Chapter 138* – Epilogue
~ Otherworld ~
King Yemma stared down at the tyrant before him.
Frieza was keeping his eyes on the ground, his expression inscrutable and his thoughts unknown. But even in this diminished state—his upper half still solid while the rest of him had faded into a wispy, spectral form—his presence was no less menacing.
Surrounding Frieza, hundreds of ogre guards stood poised for action, weapons trained on him. Some brandished energy-charged spears, while others gripped massive clubs designed to subdue even the unruliest of souls. But despite their formidable armaments, fear had them by the throat. Their hands trembled as sweat trickled down their red and blue faces, but all of them stood their ground.
...probably because of the green-skinned Otherworld warrior they borrowed from West Kai, who's currently stationed against the far wall. The warrior watched Frieza in stony silence, arms crossed, while radiating intense pressure.
And yet, Frieza had paid none of them any mind. Not the guards. Not the warrior. Not even King Yemma himself.
Yemma sighed heavily and tore his gaze away from Frieza to scan the impossibly long parchment before him. The document unfurled past his desk, coiling onto the floor, and, comically, stretched even onto the Snake Way.
Even by the standards of history's worst, Frieza's list of sins was grotesquely excessive. Entire planets reduced to dust. Civilizations wiped from existence. An unfathomable number of lives extinguished—some in the heat of war, others through cold, calculated extermination.
Every single one of those trillions upon trillions of souls was recorded on this parchment.
For this reason, King Yemma was elated when news of Frieza's death arrived—one less monster terrorizing the universe—but at the same time, the mountains of paperwork required to process this man's karma would leave the palace drowning in overtime for the next year. With a weary groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
The only mercy in all of this was that the verdict was beyond simple.
Lifting his gavel, King Yemma brought it crashing down against the sound block sitting on his mahogany desk.
"I sentence you to an eternity in Hell—one reserved just for you!"
King Yemma immediately paused to gauge Frieza's reaction.
He had braced himself for fury. He had expected screaming, cursing, and endless tirades about revenge. He had anticipated threats of retribution and arrogant boasts of an inevitable return, stronger than ever. He had even prepared himself for violence, half-convinced the tyrant would try to fight his way out.
He had come to work today fully expecting his palace to be turned upside down and inside out.
But Frieza did none of that.
The infamous oppressor simply lifted his head toward Yemma. Then, without a word, he turned and drifted toward the looming door that would lead to his eternal punishment. The guards remained on edge, grips tightening around their weapons, ready for the inevitable explosion of fury.
But Frieza moved past them as if they weren't even there. He didn't spare a glance at the armed figures poised to strike him down at the first hint of defiance. There weren't any of the struggles, parting insults, or grand proclamations of vengeance they had come to expect from Sinners.
Just silence.
Honestly, Frieza was so disturbingly cooperative that King Yemma was starting to get weirded out.
The massive doors to Hell groaned as they swung open to reveal a swirling abyss of unnatural colors. From its depths, distorted laughter and maddeningly cheerful music blasted out. The moment Frieza stepped across the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind him with an air of finality.
And that was that.
King Yemma sighed again and rubbed his enormous temple. He almost regretted calling in so many guards when, in the end, nothing had actually happened. He'd gone through a ridiculous amount of effort arranging advance hazard pay just to convince them to even show up. And for what? What a total waste of budget.
Not to mention, he now owed West Kai a favor.
Still, as he turned to the next soul in line, his eyes flickered—almost involuntarily—back to the now-sealed gates to Hell.
Frieza hadn't been afraid or cowed, but rather…contemplative.
And that unsettled King Yemma more than any outburst would.
***
~ Some Time Later: Hell ~
Frieza hung suspended from the branches of a colossal tree, encased in a silken cocoon of an unknown but indestructible substance. His arms, his legs—every inch of him—was bound so thoroughly that even the smallest movement was impossible.
All around him, the air thrummed with ceaseless, unbearable cheer. Fairies with radiant halos flitted through the sky, their wings scattering glittering sparkles with every beat. Chubby cupids twirled in slow, lazy circles around him, plucking golden harps and piping away on delicate flutes. Cute stuffed animals danced happily below. Their high-pitched voices wove together in a never-ending stream of syrupy, saccharine melodies.
