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Clash of Empires (A DBZO Special)

  Clash of Empires (Special Chapter)

  As Vegeta's and Yajirobe's ships continued to travel through the vast, star-speckled expanse of space, the gentle hum of their engines was the only sound in the otherwise silent void. Vegeta, seated in his compact pod, glanced at a small remote in his hand and pressed a button decisively. Immediately, a hissing sound filled both pods as a sedative gas was released, spreading quickly.

  Yajirobe, eyes wide with alarm, struggled to stay awake. "What is this?!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with panic. But his resistance was futile; within moments, his eyelids grew heavy, and he succumbed to the powerful sedative, drifting into unconsciousness.

  Meanwhile, Vegeta's body relaxed as the gas took effect. His sharp gaze softened, and he too was overtaken by the sedative, his mind slipping into the depths of sleep. As his pod continued its journey through the endless night of space, Vegeta's consciousness faded, and he found himself drifting away to a land of the past in his dreams...

  150 years ago...

  The Saiyan king, Sabzar, stood amidst his troops on the frontlines of a vast battlefield. The ground around him was a chaotic mosaic of craters and smoking wreckage, remnants of earlier skirmishes. The sky above was painted with hues of crimson and orange, the setting sun casting long shadows over the desolate landscape.

  King Sabzar's golden aura illuminated the dusk, casting a brilliant glow that contrasted sharply with the darkening horizon. His hair, spiky and golden, shimmered like flames in the fading light, and his piercing blue eyes reflected the determination and ferocity of a true warrior.

  "Come on, men! Attack!" Sabzar's voice echoed across the battlefield, commanding and resolute.

  The Saiyan army, a formidable force of muscular warriors clad in battle-worn armor, roared in unison. Their cries reverberated through the valley as they surged forward, a tidal wave of raw power and aggression. They moved with swift, coordinated precision, their ki blasts lighting up the dusk like a storm of shooting stars.

  On the opposite side, the Arcosian army, led by the imposing figure of King Cold, struggled to hold their ground. The Arcosians, with their sleek, icy blue bodies and reptilian features, were formidable but clearly outmatched. Cold, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the pressure, shouted desperately, "Don't run away, men!"

  But the terror-stricken Arcosians ignored their ruler, their will to fight shattered. They scattered in all directions, their retreat a frantic scramble for survival.

  King Cold's face twisted in fury. His eyes narrowed, and his clenched fists trembled with barely contained rage. "I will be back, Sabzar!" he bellowed, his voice thick with venom, before blasting off into the sky, leaving a trail of blue energy in his wake.

  As the Arcosian spaceships began to lift off, the sky was soon filled with their shimmering, metallic forms. The Saiyans, relentless and unyielding, fired a barrage of ki blasts at the retreating vessels. Explosions lit up the twilight as several ships were hit, their occupants plummeting back to the ground where they were mercilessly torn apart by the waiting Saiyans.

  King Sabzar stood among his warriors, watching the retreat with a satisfied grin. His golden aura gradually dimmed, his hair and eyes reverting to their natural black as he allowed his power to recede. His hair now fell in less spiky strands around his stern face.

  This conflict had been brewing for some time. The skirmishes between the Saiyans and Arcosians were nothing new, each battle a testament to their longstanding rivalry. This time, the Planet Trade Organization had attempted to exterminate the population of a planet on the outskirts of King Sabzar's kingdom. The few Saiyans stationed there were brutally killed. Upon receiving this grim news, King Sabzar had immediately rallied his troops, launching a swift and fierce response to save what remained.

  The Saiyans were a tribe of battle-thirsty warriors, driven by a relentless desire to conquer and expand their empire. After a planet's conquest, a contingent of Saiyans would stay behind to manage its affairs, collecting revenue from the inhabitants to send back to their King. Ruthlessness was embedded in their very nature; mercy was an alien concept. Bloodshed and destruction were second nature to them.

  Yet, despite their violent tendencies, the Saiyans adhered to a strict code of honor. The governors of conquered planets strove to administer justice fairly, disregarding economic status when enforcing the law. Saiyans despised deceit and treachery; they valued directness and stood firmly by their word. Courage was a hallmark of their society, and acts of charity were held in high esteem.

  In stark contrast, the Planet Trade Organization, run by the Arcosians, cloaked their nefarious activities behind an innocuous name. Their business was anything but innocent, revolving around the extermination of planetary populations to sell these worlds to the highest bidders, who would then repurpose them as luxurious resorts or private homes.

  The two factions had been embroiled in minor and major conflicts for decades. This latest battle, however, was a severe blow to Arcosian power. Though strong fighters in their own right, the Arcosians were no match for the Saiyans. The key to the Saiyans' superiority lay in their ability to transform into Super Saiyans. Each time one of them attained the golden form, they became nearly unstoppable.

