DB Multiverse

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.

This comic is finished!

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[Chapter Cover]
Part 3, Chapter 27.


The New Village Chief


The banquet tables hadn’t been taken down since yesterday and that was for the best. As people rushed to fill them anew, a few jacked hunters hurried to supply them. In no time at all, everything was ready and everyone rushed to empty them again.

— We’re gonna need a new chief. Hanasia can’t be Queen and worry about our little village at the same time.

— I call dibs.

— Qué?

— Well I’m the strongest here, I’m young...

— Yeah sure, said an old man. We’ll see about that with a few bouts, I think. Besides, that wouldn’t be enough, since the village has to accept the chief.

— For example, if someone like Sarcocis decides he wants to be chief, there’s no way any of us will agree to that, even if he beats everyone! Hahahaha!

— So will we fight tomorrow?

— Hanasia won’t be here tomorrow! Everyone’s already here anyway. There’s three hours left before night. We have plenty of time to fight! I doubt there would be that many fighters.

The villagers assembled, and indeed, there were only four competitors; two youngsters and two patriarchs. Everyone left the village towards a remote plain. Hanasia and Corrne told them about the city’s tournament format, and it was decided that each respective fighter would face another one-on-one, then the winner would face the victor of the other fight.

The matches were set up at random, and it was the two older fighters that would be competing first.


The bout wasn’t all that exciting. One of the two was but a poser in the face of the other, named Moniak, and didn’t last long. Moniak was about the age of Hanasia’s and played a role in her education. She knew him well and appreciated him very much.

Turoca and Cetinia were the next to take the stage. The former was young and volatile, the scar that Hanasia gave him a few months back (for reasons nobody knows of, especially himself) was still visible. The latter was a friend of Hanasia’s, though “friend” would be considered a pretty distant relationship when you consider the size of the village. Only a year apart in age, the two young ladies naturally made friend. They were raised together, along with a few others of their age. They learned how to hunt, fight and fire energy blasts together.

Cetinia had partaken in many combat courses instructed by Hartich back then. She was strong, but not enough to be chief of the village, was Hanasia’s estimation. While she didn’t know for sure, it was also possible that she might’ve had an affair with her father.

Turoca was swiftly crushed by the complex techniques Cetinia had learned from Hartich.


Following an intermission and a meal, under the dim light of dusk, Cetinia and Moniak were face-to-face in the plains. Moniak was larger than Cetinia, but he didn’t seem that much stronger. He would have his experience, and she her determination.

They slowly took off the ground. If reminder need be, mastery of flight wasn’t a common skill among the villagers here. This was the true battle to decide the new village chief.

Cetinia was beginning to feel anxious and self-conscious. Before today, she never imagined ever challenging Moniak. Given his apparent composure, it looked as though he was confident in his victory and his piercing gaze unnerved her. How do you go about taking a guy like that by surprise? But her ambition burned strong, and now that the father-daughter couple was no more, the door was open for the recognition and respect she sought.

For Moniak, this was a grand moment. For the last 23 years, the battles for the title of chief always were against Hartich. And that was a lot. Even in a small village, the chefs came and went, a generation replacing another. When Hartich returned from his travels across the continent, he challenged the chief at the time and won. Since then, no one had ever defeated him.

Cetinia took the initiative and charged at him. She attacked with three violent punches that Moniak and to deviate and avoid. He created distance, flying downward while she continued to barrage him with kicks. While he was purely focused on defensive techniques, he did so well. In the long run, he was at an advantage.

Moniak turned in the air to kick, clashing with Cetinia’s, then sent several energy balls her way. Unready to dodge or block them, she took the full brunt of them, giving her opponent enough to to recuperate and begin his offensive.

The fight lasted a while, with its ups and downs, growing more and more intense as it went. Moniak was beginning to tire and had several burn marks from energy blasts, as well as a few visible bruises, scrapes and cuts on his members. Cetinia has focused much less on defense, as evidenced by the many blows she had taken to the face. Several wounds and blood were clearly visible. Her face was almost painted red, but she held on.

