Chapter 90 – War Above the Skies

~ 30 Minutes Before: Atmosphere of Namek ~

Frieza frowned from his floating throne, observing the ongoing battle with utter boredom. Hovering above the chaotic battlefield, he watched as his forces executed their strategies with precise discipline.

His army was currently engaged in a defensive, upward battle relative to Namek, their backs to the planet, forming an impenetrable barrier that prevented Slug's forces from breaching the atmosphere.

When the battle first ignited a day ago, Slug's armada had charged forward at full speed, intending to smash straight through Frieza's forces with sheer velocity. However, a single Supernova from him had disabused them of that notion, shattering their momentum and bringing their aggressive advance to an immediate halt.

Although the opposing mothership remained intact, the Supernova had managed to cut through their fleet's ranks, inflicting catastrophic damage on the smaller, less maneuverable ships. Many of these stragglers, caught off-guard and unable to react swiftly enough, were instantly obliterated.

The remains of their once space-worthy vessels fell through the atmosphere, raining down onto the planet's surface as debris.

Just like that, Slug's forces were abruptly halted, unable to advance any closer to Namek. His army took over after that. Arranged in well-organized formations, his soldiers unleashed a barrage of laser fire with deadly accuracy. The lasers streaked across the sky, cutting down any of Slug's minions who dared to approach.

Frieza's eyes scanned the battlefield with disinterest, finding little entertainment in the monotonous nature of the conflict. To him, it was nothing more than a tedious skirmish.

He was pleased to see though, that even without Zarbon at the helm, his soldiers required minimal guidance to fight effectively. Their training had clearly paid off, resulting in a well-disciplined and effective force.

In sharp contrast, Slug's forces, though substantial in number, were a disorganized rabble. They lacked any semblance of teamwork, with each fighter acting as a lone wolf rather than as part of a cohesive unit. This disunity was on clear display as they clashed haphazardly with his troops, their individual efforts failing to make a significant impact against a well-coordinated army.

The sole saving grace that had allowed Slug's makeshift army to endure was the individual strength of the prisoners. As criminals who had necessitated intervention from the Galactic Patrol rather than the local authorities, they each possessed a certain level of combat prowess. However, even this was only barely enough to counter the overwhelming efficiency and strategic superiority of the Frieza Force.

Still, Frieza would have much preferred to save himself from the monotony and eliminate them all with a single, devastating attack as Zarbon had recommended. However, the presence of Slug's mothership complicated matters. The damn vessel had been equipped with a railgun powerful enough to destabilize his attacks before they could hit their target.

Annoyingly, that railgun charged and fired more quickly than he could launch his larger attacks, so throughout the battle, it had attacked his Supernovas directly, causing them to destabilize and detonate prematurely. Any smaller blasts he attempted were intercepted by the ship's remarkably advanced shields.

Even Frieza had to begrudgingly acknowledge the impressive technology.

Too impressive.

But this was how the battle had settled into a bitter stalemate.

Despite having time on his side, Frieza couldn't shake a persistent sense of unease. He couldn't quite put his hands on it. Everything seemed to be proceeding as planned—the Ginyu Force was still en route, and Zarbon had the situation on the planet well in hand. Yet, the nagging feeling that something was amiss remained.

With a sigh of irritation, Frieza pressed a button on his throne, summoning one of his minions. Almost immediately, a soldier rushed over, bowing deeply and greeting him reverentially.

"Lord Frieza! How may I be of service?" the minion asked, his voice trembling with both fear and awe.

"Contact Zarbon for an update. I grow weary of this battle," Frieza ordered, casting a brief glance at the nervous soldier before dismissing him with a wave of his hand. The soldier was nothing special, just another faceless grunt among the many under his command.

"At once, Lord Frieza!" the minion quickly turned and hurried off to carry out the order, leaving Frieza to his thoughts.

Frieza drummed his fingers against the armrest, reclining on his throne as he watched the minion scurry away.

His eyes returned to the battlefield, scanning for any significant changes. There were none. The conflict remained frustratingly locked in a stalemate. With a sigh of exasperation, he raised a finger and casually conjured another Supernova on his fingertip. The enormous ball of energy glowed a fierce red, shining like a miniature sun.

With a flick of his wrist, Frieza sent the Supernova speeding towards the distant mothership. As before, the ship's main cannon spun into action, lighting up as it charged a massive beam of energy. The beam fired, hitting the center of the Supernova and causing it to explode prematurely in a brilliant conflagration.

The explosion erupted with such intensity that it briefly overshadowed the entire battlefield, forcing both sides to scramble and reposition to escape the blast radius.

Frieza frowned at the all-too-familiar and frustrating outcome with irritation and boredom. Such powerful technology was exceedingly rare and not easily acquired by someone like that worthless slug. It was implausible that this lowlife, with his disorganized forces and apparent lack of strategic acumen, could have developed and installed such advanced weaponry on his own.