The Music. Just. Never. Stops.
In another world, another time, Frieza would have screamed. He would have bared his fangs and thrashed violently against his bindings. He would have cursed every single last one of these wretched, pathetic creatures for daring to subject him to such humiliation.
But instead, he slowly closed his eyes and willed the world away. He let himself sink into the depths of his own mind, plunging into a deep, trance-like meditation by shutting out everything but his own thoughts.
He had much to think about.
His defeat. His fear. His weakness. His carelessness. The sheer, pathetic childishness of his final moments.
Right before his end, he had lost all composure, reduced to a desperate, shrieking child as his own confidence crumbled around him. He hadn't been cast down by fate, by the gods, or by some cosmic reckoning. No, he had fallen because of his own damned fault.
During his time in Hell, Frieza had come to realize that his father had been right about many things concerning him. He had stagnated, dulled by the absence of any true challenge. He had grown arrogant, convinced that no one would ever rise to stand against him. He had lost his drive for improvement, content in the knowledge that he possessed the greatest potential in the history of his race.
He had been comfortable.
And comfort had made him weak.
At some point, that comfort had dulled his hunger for growth. For ages, he had made no real effort to push his knowledge or power beyond what had been given to him by birth. He had been satisfied with knowing that the true throne, the empire his father ruled, had always been reserved for him and him alone.
But he had never once stopped to question why it had not already been passed to him.
Now, he understood. His father had been right all along.
He wasn't ready.
But one day, he would be.
A slow, steady breath left his lips as his eyes opened. The fairies continued their nauseatingly upbeat chorus around him. With cold disinterest, Frieza shut his eyes again, shutting them—and their insipid melodies—out of his mind. He had far more pressing matters to attend to than wasting time on their pathetic attempts at punishment.
He turned inward and once again sank deep into meditation.
Though his body, his physical form, had been taken from him, his energy remained. He could still feel it, still sense its flow, its rhythm, its boundless potential. Never before had he taken the time to truly explore it, to understand it—not that he could've until now. But even if he could have, why would he bother to? He had been so powerful that he had to seal much of it away just to interact with the world.
But now, he had a new skill to master, an entirely new sense to explore—and all the time in existence to perfect them both. But that didn't mean he intended to waste a single second of his time, even in, no—especially in his current circumstances.
Because death was not what he had believed it to be. He had not been erased, nor had he lost his sense of self. And this space… this so-called Hell… could not hold him forever.
And if it couldn't contain him for an eternity, then it was no prison.
It was an opportunity.
He had indeed been granted the second chance he had so desperately wished for.
So, when he inevitably leaves this place…
The Universe shall learn to tremble before him once more.
'And so would you, Son Goku!'
***
~ Laboratory ~
The lab was a cold, damp expanse of concrete and steel. Metal support beams framed the ceiling and walls, while the air was thick with the musty stench of chemicals and blood.
A dim, sickly glow pulsed from the countless monitors arranged in a haphazard row along the walls. Their flickering screens were awash with streams of data, as well as cryptic programs and simulations. Along the perimeter, reinforced glass tanks lined the lab, each filled with a viscous green-tinted fluid that bubbled sluggishly.
At the center of it all, a lone figure worked. His fingers danced swiftly across the keyboard, and the rhythmic clatter of keystrokes blended with the low hum of machinery. After a moment, he turned and narrowed his eyes at a petri dish resting beneath the harsh white glare of an overhead lamp.
Carefully, he lifted a pipette and released a single droplet of an unknown substance onto its surface. The liquid spread. He watched attentively, breath shallow, waiting—until his gaze flicked back to the screen.
A sudden flash of crimson bathed his face in an ominous glow.
His aged features twisted into a scowl, lips peeling back in a silent snarl. With a sharp motion, he snatched the petri dish and flung its contents into the overflowing trash bin beside him, where countless others had already met the same fate.
The soft, wet plop of its landing did nothing to quell his frustration.
The monitors cast soft hues of white and blue across his face, but the glow did nothing to soften the madness burning in his eyes. His pupils twitched, dilated with frustration and obsession.
"Another failure… He's just a human. What makes him so special…?"
He rose stiffly and moved to log the latest result—Experiment #1006—onto the ever-growing list of failures before him. As he typed, his jaw clenched, hands curling into fists so tightly his knuckles went white.
