Chapter 71 – Give Me Your Ball(s)
~ At the Same Time: Namekian Village ~
Scared whimpers filled the air as the Namekians clustered together, herded into a confined area under the threat of weaponry. They huddled closely, some trembling with fear, others shielding the more vulnerable, and a few snarling defiantly, though none dared to resist. The numerous lifeless bodies of their kin scattered around served as a grim reminder of the futility of resistance.
In front of them stood two imposing figures. One was a fat, pink, and spiky alien with a cruel and menacing demeanor, clutching two Dragon Balls under her massive arms. Beside her was a green beauty with flowing emerald locks, holding a third Dragon Ball with casual grace. The pair exuded an aura of power that cowed the gathered Namekians into submission.
Between the two of them, a throne hovered above the ground, supported by technology beyond the Namekians' understanding. Upon this throne sat a figure radiating an oppressive presence that pressed down on the villagers.
Reclining casually on his floating throne, Frieza scanned the villagers with cold, apathetic eyes. His tail flicked lazily behind him, and his fingers drummed a slow, ominous rhythm on the armrest. He addressed the huddled Namekians with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Greetings, Namekians," Frieza said, his voice smooth and deceptively gentle. "I am Frieza, the Emperor of the Northern Universe. I am here to politely request your cooperation regarding a particular object I am certain you are familiar with."
The trembling villagers exchanged fearful glances. Elder Moori, his face lined with age and worry, summoned his courage and detached from the group, his posture straightening as he assumed his rightful place as their representative.
"And what object might that be?" he asked, his voice even, despite the dread twisting in his stomach.
"Come on now, we're all intelligent beings, so let's not waste precious time," Frieza's voice took on a chilling edge as the smile slowly slid off his face. "Take a look at the objects my lieutenants are holding—do they look familiar? Also, kindly note the blood of your brethren soaking the dirt around you. With that in mind, would you like to guess as to what we're after?"
"The Dragon Balls, then," Moori's teeth ground together as he forced out the inevitable words.
Slow, sarcastic clapping filled the air as a mocking smile crept back onto Frieza's face.
"Excellent! You must be a genius of the greatest caliber!" Frieza said with 'sincere' praise. Leaning forward on his throne, his smile turned predatory. "Now, I am most certain you harbor one, so why don't you save us all some time and hand over the Dragon Ball you have, hmm? It would be such a shame if any more blood were to be spilled today."
Despite the immense pressure on his shoulders, Moori managed to maintain his composure, though he swallowed hard, his mind racing. He knew that giving in meant handing over the fate of their people to this monster, but resistance seemed equally futile– at least for those gathered here.
"The strongest among us will return soon. They will not allow you to walk away without facing the consequences."
In the background, the Namekians murmured their support, their words of agreement rippling through the crowd. Hope and pride spread among them at the mention of their tribe's strongest warriors.
"Fantastic. Good for you," Frieza said blandly, completely disregarding Moori's words. "Anyway, I am offering you a one-time deal. You see, I am kind by nature and despise to see pointless bloodshed. So as long—"
"STOP, you villain!!" Three Namekians landed in a synchronized motion, small plumes of dust rising around them. The sun cast a dramatic light on the scene as the dust dispersed with a burst of their energy, revealing the trio in various heroic poses. "We are here to–"
Three purple beams sped through the air almost simultaneously, blindingly fast. Moments later, three motionless bodies crumpled to the ground with a sickening thud, their green skin already charring around the edges of the fatal wounds. Blood spread over the cracked, barren ground, mingling with the smell of burnt flesh that quickly permeated the surroundings.
None of the Namekian trio had known how they had died.
A deathly silence followed.
Frieza sat on his throne with a cruel smile as he surveyed his handiwork with detached interest. He retracted his outstretched finger and coughed elegantly into his hand.
"My apologies for the violence, but I do hate being interrupted. It's my pet peeve, you see. Then again, interrupting others is also quite rude, don't you agree?" Frieza said, smiling. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I am not a cruel person by nature and I'd hate to see pointless bloodshed. Allow me to borrow the Dragon Balls without resistance, and there shall be no more need for further unpleasantness."
However, Moori could barely hear the demon before him. The world seemed to close around him, forming a tunnel of disbelief and horror. He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the cooling corpses of some of their most powerful and promising warriors. They lay crumpled on the ground, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky.
They didn't even get a chance to do anything. They couldn't do anything! He couldn't do anything! His body trembled with despair as he attempted to come to terms with reality. He had lived through countless hardships, but this... this was beyond comprehension.
He might've tried to fight back alongside the three warriors, perhaps even endeavored to destroy those machines they were using to somehow track the Dragon Balls or their brethren. But now, he realized that it was pointless. Any resistance would only serve as the excuse they needed to slaughter everyone behind him.