It had become increasingly apparent to Frieza that this Namekian must have had a hidden benefactor—someone with the means to supply not only cutting-edge technology but also vital intelligence and considerable resources. This shadowy backer, concealed behind slug's bluster, was whom Frieza suspected was the one really challenging him.

He remained convinced that it was the Heeters. They possessed all the necessary resources—wealth, information, and technology—or at least had information on the means to acquire such technology. Furthermore, their potential motives were clear, and they also had the need to manipulate someone else as their puppet.

After all, confronting Frieza or his father directly was out of the question for them, as they lacked the raw power required for such a confrontation.

Instead, their modus operandi was to seek out suitable pawns—individuals or groups they could easily control or influence. They would provide these pawns with the necessary resources, information, and support, all while maintaining their own anonymity. Then, they engineer a conflict. In this way, they could achieve their objectives without ever exposing themselves to direct danger.

Frieza was well-acquainted with their tendencies to orchestrate schemes from the shadows, leveraging others to do their dirty work while keeping their own hands clean. Given their track record, it was only logical that they would resort to the same tactics again.

This was why Frieza was reasonably sure that the pathetic failure of a warlord was merely a pawn, a front for a far more significant threat.

An internal threat.

Regardless of Zarbon's disagreement, he needed to inform his father of this—and he would, as soon as he obtained his long-awaited immortality.

Frieza snapped back from his wandering thoughts and refocused on the battle at hand. He weighed his options carefully. The railgun's efficiency was becoming increasingly irksome; each time he attempted to destroy the opposing mothership, it countered with infuriating precision.

Now, he could overpower the railgun and the shield with a sufficiently powerful attack, but the risk of his own attack being intercepted and detonating prematurely was too great. To succeed, he needed to prime a powerful enough attack AND ensure it reached the ship before the enemy had the chance to respond with another railgun shot.

It was possible, but achieving that would require him to "exert" himself.

And Frieza would be damned if he lowered himself to the point of changing forms for such insignificant trash.

Transforming now would suggest that the enemy had pressured him into doing so, before their commander had even shown up, at that! Frieza found the very idea abhorrent and distasteful. Such an action would deeply tarnish his reputation and be seen as a sign of weakness that he could never live down. Cooler alone would never shut up about it. The thought of enduring such humiliation for the rest of his days was intolerable.

But time was on his side, so for now, Frieza was content to rely on Zarbon's capabilities. He had confidence in Zarbon to handle matters on the ground. So, he continued to sit on his throne, watching the battle unfold from his elevated vantage point with growing impatience, yet reluctant to intervene directly due to his pride.

A few minutes later, the grunt returned, visibly anxious and trembling.

Frieza's sharp eyes narrowed at the soldier's demeanor, his sense of unease deepening. "What is it? Speak!" he demanded, his voice cold and authoritative.

The grunt, clearly intimidated, squeaked out a response.

"We received a message a day ago that the base was attacked, and the outcome is unknown. We couldn't reach Commander Zarbon, Lord Frieza!"

For a moment, Frieza was stunned. A day? AN ENTIRE FUCKING DAY?! The news sent him reeling, but his rage soon began to flare uncontrollably. He slammed his hand into the armrest of his throne, shattering a section of it and sending debris scattering into space.

The minion flinched.

"You– you bunch of incompetent fools—EEEAAAGH!" Frieza roared with unholy fury. If not for the shortage of manpower, he would have torn out their spines and hung them by their entrails!

Somehow, Frieza managed to cling to his rationality by a thread. Following Zarbon's long-time advice, he held onto his last shred of patience and attempted to assess the situation logically.

And the conclusion he came to was that Zarbon would never allow the situation to deteriorate to the point where communication was lost for over a day.

Unless something truly catastrophic had occurred.

Frieza's eyes burned with rage as he rotated his throne to face the trembling soldier directly, turning his back on the ongoing battle. He needed answers, and he needed them immediately. But the soldier just stood there, paralyzed with fear, offering no further explanation.

Frieza's temper erupted like a volcano.

"What do you mean you can't contact them?!" Frieza bellowed. "Speak up!! Explain, you incompetent buffoon! Are you a tube of toothpaste or just brainless?! I shouldn't have to poke and prod at you every time I want some answers, do I?!"

The soldier flinched at Frieza's wrath, visibly shaking. "W-We tried every channel, my Lord. There's no response from the base or Commander Zarbon. The last report was about the attack, and then… nothing."

Seeing Frieza's intensifying anger, the grunt's face turned ashen. He started to speak, but his gaze shifted to something behind Frieza. The words died in his throat as his eyes widened in horror.

"What are you lookin–" was all Frieza managed to say before a massive railgun blast slammed into him and the minion from behind.