  Currently, about half a dozen Super Saiyans stood as formidable thorns in the eyes of King Cold.

  King Cold sat on his throne, his fury palpable. The air around him seemed to crackle with his rage. With a shattering sound, the glass of wine in his hand broke into pieces. He stood abruptly, his towering figure casting a menacing shadow over the trembling courtiers. Grabbing a nearby courtier by the neck, he lifted him off the ground effortlessly.

  The courtier's eyes bulged in terror. "Long... live... King... Cold," he gasped.

  With a sickening snap, King Cold crushed the man's neck. The lifeless body fell to the floor with a thud, and a wave of fear rippled through the room. Sweat glistened on the brows of the courtiers as they watched the tyrant's every move.

  "DISSHOO!"

  Another courtier was reduced to ashes by a ki blast from the enraged King. Silence fell over the court, thick with dread.

  It was then that a chuckling old Arcosian entered the chamber. The sound of his laughter echoed eerily. "What's the matter, Cold? Another defeat by the Saiyans?"

  King Cold's face twisted in a frown as he looked away. "What is it, Glacier?"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The old Arcosian, Glacier, had served as Prime Minister since the reign of King Cold's grandfather. His long tenure granted him a respect that even King Cold dared not challenge. Glacier approached the throne with a calm demeanor, seemingly unaffected by the recent violence.

  "If only you would listen to my advice, Cold..." Glacier began, his voice steady and wise.

  King Cold remained silent, his usual dismissal of Glacier's counsel tempered by desperation. He had exhausted nearly every strategy to curb the Saiyans' growing power, and today, he was willing to hear the old man out.

  Glacier smiled, sensing Cold's rare willingness to listen. "I have told you many times that your main target should be the Saiyans' honor. That is what allows them to achieve the legendary form of Super Saiyan."

  King Cold rolled his eyes. "Don't bother me with that honor nonsense again."

  Glacier's expression turned serious. "Fool. The Saiyans' strength and their honor are inseparable."

  King Cold looked slightly taken aback.

  Glacier gritted his teeth. "Their strength feeds off their honor, and their honor feeds off their strength. If you could strip them of their honor, they would be reduced to a pile of putty in your hands." Glacier paused before continuing with a growl. "That is what I told your father as well, but he refused to listen to me. And look where it got him—a death at the hands of the same monkeys he loathed."

  King Cold stared at the ground, contemplating. Perhaps this time, he should heed Glacier's words. "What should I do, Glacier?"

  A devious snicker escaped Glacier's lips as he rubbed his hands together. "Attack the youth. Introduce obscenity, adultery, intoxicating drinks, drugs, and musical instruments to their society. Feed their desires! If my scheme fails, you can kick me out of the palace."

  King Cold raised his brows, skeptical of the plan's simplicity. Yet, his desperation made him willing to try anything.

  After an hour or so of intense discussion, their plan was finalized.

  The tyrant summoned a couple of men from the press department. When they arrived, Cold instructed them to disseminate certain advertisements on the Saiyan planets. The men nodded obediently.

  "It will be done, sir!"

  King Cold smirked, glancing at Glacier. "We will see how your scheme plays out."

  100 years later (50 years ago from Vegeta's perspective)...

  In a dimly lit club, Saiyans lay sprawled on the floor, intoxicated and lethargic. The area pulsed with dance and music, creating an 'electric' atmosphere.

  Suddenly, an alarm sounded, and a voice blared through the streets. "Planet Vegeta is under attack! Repeat. Planet Vegeta is under attack! We have to depart immediately!" A Saiyan, frantic and determined, ran around the town with a loudspeaker. Despite his urgent calls, most Saiyans remained unmoved, engrossed in their revelry. "Lazy pigs," he muttered under his breath. "THIS IS PLANET VEGETA WE ARE TALKING ABOUT HERE!"

  Eventually, a few Saiyans in the club stirred, their foggy minds struggling to process the gravity of the situation. Planet Vegeta... under attack? How could it be?!

  Slowly, they began to rouse, a sense of duty piercing through their indulgence. The Saiyan with the loudspeaker felt a glimmer of hope as a crowd started to gather before him. "Depart for Planet Vegeta immediately. The king needs our help," he commanded.

  With reluctant nods, the Saiyans complied. Soon, the sky filled with space pods, their engines roaring to life as they embarked on a belated journey to defend their home.

  King Vegeta gritted his teeth as he looked out from the doorway of his palace. His youthful face, marked by the smoothness of late teenage years, was a stark contrast to the heavy burden he bore. Despite his age, his eyes reflected the weight of the entire Saiyan empire, thrust upon him after his father's untimely demise from a mysterious illness.