Having more trouble catching his breath than she did, he knew was running out of steam faster than she was. But she would end up falling victim to her injuries. She was getting progressively sloppier while he retained his composure. He was going to end this before he really tired out, and for that to happen, he was going to have to focus on her wounds. The sun was touching the horizon and a few villagers brought torches and a few stacks of wood for bonfires.


Moniak rushed Cetinia with his fist held forward. She tried grabbing him by the arm to counter, but he knew this move well. He moved his hand out of the way and tried kicking her, which she blocked with her tibia, followed by a feint she fell for before she took another blow to the face. Cetinia flew away and fired a few shots in order to to try and create some distance.

— I’ve taken too many of his baits, she thought to herself as she wiped the blood off her eyes. I have to turn this around to stop him from playing his tricks.

— You won’t be able to avoid me for long. Your blasts are weak, thought Moniak to himself. Instead of flying towards her, he gained altitude and was now above her, then, stretching his arms out, began to charge two gigantic spheres of energy.

— The advantage! thought Cetinia. He was already preparing another attack, so she charged him in the vain hope of hitting him in the stomach while it was left completely open.

He fired both of them one after the other. Cetinia continued her course and, like a bolt of lightning, avoided them despite not having the same course. Proud of herself, she was able to to reach Moniak, who was still recovering from the recoil. He tried blocking but it was already too late. She struck him with a powerful blow, fist sliding against his arm, that shattered Moniak’s ribcage. He released a loud gasp and let himself fall towards the ground. However, she used his momentum to her advantage, striking him square in the face. Both fighters were now falling freely.

If Moniak didn’t recover, Cetinia, who was still at higher altitude, would crush him against the ground with her knee, which would knock him out for sure. She began to smirk, certain of her victory, as she saw the earth getting closer and closer, and the sandwich closing, Moniak being the ideal piece of meat to place between the two buns. Suddenly, she felt a sharp burn in her dorsal area, and cried out as she twirled to the side. She understood at the last moment, seeing another fireball coming straight for her on the other side, that Moniak had fired heat-seeking energy blasts, a technique so rare and complex that she had never before seen it executed.


But it was too late to prevent it from hitting her, and she had only one of her forearms to limit any direct damage. Another explosion rung in the air. Completely exhausted, she too was falling like a rag doll. They were both going to hit the ground, but which one of them will be able to stand after that? Maybe both of them. Maybe neither of them.

Spinning wildly and seeing the world turn around her, Cetinia remained confident in her victory. The impact would be pretty rough, but her opponent was definitely in worse shape than she was… was her train of thought before she heard a wild cry.

Moniak gathered what strength he had left and grabbed her by the ankle. The two blasts she had taken were of equal force and had struck her on both sides, meaning she had remained in the same relative position to him, and that is, very close! Damn her carelessness! Moniak sent her crashing against the ground vigorously, barely having the time to shield his head from the impact.

The speechless crowd could only afford a gasp, and Moniak, who didn’t have time to position himself for the optimal amount of damage still managed to place his legs towards the ground, crushing her so violently beneath his feet that half of her body was buried beneath the dirt.

Moniak took a deep breath and gathered his bearings, his fist on the ground to keep himself upright. He slowly got back up. With Cetinia gravely wounded and half-conscious, he could now finish her. This battle was not only a fierce one, but it was also equally matched, and it would be dangerous to have a fighter of her caliber around should she ever decide to challenge him again. No one would blame him for killing her.

None, save for Hanasia.

— This battle is now over! she said calmly, but loud enough to be heard by all. Corrne was shocked. You couldn’t simply cut a battle short like that, and she didn’t have the right to intervene. But the other villagers weren’t surprised by this declaration, and Moniak freed his opponent, walking away from her.


Hanasia walked towards him and once they were face-to-face, she did a little hop to get to his height, and clasped him tightly in her arms.

— Congratulations!! she cried to him, squeezing him harder than reasonable. Despite his body being broken and having difficulties staying up, Moniak nevertheless returned the embrace. Hanasia smootched him on the cheek then released him, allowing him to resume his walk towards, as everyone knew, to the closest bench, next to which a banquet could be held in honor of his victory today. He would be able to recover by eating and drinking, without giving away that both his nose and ribs were in pieces.