Something inside him snapped.
With a frustrated scream, he grabbed the nearest object—a thick binder stuffed with handwritten notes—and hurled it at the floor. It landed with a dull thud while the pages scattered outward like dead leaves caught in a storm.
He spun around, his eyes wild, and seized a table piled with petri dishes, vials, and fragile instruments. In one explosive movement, he threw it, sending glass and metal flying. The deafening crash echoed through the lab as the table slammed into the concrete wall. The air was immediately filled with the sharp scent of spilled chemicals and wasted efforts.
The man slumped into his chair, sinking into it as though the weight of a thousand failures had finally crushed him. The eerie green light reflecting off the overturned table and the fluid-filled tanks cast his face in a sickly glow.
What had once been a proud face was now gaunt and lined with deep furrows carved by obsession and exhaustion. His white lab coat hung off his frame in wrinkled disarray, stained by years of sleepless nights and ceaseless work.
And atop his head, encased in a dome of reinforced glass, was a human brain—the only piece of him that remained truly human.
A soundless sob suddenly wracked Dr. Gero's frame, a pitiful, shuddering heave that rattled his artificial body.
Why?
Why couldn't he do it? What was he missing? He had been so agonizingly close—so close to his success. And yet, years ago, at the very moment of his triumph, after a decade of sacrifice, the world had ripped it from his bare hands! Fate had conspired against him. Had mocked him. Had cheated him!
And he knew exactly who to blame!
His lips curled back, teeth grinding, and his sorrow evaporated like mist before a wildfire. His fingers twitched violently before curling into a shaking fist. And then—
CRASH!
With a feral snarl, he drove his fist straight through the glass of a nearby tank. The reinforced material, designed to withstand unimaginable pressure, shattered instantly under his strike. Cracks spiderwebbed outward before the entire structure crumbled.
The viscous substance rushed out in a torrent, spilling over his artificial body, soaking his coat and legs, and pooling beneath him. The coldness of the liquid was meaningless to him. He couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything.
And that suited him just fine.
As the last of the liquid dripped from the shattered tank, the laboratory fell into a strange, hollow silence.
Suddenly, laughter.
Gero laughed.
There was no trace of humor in it, nor any joy. It was a sound steeped in madness, in misery, in something far darker than simple bitterness. It was the laugh of a man pushed beyond the boundaries of despair and left there to rot.
It was the laugh of a man who no longer cared for his humanity.
A grotesque smile twisted his face while his lips stretched unnaturally wide—a monstrous parody of a human expression. His fingers twitched before gripping his skull, tightening until the reinforced casing around his brain fractured with an audible crack. Despite the risk to his life, his laughter never ceased. It poured from him like a malfunctioning machine working itself to ruin.
As he dragged his hand down his face, his nails sunk deep and carved painful gouges into his flesh. A wet, tearing sound followed as a slow stream of dark, sluggish blood—or what was left of it—mixed with oil and coolant spilled from the exposed wiring.
His left eye was reduced to a ruined mess, nothing more than a mangled socket of torn organic matter and broken mechanical components. But deep within the remains of his organic eye, concealed beneath the wreckage of flesh and broken circuits, was a steady, red mechanical glow.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
At the sound of the clock, Gero's laughter stopped. The madness ebbed from his face, replaced by an empty, emotionless stare. His hands, still slick with his own fluids, fell limply to his sides.
Without a word, he turned and walked calmly toward a nearby desk. There, resting on the cold metal surface, lay the source of the sound.
A pocket watch of average size.
Its casing was predominantly a rich, deep blue, accented with silver trim and bold gold borders. Despite the lab's harsh conditions, the watch remained oddly pristine, untouched by the chemical mess around it. At the center of its outer cover was a symbol—a finely engraved, stylized "O."
Gero extended his hand and gently picked up the device. His fingers lightly traced the engraved insignia, and with a soft click, he released the latch. The engraved cover swung open and revealed the intricate gears of the clock face within. The hands ticked forward steadily.
"Why did you leave?" His grip tightened ever so slightly. "It was you who led me down this path."
A dead chuckle echoed.
"And made all of this possible."
