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Emperor Blizzard

The Councillor returned on the site of the battle, but the girl had already left. He asked around, but no one knew where she was. Could it be that she’s already returned to her hometown? Hard to believe that she wouldn’t have the slightest interest in visiting the capital… He hovered around at high altitude, searching the surrounding streets.

A country girl (her garments would easily give it away), who had just fought (bruises, scrapes, burns, especially on her clothes blackened by ki blasts, obviously not from the dispute with the little girl) is what the group of Saiyans had discovered upon returning.

— A foreigner who has just fought a harsh battle… said one them.

— …who is celebrating her recent victory, concluded another. Could it be her?

— Hey, continued the first Saiyan. Who are you??

— She’s stealing our food! said the little girl, glad to see her family return. She knocked two of my teeth out! We have to kill her!

— If you want to kill her, sweetie, that’s your problem, answered the first as he approached the scene. He then continued to address the stranger: Hey, Saiyan girl! I’m talking to you!

— Thirstyyy!… blurted the stranger, of all things to respond with. Then, having suddenly stood up, she fell victim to the loss of her balance. Crouching, she could taste something strange making its way up her throat. And, instantly understanding what was about to happen, she bent down and aimed for the weird trenches that were on the ground, which were created to control the flow of rainwater, or any other liquid for that matter…

Hanasia puked out all the food she had eaten… as well as quarts of wine she had drank.

— Well, my stomach feels better, but something still isn’t right about my vision, thought Hanasia to herself.

She had no control of her senses. Couldn’t focus on anything. She either saw double or triple, as the world turned all around her, a mug, perhaps the last one to still be full. The perfect remedy to the awful taste unprocessed that plagued her mouth.

— Saiyan, before you sit at anyone’s table, it’s common courtesy to introduce yourself. Although it doesn’t look like you sat at any table, actually. You should probably stop it with the wine if it’s only going to come back out in a few seconds. This thing isn’t cheap.

— You, shut up, and gimme another, retorted Hanasia, grabbing the Saiyan by the collar, almost holding onto him, as she put the empty receptacle under his nose. Ya prolly have a whole cellar o’ these somewhere…

The Saiyan caught her by the hand to push her out of the way, but she used the momentum to send him flying away as though he were a feather to her, much to the surprise of the others, who saw that she clearly didn’t put that much strength into her throw.

— IIII saaaaid… she began, still brandishing the empty glass, I wannan’uther. She hopped over the table to meet the other members of the group.

— You’re the one who defeated the huge monster over there, aren’t you? attempted one of the more diplomatic members.

— Yyyup… she answered, her face really close to his. I totally kicked his ass… Saw’im comin’, too… More like, I could feel him from home…

— Take a seat, you’re our guest here, the man answered… I’ll get you more to drink.

— YOU! YOU! spurred Hanasia in his ears. You… you’re a nice guy.

— And what’s your name? he asked as he opened a barrel hidden under a table before filling up each glass, carefully starting with the ones closest to Hanasia.

— I’m Hanasia, but all my friends call me Hanasia.

The Saiyans had all taken their seats around the table and happily feasted, most eyes turned towards the fighter that had saved them. The father of the little girl had returned, having never experienced being tossed to the side like that. Not wanting anymore trouble with the girl, he simply took a seat as well. The group took care not to reveal the Saiyan girl’s recent achievement, otherwise their spot would be flooded with those currently occupying the site of the battle, looking for her.

— So, Hanasia! announced a stifled voice.

Hanasia turned around to see the little girl.

— You are met with honor today, but you will be met with horror tomorrow! For I, Brussel VII, will vanquish you. I will have your head!

Hanasia squinted and drew her face towards the child’s with a curious scowl, which was accompanied by:

— Have we… met somewhere before?

Saiyans have never made prisoner of anyone.

It was a concept hard for one to wrap their head around. Either you kill your opponent, or you let him go.

But prisoners? That word hardly existed in the Saiyan’s vocabulary. What wall or bind could possibly contain the might of a Saiyan?

As such, in the rare event of someone being detained, it would have to be with 24/7 watch. The particular Saiyan to fill the role had been in the race’s army since the beginning. Before all this, he was part of the few who called themselves the Royal Guard. He knew to how obey, and could even be patient. But now, there were just too many changes.