Hanasia, however, continued on behind him towards Cetinia. She dug her arms into the ground and delicately got her friend out of there. A few other members from her circle gathered around to help her onto a bed, cleaning her blood-stained face and applying a few medicinal herbs.

Passing by Corrne, who was starting to wonder what he was doing there, she asked him:

— Would you be okay to find the capital in the middle of the night just as well as you did in the day?

— Yeah, he replied. But...

— Alright, then. We’ll leave at the last moment to make it by morning. In the meantime, go eat something… and bring me some grub, too.

She then continued towards the hut where she laid her friend on a bed of hay and dried leaves. Night had fallen, the moon was hidden by the clouds, and several torches were placed around the house.

Less than an hour later, Cetinia woke up. She was home, and there was light. Hanasia was there, chewing on a bone. She moved a bit and could feel pain everywhere. Her body had rested, and she could now feel the pain of her every injury.

— You lost, said Hanasia. No use in trying to move, either, she continued, keeping her in the bed with only the force of her finger. You’re in worse shape and weaker than a turtle without his shell.

— Shiiiit... is all Cetinia had to say to that.

— We’ve always told you you’re not careful enough in battle… so here you are.

Cetinia didn’t say anything and remained pensive.

— And this, began Hanasia, as she place her finger on Cetinia’s forehead and let it slide across part of her face, you’ll be keeping for the rest of your life.

She frowned to the pain she felt from the finger sliding across what would eventually become a scar.

— Whatever... my face is still prettier than yours.

Hanasia looked at her for a short second and began to puff, then laugh. She didn’t think less of her friend’s beauty, but right now, covered in bruises and blisters, this was too much. At this very moment, her statement couldn’t be further from the truth.

— Hahaha! My dear Cetinia, if you could only see yourself right now! she said without any malice. You’re scary to look at! You’re not getting laid for at least a month!

— Not even with Darrir?

— Ah, nope. Darrir doesn’t count.

Cetinia chuckled a little, but no more than the pain would allow her to. She then considered a way to get rid of Hanasia. Having someone at her bedside wasn’t something she really liked.

— Quit spewing bullshit and get me some roast already. I can smell it from here and I’m starving.

— Glad to see you’re better already, said Hanasia as she walked away.


But she got the message and left without the intention of coming back. She ate and drank with the others, and once her stomach was full and her story of what happened was told over and over again, she told Corrne:

— C’mon, we’re leaving. That way, we can make it before morning and I’ll be able to sleep on my awesome bed.

Corrne took flight and Hanasia did the same. Harik came out of nowhere and clung to Hanasia’s leg.

— I’m coming with you! he cried. I’m going to the capital!

— Not in bed yet? asked Hanasia as she shook her leg around, making him dangle in every direction. Harik then looked like a fruit desperately clinging to a tree in strong winds.

— That brat doesn’t know the meaning of shame, observed a Saiyan from the ground.

— Shame?! barked an older Saiyan next to him. When you were his age, you made even worse scenes!

— Let go, dit Hanasia. You’re going to ruin my royal boots, and these beauties are hard to come by.

Unsurprisingly, he responded by tightening his grasp, and Hanasia immediately reacted. She sent her foot crashing on his head, swiftly and vigorously. Harik immediately released her and fell on his back. The couple then flew out of his reach and left.

— If that punk can go by himself, so can I! he howled at them.

— Learn how to fly, first, retorted Corrne.

Then Hanasia took off, with him clinging to her, and they flew at full speed into the night sky.

— Oh, said Hanasia as she turned to her guide while he held on tightly because of the high speed, I need to show you my room at the palace. I have a GRRRRREAT bed and we absolutely need to do it on it.

Corrne heard the double-bang again and they continued their way towards the capital.



Yshar entered the large room in which all the other warriors were assembled. Their forces were scattered all across the hall. A rare sight to behold, so many fighters of such caliber all in one place.

There were many unfamiliar faces. Many weaker signatures could be felt, but some fighters whom he had never seen before emitted quite the imposing presence. Yshar also recognized a few living legends. Among them was a former warrior of the court who had survived an attack from one of the Frost Demons. The counter read an sizeable life force despite his missing one of his arms and the impressive scar across his entire body. Next to him, a being from the Morgoths species, gargantuan monsters with excellent durability. In a corner, a rebel famous for her actions taken against the Demons was conversing with many others.