  The capital city was surrounded by the PTO army on all sides. A formidable, though not impenetrable, energy barrier encased the city's walls, with its only vulnerabilities at the three gates, keeping the attackers at bay.

  "Kappa," he addressed his general, a large, well-built Saiyan standing beside him. "Take a quarter of your men and head to the North gate. Tell Gajar to take another quarter to defend the East gate. I will take the rest and fight at the West gate."

  Kappa nodded respectfully. "As you command, my king," he said before rushing off to carry out the orders.

  For the last 50 years, the PTO had been steadily encroaching on the Saiyan empire. This time, King Cold's organization had gone a step further, launching an attack on the heart of the empire—Planet Vegeta itself.

  King Cold had cunningly chosen to strike in the dead of night when most Saiyans were fast asleep. He had been pleasantly surprised when his massive army, hidden within a colossal spaceship made of a reflective material, managed to reach the planet undetected. Perhaps the Saiyans had never imagined in their wildest dreams that anyone would dare attack the feared Planet Vegeta.

  The PTO army, consisting of about 20 percent Arcosians and 80 percent elite soldiers from other species, had already decimated four of the five inhabited cities on Planet Vegeta. Only the capital city remained.

  Fierce battles erupted at all three gates as the best Saiyan warriors clashed with the top soldiers of King Cold's empire. Space pods attempting to land were targeted by King Cold's scattered forces, preventing reinforcements from arriving. Only a few Saiyans managed to land, offering minimal help.

  The ground was strewn with dead bodies.

  It soon became evident who would emerge victorious. The Arcosians clearly had the upper hand.

  King Vegeta gnashed his teeth as he watched his army begin to scatter. He couldn't believe it. A decision had to be made, and fast. Swallowing his pride, he finally did. "TRUCE! WE CALL FOR TRUCE!"

  All fighters halted in their tracks. The Saiyans, in particular, looked dumbstruck. Was their king accepting defeat? It couldn't be!

  King Cold smirked, having anticipated this outcome. The Saiyans were too valuable a tribe to be completely eliminated.

  Soon, the terms and conditions were laid out, clearly favoring King Cold.

  Gajar, a Saiyan with palm-tree-like hair, stood beside the King. "My king, we can't possibly serve them.."

  King Vegeta shook his head. "We don't have any choice. We are completely outclassed here. It's the only means to survive.."

  Gajar's mouth dropped open. "But.. my king, you still have not transformed.."

  King Vegeta growled. "I can't! And Cold knows this! Now don't speak any further!"

  Gajar looked stunned. At this point, there wasn't a single one among them who could turn Super Saiyan...

  An aura of grief and dismay swept over the warrior race as the reality of their situation sank in.

  Some of the terms and conditions of the truce were:

  - All planets formerly belonging to the Saiyan kingdom would now belong to King Cold.

  - The Saiyans would henceforth serve under the Planet Trade Organization.

  - The Saiyans would be given positions in the PTO reflecting the positions they formerly held in the Saiyan empire. King Vegeta would be the governor of Planet Vegeta.

  It was the beginning of a new, humiliating, era for the Saiyans...

  25 years later (25 years ago from Vegeta's perspective)...

  King Vegeta stood on the deck of his spaceship, gazing at the rising sun of Planet Vegeta. His once dark hair had begun to grey, a testament to the passage of time since the fateful battle. King Cold had mostly withdrawn from the daily affairs of the Empire, leaving his sons, Frieza and Cooler, to manage the vast dominion. Cold had resigned himself to savoring life's pleasures in the twilight of his years.

  As King Vegeta watched the sun climb over the horizon, a spark of hope and determination flickered in his eyes. Beside him stood his youngest and most promising son, Vegeta. He had named the boy after himself, hoping that this child would be the one to redeem the Saiyans from their subjugation under King Cold.

  His other children were spoiled and unremarkable, but Vegeta was different.

  "Son, do you see the sun rising?" the king asked, his voice steady despite the weight of his words.

  "Yes, father," young Prince Vegeta, fifteen and still rough around the edges, replied with a raspy voice.

  "Just as that sun rises, a Super Saiyan will rise to restore our former glory."

  "Who will it be, father?" Vegeta inquired, his curiosity piqued.

  "He must come from my bloodline," the king said, turning to look at his son. "And I expect that he will be you."

  Prince Vegeta smirked, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. "Right."

  A Super Saiyan—since the time of King Vegeta's grandfather, Sabzar, the royal bloodline had awaited one.

  Back to the present...

  Vegeta opened his eyes. The cold, dark expanse of space, punctuated by distant stars, was visible through the window of his pod. It had been a dream, but it felt so real.

  "A Super Saiyan... I am coming for you, Frieza."

  To be continued...

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