— Okay, so where do you come from? he asked the only remaining detained soldier to be conscious, sitting on the ground, as he tapped him with his foot.

— You wouldn’t know, barbaric swine.

— You come from the moon, right? I always knew it was inhabited. Since we can’t breathe at certain heights, you guys became weird, that’s logical.

— Idiot, you have no clue just how big the universe is…

The guard violently kicked the prisoner in the face. He fell the the side and started wiping the blood off his face.

— I’m not an idiot. I know how the size of things work. The Moon is far away in the sky so it’s actually big. Like a mountain. It is well the size of a city, so you live in it.

— We come from even further away! From another star entirely! We’re not even native to your solar system!

— I don’t have any solar systems. And stars are just dots of light. Closer it might be bigger, but not as big as a city. You’re just talking nonsense. I can’t wait for them to pick you up ‘cause I’m tired of listening to your bullshit.

Besides them, another Saiyan closely watched the other detained soldier, who laid on a stretcher. Every now and then, he would poke him out of curiousity, much like a child would discovering a dead animal on the side of the road.

The Tsufuls hadn’t had prisoners in a long time.

It had been centuries since their unification brought peace to their home. And any Tsuful to commit an infraction, a misdemeanor or felony would, as opposed to being sent to prison, be judged and sent to a rehabilitation center accordingly. From there, surrounded by care and support, the judged would be back on the right track and would rejoin society as one of its productive members.

The materials made for the experimental Saiyan warrior of Moraceae Urticales Tracheobionta suddenly became very useful. As the Tsuful shuttle made it to town, a few solid and well-guarded cages were brought out for Chilled’s pilots to be transported in. Those few weren’t soldiers and didn’t cause much ruckus. They were happy to still be alive…

They didn’t expect their cells to be a large cage of tinted glass, dotted with trees and verdure, reproducing a landscape the Saiyans are familiar with! But that’s all the Tsufuls had to contain them. A few chairs were added in a rush.

Tsuful agents and robots held the detained navigators at gunpoint as they sat..

— Thank you for your cooperation, began the Tsuful chief. I hope we can keep it this way, because there are a few question I would like answered. First off, can you understand me?

The navigators understood him perfectly. The language filter was as efficient as always. It’s only shortcoming was with extremely complex languages, such as Namekian. The Saiyan’s simplistically barbaric language was a piece of cake for the filter to translate, and the Tsufuls’ refined but comprehensive language was easily in its range as well. Furthermore, the interrogator spoke to them as a child would to simplify matters.

The prisoners turned to one of their own, who was sitting at the center. The Captain. Only second in command, because whenever Chilled as around, there were none whose orders took precedence over his. No exceptions.

— Is Lord Chilled really dead? he asked, and that was his only answer to the Tsufuls.

There are plenty of advantages to being part of the court of an Emperor. Plenty of disadvantages as well. For example, there’s the fact that each noble has the right to choose life or death for a servant, as well as giving him any possible order without having to worry about the consequences. Of course, the helping hand is in no easy position when he is given two orders by different parties to be done at the same time, even worse when they contradict each other. Parties that are more than willing to have you executed should you not fulfill your task, because it’s common knowledge that their own lives are so busy. He gives the order, and that’s that. Another inconvenience, is that you have to be aware of every current events, so as to not expiate the mistake of another (domestics, all look the same), or having to guess when a noble is in a bad mood, or if he wishes for something he hasn’t asked for. As much as not bringing it is a fault, bringing something he didn’t ask for is one as well. And then there are the one that kill or mutilate for the mere pleasure of the act.

But there are advantages after all. The prestige, first off. Not everyone gets to work for the court. It’s not a case of first come, first served. These privileged individuals are the ones who can approach, smell, or even sometimes touch these figures of such high status that you usually never see in real life.

There’s also the money. To those for whom money is almost a limitless commodity, the simplest of services could be worth several months worth of salary. « How many zeroes was that? Give him a few millions. Oh? You’re saying he could buy a whole nation with that? What a dilemma… A few thousands, then. »

Finally, there was ambition. If one would get himself noticed, without making too big a deal out it, since after all, impertinence wasn’t tolerated, he could marry one of the noble clan, or perhaps be directly in their service. With a few wise words of advice, one could become a favored advisor, maybe even the general of a powerful figure. After all, these people didn’t really use résumés…

But in the court of this particular empereur, or rather, of the emperor, because in this universe, only one could truly call himself one… the domestics were all slaves, who worked full-throttle until death easily chased them down. There weren’t that many nobles or privileged figures, rather, large brutes with unmeasured strength which allowed them to do as they pleased.

