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Hanasia, Queen of the Saiyans

Written by Salagir

Adapted by Caihlem, TheOverlyMadHatter, hiace50 and Adamantine

This story takes place on the Saiyans planet, 1000 years ago, way before they are the population killer who put fear in the whole galaxy, in the era of King Vegeta...
If you ever wondered how these so powerful people lived as a community, if you want to know what was the fate of Millennium Warriors before Broly, if the adventures of a frantic and emotional fighter in a world of bullies tempt you, enter the world of Hanasia's saga.

Next page in: 15 days, 5h


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[Chapter Cover]
Part 3, Chapter 30.

Discrete and Effective Attacks

 

Things were busy on the Imperial ship as it was making contact between the large spaceport of the Omega Nebula and the Empire’s capital planet. On said ship was a few hundred passengers, thirty-seven of which were warriors of the court, a few among them being well-known. Although the accommodations for the travel were fairly luxurious, it wasn’t anything the warriors of the court and the princes hadn’t experienced before, and therefore, they remained relatively unimpressed. They were especially inconvenienced by their summons, as they would have much preferred to keep to their leisurely duties as princes on their respective planets.

The Frost Demons slowly assembled their armies and fiercest fighters. In the craft were a few specific figures that would hate to run into each other. In a grand display of pacifism, they had settled on separate corners of the passenger area, so as to avoid crossing paths.

Suddenly, the ship jolted, and a loud sound followed.

— We’re under attack by space pirates! Cried the captain.

— Ridiculous, said Lieutenant Terasawa of the court. We’re flying a ship officially branded as the Empire’s. No pirate would dare attack it.

— Don’t bother arming your cannons, said another warrior, we’ll make short work of them.

— Do you have your spacesuits? Inquired the lieutenant. But rather than being given an answer, he was met with a guffaw.

— A spacesuit? Hahaha! I’ll be done with them before you’re even dressed! It was Cobura, a young rookie who had climbed up and who, as is known, hated the Lieutenant, in spite of his awareness that he was the weakest of the two.

— You can survive in space? Enthusiastically inquired the pilot.

— Come on, no time to lose, answered Cobura as he entered an airlock. - Another explosion shook spaceship - The shields won’t hold for much longer.

 

Like a fish in the sea, Cobura moved through the vacuum of space towards the enemy ship. As is expected of spacial battles, the latter was hundreds of miles away. But within a few seconds, he’d already made his way to it, as he was swift in the void. They’d been expecting him. On his way, an enormous fighter clad in a spacesuit sloppily tailored to his fit was ready to duke it out.

Cobura loved space battles, particularly because it was an art that none one but himself could master. And this giant warrior was definitely no exception, if his poorly resized spacesuit was enough of a telling sign .

Aside from the total lack of surface for any footing that caused most to lose their sense of balance, the complete absence of gravity rendered their habitual movements utterly useless.

In space, every little shock sends both parties in the opposite direction, and given that they are never completely perpendicular, they always end up spinning on their own axis. Now, you know this. But living it is a completely different story. Once the stars and your opponent start turning around you, you’ve lost control of everything.

Furthermore, he was fully suited up. Only a highly powerful fighter could resist with his skin only the absence of pressure, the harsh cold, the solar radiation, that are all filtered by the atmosphere. Besides, no matter how well-trained a living being can be, they could never enter the vacuum of space without bleeding from their nose, then shortly thereafter dying from every possible bodily function imaginable due to the changes in conditions.

Only organisms possessing immense strength, like a Super Saiyan, were naturally protected by their aura. Beneath that layer, one would have to be genetically altered accordingly. Species with such properties could be counted on the fingers of only one your hands… Even if you’re a Namek (didn’t I already make this one?)

In short, fighting in a spacesuit was hell. The garment is too bulky for any swift movement, and is too fragile to withstand the power of even an average fighter. A few good hits in here and there, and poof, there goes your oxygen. All it takes is even the smallest of breaches. For that matter, some of them would even damage their own suits as they tried to fire energy blasts, causing them to set fire to their thick gloves (but obviously, that wouldn’t create any actual flame, just a neat little hole).

 

This mastodon emitted a powerful energy signature. On land, Cobura wouldn’t stand a chance, but this was a different story… He shot a few fireballs.

His opponent didn’t flee. It clearly wasn’t an option for him. He formed an energy shield around him, a large sphere engulfing his body and suit. The blasts bounced off, not without pushing him back a few hundred yards per second.

Cobura followed him and thought to himself that he’d only have to hit a bit. A few hits to the face, from underneath, on his side… any angle worked for him when his opponent was as good as still.

He turned around a bit then charged him, ready to bombard him with his fists.

The other reacted the moment he got close, and brandished a large object from behind his suit.

Cobura saw the massive figure move above him at unexpectedly high speed. As his opponent finished his swift move, he could see that the object was in fact a great sword. And that he’d been cut in half.