Gero's fingers moved in slow, methodical motions over the watch's smooth surface as he absentmindedly rubbed it. His eyes stayed locked on the watch's face, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere. The glass reflected back his ghastly visage.
A cold, bloodstained mask of metal and flesh. A single human eye and a glowing red light stared back.
He looked inhuman.
Just as well. He didn't feel human either.
In fact, why would he even want to be? What had humanity ever given him? When he had been human, all he had known was suffering. His body had withered, his dreams had been trampled upon, and the allies he had once trusted had proven themselves unworthy of his genius.
The faint ticking continued, indifferent to his thoughts.
With a sharp snap, Gero shut the cover of the watch and shoved it deep into his lab coat pocket. He exhaled slowly, then pivoted, his attention already on a large glass containment pod nearby. It was a towering cylinder of reinforced glass, filled with a thick, vibrant green liquid that glowed eerily. Bubbles lazily floated upward as they swirled around the tiny figure within.
Finally, he stood before it. His hand rose, and his fingers spread as he pressed them against the cool, smooth glass longingly. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely a whisper. "Ah, it's so close... I can almost taste it..."
"Soon, our dream will come true." His red eye pulsed as his fingers curled against the glass. His voice dropped to something almost like a prayer.
"Soon, you'll be complete. Soon… perfection. I promise!"
– END OF BOOK 2 –
~ Shadows of the Galactic Emperor ~
***
DBA Corner: THE MASTERPLAN + PL:
1. Convince everyone to head to Namek (use Chiaotzu if Piccolo is still around) – (COMPLETED)
2. Train in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber – (COMPLETED)
3. Train under higher gravity conditions – (COMPLETED)
4. Get your power level over 10k at the very least – (COMPLETED)
5. Have Goku stock up on Senzu Beans – (COMPLETED)
6. Grab more than just one Dragon Radar – (COMPLETED)
7. Build a strong bond with Gohan – (PENDING)
8. Protect the ship from destruction – (COMPLETED)
9. Save Dende– (COMPLETED)
10. Get Guru to unlock your potential– (COMPLETED)
11. Persuade Vegeta and Nappa to join forces with us– (COMPLETED)
12. Prevent Ginyu from succeeding with his body-switching trick– (FAILED)
13. Convince Guru to sacrifice himself, leaving the third wish available–(COMPLETED)
14. Somehow manage to
get Piccolo to fuse with Nail– (COMPLETED)15. Use one Dragon Ball wish to learn Kaioken– (COMPLETED)
16. Use another wish to unlock everyone's full potential – (FAILED)
17. Leave the third wish as a backup – (COMPLETED)
18. Abuse Frieza Force's healing pods and Dende to train Kaioken– (COMPLETED)
19. Take down Frieza while he's still in his weaker form– (FAILED)
20. Ensure Goku achieves Super Saiyan – sacrifice yourself heroically if needed, but only if Frieza's defeat at a lower form is not possible – (KIND OF FAILED?)
21. DO NOT let Piccolo die – (COMPLETED)
22. Stay Alive – (FAILED)
Final Power Levels Post-Epilogue:
1. King Cold – ???
2. Goku (Super Saiyan) – 187,500,000
3. Frieza (100%) – 120,000,000
4. Vegeta (False SS2) - ~95,000,000
5. Slug (Old Age) – 40,000,000
6. Boreas – 38,400,000
7. Ajax (KK ×30) – 34,500,000
8. Piccolo (KK ×5) – 16,500,000
9. Goku (Base) – 3,750,000
10. Vegeta (Base, Post Rage Boost) – 1,200,000
11. Gohan (Post 2× Zenkai, KK ×3) – 840,000
12. Krillin (KK ×3) – 337,500
13. Nappa (Post 2× Zenkai) – 310,000
14. Goku (in Ginyu's body): 125,000
15. Jeice – 103,000
16. Burter – 75,000
17. Recoome – 75,000
18. Zarbon (Monster Form) – 45,000
19. Nail – 32,000
20. Dodoria – 22,000
21. Cui – 19,000
22. Guldo – 15,000
23. Escagor – 13,500
24. Moori – 5,000
25. Jaco – 803
26. Dende – 300
27. Mushin – 280
28. Bulma – 12.69
29. Ginyu-Frog – 0.0001