Because with Emperor Blizzard, all that mattered was strength. Strength and obedience, of course.

Standing here was Avoka, a blue-skinned warrior who coush move mountains around, and destroy them as well. He took pride in never touching the ground, and all that he carried just levitated next to him. Proud, and a real bummer. He killed all that he viewed as inferior, looking at them straight in the fix before striking the final blow. Arms crossed, he crushed their hearts using telekinesis. An impressive sight for your average person to behold.

Never left alone, Yikoun was drooling in a corner of the room. He was a monster who could barely speak. He had one retractable claw on each hand, a warped body, and a demented mind. He always needed a servant at his side to feel having a life in his hands. Should the underling try to flee, he would be killed. The monster didn’t wear a uniform as the other soldiers did. He always ended up tearing them to shreds. He only reached the position he is in right now is because the only thing he understood and respected was that he had to obey the Frost Demons. He was mostly of use as a living and breathing weapon of destruction. It was always a lovely spectacle to unleash him upon an army of soldiers.

Quicker than an electric impulse, lighter than a feather, the best assassin the Frost Demons have ever held in their ranks, Dijicharate moved through the halls without the slightest sound, without even impeding the air, completely invisible. Few were the ones, even among the other fighters, who could be aware of her presence. Some theories affirm that her planet met genocide at the hands of a Frost Demon, but others insist that she singlehandedly performed the act herself. Indeed, it was said that her speed was entirely genetic, and that she couldn’t bear to watch one of her brothers surpass her in that respect. To kill, she moved the side of her hand like a blade so fast that nothing could escape it.

The massive general (he held dear to this title) Chatterton always remained close to his emperor. With several continent wiped off the map by his hand, he was the most loyal, the most respectful and the one who was most inclined to reprimand insubordinates. He was particularly irritated by Yikoun’s foolishness, and Dijicharate mannerisms, who knew she was useful enough to get a pass on her antics of playing the mysterious girl, sometimes even accepting orders without showing her face.

Aside from these mastodons, came and went several fighters who could easily destroy entire cities, resist all form of foreign weaponry, aside from atomic weapons.

But they were all so ridiculously weak. None could even come close, in any form of physical perfomance, the might of the Frost Demons. And the forefather of all, Emperor Blizzard, sat on his throne at the heart of this court as if an absolute symbol of omnipotence.

Towering a good thirteen feet, he carried heavy horns that pointed to the sky. A square head, upon which colorful line outlined his face, and eyes so piercing you would think they could see through solid walls. Five-fingered hands, three-fingered feet, and a tail that wrapped around his throne in several layers. It was an extraordinarily long tail which alone proved that he hasn’t had to move in a long time. Blizzard had been here since the dawn of time. Well, that is to say, not historically so. But the ancestor’s of this generation of grandfathers could only remember him as emperor. In fact, he was over 1200 years old.

Every 500 days, he would do himself the favor of celebrating his birthday with an amazing banquet which would get an additional golden star for each passing year. He took pride in seeing how astounded his sounds would be in seeing the wall covered in those stars, much like he was in the face of those his father had to his name all those centuries ago. He had already long passed the age his father died at, and was certain to have reached his final days. But he has trust in the future. His predecessors could never have more than two children. He, the strongest of his lineage, on the other hand, managed to father four potential heirs to the Frost Demons. More than enough to secure the expansion of his Empire to everlasting glory. There would never be war. The sense of family and lineage was just that strong. As frail and weakened as he as, his sons would never dare raise a hand against him.

Ah. his powerful children! None seemed to match him in his prime. But they still had time to improve. His eldest son was already stronger than his old man. And the certainly three of them would have the ability to produce offsprings. Not every Frost Demon was blessed with this ability, and that is why their numbers was so limited.

The slave to enter the room was shaking. Shaking because he knew he was about to die.

He was carrying a message of utmost importance, and knew that he had to interrupt the Emperor to deliver it. But it wasn’t that affront that would be the death of him, no, but rather the terrifying news he was about to announce.


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