As the blood spread across the void of space, Krämm delivered another swing, beheading the youngster.

 

He radioed back.

— There was only one of them. We got him, he reported.

— Others will follow all suited up, said the person on the other end. You need to get back on their path.

Krämm pressed a button on one of his gloves and the correct path was indicated on his visor.

With a few taps of his fingers, he set the wanted direction to his suit. The thrusters activated and he made his way back to the pirate ship. As he concealed his blade, he could see a dozen fighters fleeing their ship that was clearly fighting a losing battle. Although turrets were firing at them, their professional-grade spacesuits enabled them to avoid the blasts with ease.

The first ones on the scene charged Krämm, only to be cut into pieces. The others understood the futility of approaching him, so they simply fired energy blasts at him, taking full advantage of their higher-end equipment.

Krämm deflected these attacks using his sword, aware of how careful he needed to be in keeping the suit from sustaining any damage. He began to turn, but his suit propelled him in a manner that kept him stationary compared to his adversaries.

— For how big he is, he sure is fast. But he’ll slip sooner or later, commented the Lieutenant.

Just then, a set of ten fighters exited the pirate ship, wearing equipment that matched that of the empire’s forces in quality. On average, they were somewhat weaker than the opposing force, but the latter group quickly understood that they were dealing with specialist in spatial combat.

It was only a few moments before the Empire’s fighters were decimated. All that was left was the lieutenant, whose suit and agility saved him from enemy fire.

He saw the empire’s ship explode then immediately thereafter implode, with all the court’s warriors in it. His communication lines only gave static. No doubt would the disappearance of this ship would require an investigation, but before people even begin to wonder what happened, the rebels would continue to attacks such obligatory travels from the court, where other fighters would find themselves in vulnerable positions.

He signed the large fighter, the one that started the battle. He was requesting a duel.

He was alone, surrounded and outnumbered. These were honorable fighters he was dealing with, and none of them would have any reason to refuse, if it weren’t for Krämm being at a conditional disadvantage. But he would never refuse such a proposal, and they all knew that. He accepted his challenge and asked everyone to make room. Shots were about to be fired.

As he launched himself towards the lieutenant, the empire’s fighter shot several hundred energy blasts that were only swept to the side by the alliance fighter’s sword.

The lieutenant kept on firing shots of various power, speed, and shape, alternating between some that couldn’t be blocked in the same manner. The constant change would eventually lead him to slip and be hit by residue. But Krämm would never slip. He wouldn’t allow for the slightest margin of error. Once the lieutenant saw that he’d reached his height, he remained rather than flee. He easily could have back away, as his thrusters were far superior to his opponent’s, and continue to blast him for hours on end, but he instead opted to swiftly circle around him and fire at him from behind.

Krämm swung his sword behind his back, but the lieutenant avoided him. He turned around, but so did his opponent. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to perceive the next hit, as in space, there is no shift in the air to watch for.

He felt a blow to his side, resulting in the suit and its electronic components breaking. He swung his sword behind him again, but since the lieutenant was positioned horizontally, he could only manage to sever his hand. Turning around, Krämm put some distance between he and the lieutenant. The latter grasped his own severed hand, probably for a potential reattachment, while his suit had formed a type of foam where the cut had been made to prevent air from leaving it and the lieutenant from bleeding out. On his end of things, Krämm’s suit lost all primary functions, but the oxygen wasn’t escaping. Had he not been surrounded by friends to help him out, he would have lost.

Krämm then threw his sword directly at the lieutenant’s stomach. His advanced spacesuit was torn in half, and because of the lack of pressure, he immediately bled out. The lieutenant died before he could even try to take out the sword.

 

— What a beautiful victory we celebrate today! Clamored Krämm, having returned to the pirate ship. Unfortunately, it was bought at the cost of our dear friends Aklavar, Tom Bibondal, and Joshua. A moment of silence for those we have lost in battle today.

Everyone present lowered their eyes, out of respect for Krämm’s ritual. Afterwards, he spoke softly, as if to finish a thought.

—  ... we will never forget you.

— We’re off to another sector, announced the pilot. We’ve acquired the coordinates to another transport shuttle.

— Let’s make haste, then, before they have time to react, added another fighter. This is the beginning of the end. The end of the Frost Empire.

And so, in the following days, the rebellion would be seeing explosive activity in every part of the galaxy.

On Planet Frosty 18, Lord Mango fell to by the hands of Bourgo. On the stellar outpost “Observatory,” the commanders were all dead, and transport had come to halt. All of the well-known routes had been cut off. Forces that had previously remained dormant had awakened to the call. Planets attacked others.

Opportunistic bandits of all calibers emerged to take advantage of the general disorder. The Rebels, the Imperial army, independent systems, guilds, and outlaws… all would attack each other at the opportunity to steal and pillage what was no longer protected.

And the reason for this? Because of a fairly credible rumor that affirmed with confidence that one of the imperial princes, one of the most indestructible Frost Demons, thought to be immortal, was slain at the hands of a warrior.