The explosion was devastating, releasing a blinding flash of light that lit up the entire battlefield. Although not as powerful as a Supernova, the shockwave from the blast still managed to send nearby ships and soldiers spiraling uncontrollably in every direction.

The explosion immediately halted all fighting, drawing everyone's attention to the first significant strike either side had landed on the opposing leader. Even before the dust settled and the echoes of the blast faded, the battlefield was enveloped in stunned silence.

The Frieza Force soldiers stared in disbelief, their faces frozen in shock as they struggled to process what had just happened. The sight of their seemingly invincible leader being struck down, or even possibly injured, was beyond their comprehension. Their once-disciplined formation broke down slightly as confusion and fear set in.

In stark contrast, the galactic prisoners—previously demoralized and subdued—erupted into uproarious cheers and jeers. The once-quiet prisoners reveled in the unexpected turn of events, their voices rising in a tumultuous cacophony of triumphant celebration and mocking taunts.

With a creak that went unheard in the vacuum of space, the massive warship began to move, its engines igniting with a burst of energy. Despite its enormous size, it accelerated at a monstrous pace. The ship barreled across the battlefield like an unstoppable juggernaut, crushing both foes and allies alike who failed to remove themselves from its path.

The Frieza Force soldiers, now overwhelmed by panic and desperation, unleashed a barrage of weaponry and energy blasts at the advancing behemoth, but their attempts were futile. Each shot they fired was absorbed harmlessly by the ship's impenetrable shield, dissipating like drops of water on a blazing furnace.

In just seconds, the warship had traversed the entire battlefield, leaving a trail of destruction and chaos in its wake. It approached Namek's atmosphere at frightening speed and began its descent toward the planet. As the warship pierced the upper atmosphere, the intense heat of reentry caused its shields to flare brightly, visible even from the ground.

At this crucial moment, with Slug's approach to Namek imminent and unstoppable, a pair of eyes snapped open, glowing with incandescent fury. They burned with a cold, seething rage that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of space. An enraged scream echoed across the battlefield, starting as a sharp, high-pitched wail before gradually descending to a deep guttural roar nearly two octaves lower.

Moments later, a colossal pillar of violet energy erupted from the heart of the railgun explosion. The sheer force of the energy was so staggering that it nearly forced every combatant to their knees. The battlefield was bathed by a blinding, purplish light as the source of the immense power revealed itself.

From the heart of the explosion burst out none other than Frieza, barely injured, his form towering and imposing. Two black, cruelly curved horns now jutted from his head, pointing menacingly upward.

This was a historical moment, the first time in perhaps a century or more that Frieza had been compelled to don his second form for anyone other than himself or his family.

The soldiers on both sides of the conflict turned their heads in shock and awe, witnessing a previously unseen transformation of one of the universe's most feared beings.

A small orange pulsating sphere of energy began to coalesce on Frieza's fingertips. It grew larger and more intense at an exponential rate, even as Frieza blasted himself toward the massive warship at near-hypersonic speed.

The warship detected the impending threat and reacted swiftly. The railgun pivoted 180 degrees with a deep, resonant hum, its massive barrel glowing red-white with energy. It fired a powerful beam aimed straight at the rapidly expanding Supernova. Up to this point, everything had been routine, a mere redeployment of a defense stratagem that had proven effective time and time again.

But this time, something was different.

The beam of energy collided with the Supernova, but it was swallowed whole, absorbed into the swirling mass of orange energy as if it had plunged into a sea of molten lava. The Supernova continued to swell, its brilliance growing unimpeded by the railgun's disruptive blast.

With a fierce war cry, Frieza hurled the Supernova with all his might.

The Supernova shot towards the warship with a deceptive speed, colliding with it just moments after the vessel had fully entered Namek's atmosphere.

The ship's protective barrier flared in a desperate effort to withstand the overwhelming force of the miniature sun. The shield stretched and distorted like a thin sheet of plastic under an immense force, flickering and straining as it fought to contain the energy. For a brief, tense moment, the shield managed to hold.

Then that moment was gone.

With a shudder, the barrier's capacity was overloaded, and the shield finally gave way. The Supernova burst through the shield, slamming into the ship and penetrating the hull like a molten metal ball through Styrofoam.

Moments later, the Supernova detonated with a deafening explosion. The resulting blast was nothing short of apocalyptic. The warship's hull fractured violently at the seams, with angry red cracks spreading across its surface like lightning. The ship groaned under the strain, its once-imposing form now a fractured and disintegrating relic of its former grandeur.

Almost immediately, the warship's internal structural integrity was critically compromised, all internal systems failing at once. Its engines sputtered, and the colossal vessel lost control, tilting dangerously as its descent grew increasingly erratic and out of control.

