could have possibly defeated base Saiyan Saga Vegeta or even Zarbon. As for why the Turles crew in the movie wasn't this powerful? Again, its about the timing of things. In Defrost, Turles had time to plant his Tree across potentially hundreds of worlds more than he did in the Tree of Might film. So keep that in mind as we continue through this arc.
Now I move onto reviews!
(Taken from FFN)
SazilValdr: Already want to see how the dynamics of Yota and Frieza develop after this last chapter, it intrigues me a lot.
ZoeyCares: Looking forward to the next Chapter. I want to see more of Frieza and Yota.
Me: You'll both have to wait for Frieza to reunite with Yota. That's going to be quite an interesting moment in the story, I can pretty much promise you that much. But in this chapter, sadly, she's not playing a pivotal role... whether that will change however...
(Taken from Ao3)
Emightbemypenname: I would just like to say I discovered this story a couple weeks ago and my joy to see that it was updated was immeasurable. I never thought I could buy Frieza being "redeemed" or I suppose there's no redeeming what he's done, switching to the good side would be a better way of phrasing things, but this fic has done an excellent job in making that slow change so believable. I am in awe. This is so high quality and the pacing is immaculate. How you manage to write such long chapters is honestly beyond me, but I appreciate it to the nth degree. This chapter was amazing as always. I understand you're having your doubts, those are inescapable, but trust me, your writing is stellar and remains so. This has very quickly become one of my favorite fics ever. Whatever direction this goes (though I have a few guesses) I am willing to go along with you all the way. Your ocs are also impeccable btw. I am just constantly in shock at how good this is! Keep up the good work! (With regards to your own well being, of course.) 3
Me: Your words mean a lot to me. For whatever reason, I put a much larger amount of scrutiny on getting this story to be just perfect than I do on my other fics. I feel a lot more self-conscious about my writing here, which is odd because I've been writing DBZ fics for an actual decade by now. So to hear someone call my writing stellar... it means a lot to me as an individual. And I hope that I continue to improve as time goes on. This is intended to be a very long fic so who knows, maybe in five years I'll be even better than I am now and you'll get to have seen my progress as an author from here to then. Hopefully this will take less than five years to finish though...
As for Frieza being redeemed, you're right its, a difficult thing to ask. Frieza has done a lot of horrible things and he's not exactly been the best ruler. Between the Genocides he's committed to the planets he's plunged into poverty or worse, the man has a lot to answer for... and don't worry, he will be answering for his crimes. One thing I want to keep in mind- one thing that I think everyone who reads this should keep in mind going forward- about this story is the idea that "Redemption is Hard". It doesn't come cheap and it doesn't happen overnight, it takes effort and an actual desire to WANT to redeem yourself for it to work. This is partially why I decided on a slower pace for Frieza's redemption arc. He's exposed a bit of his humanity and he's gained a fragment of empathy for the village... and he hates it a lot but its a start.
As for how I write such large chapters... don't ask me, I have no idea! I just start going and the words start flowing and I blink and its been three hours and suddenly I've written three thousand words. I guess my advice to anyone who wants to write this much is... practice. Start small, write 500 words every day. Just 500 to start, and when you get comfortable, try moving it up to 800 or maybe even a thousand. My maximum is currently a thousand a day, for reference.
But anyway dear friends, I believe that's everything so, as always...
Until Next Time True Readers!