A warrior that had defeated him in single combat. A warrior surrounded by ephemeral light and carrying a deep-seated rage. A warrior of unmatched strength...

 

Hanasia awoke to find her head against the ground, drool trickle down from her mouth to the floor.

 

 

Her feet were still on the bed, and she could feel the blood climbing to her head.

— Humllgrmhmgrm...

She wiped her chin as she levitated back onto her feet.

— Stupid bed without borders… No such thing as perfect comfort.

Through the only glass windows of the Saiyan world, she looked upon the capital on which the midday sun shone.

— Cool, must have nothing to do today, or they would have woken me by now. She went to the other side of the bed where her clothes were spread about. Hey, uh, Co… Carrne? Corrin? Yeesh, can’t you just call yourself Brasca like everyone else?

— Good morning. Glad to see you today, replied Corrne, who was still entirely on the bed.

Hanasia embraced him and kept him tightly clasped between her arms and her tail like she usually did.

— My storyteller... She began, lowering herself to his level. I have a job for you. Go to the library to find out what Nizouki was looking for when he found me. Get to the bottom of it and tell me about it.

Corrne was freed. He got up, got dressed and walked towards the window.

— Wrong way...

— Oh, right... I keep on forgetting about that. And so he walked towards the corridor. The concept of a transparent wall still didn’t sit well with him.

Same went for idea of a library. Storytelling in books? Was speech and hearing not fundamentally more practical? At least with that, you don’t need to learn about strange signs...

Leaving the palace, he crossed paths with a few thick and muscular cronies, who had just come from the distant countryside.

The last coronation trial was to be held tomorrow. No matter how much the guards who tell them of the beatdowns the previous contenders received, these final contestants wouldn’t believe a word of it.

— The Great Hydargros, launched out of the ring into the horizon? Not today! Exclaimed a Saiyan who stood at least six feet seven.

 

The next day, the Great Hydargos was sent flying out of the ring and into the horizon as his four-second bout concluded.

No other contestant would provide a challenge.

— On this day, we declare Hanasia out new Queen of the Saiyans! Clamored the Royal Counsellor. Glory to our leader!

The crowd cheered and roared from every side of the arena, as the other hundreds of Saiyans perched in the sky.

— As always, it is customary that we allow a few months before one can challenge the newly crowned Queen to a duel. But then again, I doubt there are many of you who are itching to take her on, he finished with a grin.

There was the coronation, followed by a ritual more akin to a barbaric feast than an ancient rite of passage that was accompanied by deafening noise that not even the biggest of techno aficionado could consider music. Grub and spirits everywhere. Brawls, often stopped by royal guards and soldiers, because they were outlawed in the capital. Should two people not see eye to eye, they would have to take it to the outskirts.

A few residents of Hanasia’s old village were in attendance. They enjoyed like all the other guests the exceptional food from the city, and boasted to the crowds of Saiyans, generally of the opposite sex, that they were good friends with the queen.

The tales of their new queen’s exploits quickly made their way across the Saiyan continent, and the attracted tourist were surprisingly high in number. From the perspective of a Tsuful behind her surveillance monitor, they haven’t seen a party this big since a dozen crownings.

 

The Tsufuls’ appetite was much easier to satiate, despite what their large frame would let on. The reason they were large and round is because of the strong gravity on Plant. Abricota was munching on her breakfast as she walked into her friend’s office. Her back was facing the entrance, proof that no Tsuful had to fear for their lives in hundreds of years.

— Still watching them, thought the Tsuful. The Saiyan fangirl was looking upon them through her monitors.

— Those monkeys sure are having fun. Say Tchin, all that grub they’re chowing on, we’re the ones providing them with it, aren’t we? Is that what my taxes are funding now?

— Banquets of this amplitude are sponsored by us, yes. You’re not gonna start bitching because we’re sending a little gift of thanks to the Queen of the Saiyans, who I must remind you, saved our world on two separate occasions already, retorted Chiin-Lee as she extended her hand towards her colleague.

—  ... And who also kickstarted an intergalactic war, yeah. Looks good on a résumé. Uh… what do you want?

— Donut.

— I’m... sort of eating it, Tchin.

— Missus Abricota, if you just came in here without bringing an extra donut, I will have to hold this as a serious offence towards your hierarchical superior and will be obligated produce three copies of a report of insubordination to the attention of the Grand Stellar Chamberlain. You would then be deported to a frozen asteroid to rake rock plantations. The rocks being greens.

— That Grand Stellar whatever-the-schmuck is your new boss? Asked Brie, taking another donut out of her bag.

— Yeah, that yellow guy with the horns, replied Tchin as she caught the pastry.

They watched the broadcast of the Saiyan festivities a little longer. One of the monitors always kept the Queen in its field of view, who was starting to look undignified after several drinks.

— Why’d you mute the audio?

— Their, uh… “music”, ahem, isn’t easy on the ears.

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