At that moment, Moori felt the crushing burden of leadership. He could feel the eyes of the remaining villagers on him, their fears, their silent pleas for guidance, for protection. The future of his village and the fragile hope for their survival—all rested on his shoulders. And yet, he had nothing to offer them. Facing this monster, this embodiment of ruthless power, what options did they have? His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening with tension.
Hopelessness seized Moori's heart with an iron grip, causing him to slump, his posture sagging in utter defeat. There was little point in resisting when the enemy fully possessed the capability to slaughter them all and loot the Dragon Balls. With such a vast difference in power, this entire conversation was pointless.
If resistance was futile, then as an elder, he had the responsibility to ensure as many survived as possible. That was his duty.
"Will you spare the village if we surrender the Dragon Ball?" Moori's voice was tight, each word laced with tension but with a hint of resignation within.
Frieza's smile widened as he observed Moori's visible defeat.
"Ah, there it is," he purred, his voice oozing with satisfaction as he tapped the control panel of his throne rhythmically with his index finger. "Why not? I'm feeling generous. After all, I'd hate for this beautiful planet to suffer any more than it already has."
Moori took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He knew that even surrendering the Dragon Ball might not save them, but he had to try. For the sake of his people, he had to hold onto even the slightest glimmer of hope.
Then, he reopened his eyes and stretched out his hand. Before the watchful eyes of the Frieza Force, Moori traced an arcane symbol in the air, his movements precise. The symbol glowed with a soft, ethereal light, and with a shimmer, a large orange ball began to materialize within his hands.
The sphere gradually revealed itself in Moori's hand as if it was being erased from existence by an eraser but in reverse.
Ignoring the protests behind him, Moori raised the now solid Dragon Ball towards Frieza.
"Ohoho! Marvelous!" Frieza applauded the show of magic, genuinely delighted.
Given his power, Frieza was no stranger to energy and had seen more technology than he cared to recall, but true magic remained a rarity, worthy of note. Even for someone of his position, the mystical and arcane were not commonly encountered, making this moment a rare treat.
Frieza darted his eyes to his right, directing his intentions toward Zarbon with a subtle inclination of his head. Attentive as always, Zarbon immediately understood his lord's silent command and moved to enact Frieza's will.
Zarbon walked gracefully towards Moori. With a respectful nod to the elder, he reached out and retrieved the Dragon Ball from Moori's outstretched hand.
"Many thanks," Zarbon said, his words of gratitude surprising Moori.
The beautiful 'man' turned, his long flowing hair catching the light as he made his way back to Frieza. He presented the Dragon Ball to Frieza without fanfare.
Frieza took the Dragon Ball in his hand and scrutinized it with a keen eye, peering within the orb from every angle. The four stars within shined with an otherworldly light, reflecting the radiance of Namek's three suns and casting a soft glow over Frieza's features.
Frieza smiled, pleasantly surprised once he confirmed it was the genuine article. One of the previous Namekian Elders who declined his first offer had attempted to barter the information on how to verify the Dragon Balls' authenticity, hoping it would spare the lives of their children.
Sadly, it did not.
"I'm surprised, Namekian. I must admit, perhaps there is some wisdom among your kind after all," Frieza remarked, redirecting his attention to Moori. "You're the first one to make the correct choice and accept my initial offer. I can see that the title of Elder is well-deserved. You possess the wisdom to recognize when to capitulate and admit defeat, which, I must admit, is quite a breath of fresh air."
Frieza's smile widened, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth. "You've done well, elder. Unlike the others, you won't have to learn that I do not make a second offer."
Moori stiffened at Frieza's words, the confirmation of his suspicions about the fates of his kin sending a chill down his spine. He felt the unmistakable sensation of coldness creeping into his veins, and a wave of nausea surged from within his throat.
So that's why there was no forewarning, he realized with a sinking feeling. All the other villages must have been annihilated to the last man and child. The thought pierced his heart like a dagger. Just how many lives had been lost, how many families torn apart, all at the hands of this merciless tyrant?
But despite his sorrow, Moori understood that he could not afford to show weakness. He must endure, for the sake of his people. Since Dragon Ball's change of ownership was inevitable, given their inability to stop the enemy, his sole objective now was to ensure as many of his people survived as possible.
Only once they survived, would he have the chance to contact the other villages to provide advance warning. He must alert Lord Guru of the imminent threat, to give the rest a fighting chance!
Moori jerked in surprise as a furious young voice resounded beside him. It was Mushin, one of the two children he had sheltered behind him, who had stepped out from his protection without his notice. The boy's small frame quivered with anger, his eyes ablaze with indignation.
"You won't get away with this! Big Brother Nail is a hero! He'll defeat you and avenge everyone!" Mushin screamed his defiance at the tyrant even as tears streamed down his cheeks. "It's useless even if you collect all of the Dragon Balls! We will have the last laugh because Sacred Dragon Porunga will not respond to the likes of–"
Moori's hand moved with lightning speed and slammed over Mushin's mouth, silencing the next words. But it was already too late, the damage had been done.
Frieza had noticed, and he was not pleased.