Despite the destruction he wrought, Frieza was far from satisfied.

With a roar, Frieza unleashed countless energy attacks. His hands blurred with sheer speed as waves of destructive energy blasts descended into the warship's now-vulnerable interior. Each blast found its mark, ripping through the ship's hull and striking critical points within.

The warship, unable to endure the stress, started to crack and splinter. Its once-mighty form shattered into smaller, jagged fragments. As the vessel broke apart, it was consumed by a series of catastrophic explosions, each one feeding into the next and amplifying the chaos.

Frieza watched the devastation with a cold, detached satisfaction. The warship's shrieks of anguish were nearly audible despite the proximity to the vacuum of space. Smoldering remnants of the ship, now ablaze from his attacks and the intense heat generated by its re-entry into Namek's atmosphere, streaked through the sky like meteors.

At that moment, as the once awe-inspiring warship of Slug disintegrated and fell apart, every individual on the battlefield was captivated by the spectacle of its destruction, their attention completely absorbed by the fiery wreckage.

And it was precisely at this moment that a nearly translucent, barely visible Galactic Patrol ship seized the opportunity to silently navigate its way through Namek's atmosphere. This ship had been covertly observing the battle for some time now, carefully monitoring and reporting the shifting tides of conflict. With one of the major combatants—Slug—out of the game, the Galactic Patrol ship knew that the battlefield was no longer a secure location.

It took its chance, and naturally, no one took notice.

Meanwhile, Frieza watched with a cruel smile as Slug's ship crashed onto Namek's surface. His frenzied assault had ensured that there was no chance of recovery or retaliation. The destruction was total, leaving nothing but fragments of what might have been a threat.

He had initially contemplated entirely evaporating the ship to ensure that neither its remnants nor its contents could resurface as future threats. However, Frieza was also conscious of the necessity of keeping the planet intact. Overexerting his power could cause unnecessary collateral damage that might jeopardize his plans for immortality.

After all, his control over his power in his other forms was… less optimal.

However, given the state of the warship, Frieza was certain that nothing of value or significance within it had survived.

Frieza turned his attention back to the battle above, though it was hardly appropriate to call it that anymore. The once-chaotic battlefield had turned eerily silent, a profound hush of stunned disbelief settling over the area as everyone processed the recent events.

Having already transformed into his second form, Frieza was keenly aware that he no longer needed to hold back. His next priority was to swiftly bring this battle to a close and check on Zarbon. This radio silence uneased him.

Frieza's eyes gleamed cruelly.

It was a shame. The Galactic Prisoners, though individually formidable enough to instill fear in small sectors of space, were nothing more than slightly larger ants before him.

Such a waste.

The last chapter of the prisoners' story was drawing to a close, and Frieza was ready to help them turn the final page. Except there would be no epilogue for them.

In the minutes that followed, the sky above Namek was filled with screams, carnage, and death. For a brief period after, Namek rained blood.

And thus concluded the story of the prisoners from Galactic Prison Epsilon

~ At the Same Time: Namek ~

The heavy metal fragment, once part of the warship, now lay partially buried in Namek's scorched soil, glowing red-hot with fierce heat. The landscape around it had become a charred wasteland of glass and earth, upheaved and blackened by the violent impact.

The fragment shifted and groaned. With a violent lurch, it rolled onto its side, sending a small plume of glass shards and molten rock into the air. Moments later, a figure covered in soot and grime emerged from beneath the smoldering debris.

The figure casually brushed off his clothes, treating the dirt and debris as more of a nuisance compared to the molten earth around him. With one smooth motion, the figure discarded his tattered and singed cloak.

He coughed deeply and wetly into his hand, the fit persisting for a while. Observing the small pool of blood on his palm with indifference, he wiped it onto the red-hot metal shard next to him. The blood met the scorching surface with a sizzle, hissing and evaporating almost instantly as it made contact.

The figure stepped into the harsh light of Namek's triple suns before kneeling to scoop up a handful of scorched soil. He watched with curious fascination as the dirt sifted through his fingers and fell to the ground. His gaze remained fixed on the earth, enjoying the simple yet profound connection to the planet beneath him.

Rising to his feet, he took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, familiar air of Namek. Despite the lingering scent of charred earth and death, the air was still imbued with the unique essence of the planet. It was a comforting reminder of home.

A slow, deliberate chuckle began to bubble up from him, starting as a low, throaty sound. It intensified, resonating through the ruined landscape with increasing force. His laughter grew more unhinged, escalating into a manic, almost frenzied cackle.

"After a thousand years, I've finally returned!! AHAHAHAHA!!!"

Slug's triumphant and mad laughter heralded the rebirth of his malevolent ambitions. And so, the shadow of a long-absent warlord falls upon his planet once more.

Slug has officially entered the race for the Dragon Balls.