Between a mutant with telekinetic ability and a barbarian assassin armed with a large sword forged with star alloy, a Namekian. The Namekian! It was Bourgo, the only known Namekian in the universe.

Yshar no longer hesitated and walked towards him. He was now among a group of elite fighters! He now proudly walked among these legends and beasts of the battlefield.

— Master Bourgo, he called to him. I am Yshar, pleased to make your acquaintance.

— Right-handed Yshar. I know you well. So, is it true that you fight only with your right hand?

— You’ve heard of me? he asked, surprised and pleased to learn he has already made himself a reputation. Uh, no, I fight my battles how I can. Rare are the times I have the choice between which arm to use, Hahaha… But I do deliver my finishing blow with my right hand only.

— Traditional.

— Yes, that’s something from my planet. We destroy with our right hand, and pardon with our left.

— This left hand of yours... it hasn’t been used that way for a long time.

— Ah, I must admit that in these violent times, diplomatic conflicts always end in a bloodbath.

— What a shame that with your powers of forgiveness, you don’t use them. Both of your hands are covered in blood.

Yshar was taken aback, unsure of whether he had just been insulted.

— I… don’t exactly have more power of forgiveness than anyone else...

— I don’t know of another warrior who has a specific organ meant to pardon. It’s an asset. Use it.

The Namekian turned to face another warrior approaching them. Yshar was somewhat upset. It’s only a tradition, he thought.

Standing at six feet and nine inches, a long mane on his head and a large jaw, he was often call “the barbarian”, that is, erroneously so.

— Lord Bourgo, it is a joy to receive you here. We feared that you might’ve been found by Lord Frosty on Blizzard VII.

— Krämm of Istaal, the joy is mine. No worries, Frosty only managed to find my legs, my arms, part of my stomach, an antenna and two ears within the ruins of the fortress he destroyed.

The barbarian smiled before changing the subject:

— We have forged a new sword for the battle that awaits us. Would you care to see it?

— With pleasure, lied Bourgo.

Krämm took the giant blade out of his back. Thick and sharp, it shined magnificently.

— It’s gorgeous, exclaimed Yshar. I’ve never seen star metal before.

— Oh! Thank you, replied the barbaran. We are Krämm of Istaal. Pleased to meet you.

— Right-handed Yshar. Superb... Can it... can it cut through a Frost Demon?

— Yes, answered Krämm. If it connects. For generations now, they learned to be wary of such weapons. Now that you bring it up, we wanted to propose a plan in which we would distract the Demons with large numbers to provoke distraction then strike him when the moment is right. We have cape ready to hide the blade until we can unsheathe it by surprise.

— Sir Krämm, began Yshar, I have the perfect technique for this situation. It isn’t known outside of my planet.

— It won’t be enough, interrupted Bourgo. Everyone knows you fight with the sword. Your whole body will have to be hidden. You will also need to be at the heart of the battle, otherwise you won’t be within range to strike.

— A disguise?

— Do you know the bombers? This came from a small man who joined the conversation. They are fighters or vessels that fire very powerful energy blasts. They usually don’t know how to do much else.

The Namekian, barbarian and righty all turned their heads to him.

— They are often seen in armed combat. When it comes to the actual fighters, they are often cloaked in large drapes, so as conceal where and when they’re going to shoot next. Most of the time, they aren’t very good at close combat, so two -or more- warriors or ships rotate around them to form a protective mural.

They kept on listening, unsure of what he was getting at.

— But in high stakes battle, the bombers are usually of limited utility, since enemies can usually see the blast coming before it hits. So, unless they’re that good, no one really bothers with them.

— I see, said Bourgo. The bomber flies into the heart of the battle and isn’t the center of attention. If Krämm is that bomber, he would be completely covered, disguised, and within range to strike. It’s perfect.

— Oh... that is to say... we aren’t very good at firing energy attacks.

— Perfect, reiterated Yshar. That way, no one will really care to take you down.

— Still, the bomber needs some amount of credibility, continued Bourgo. There are highly skilled strategists within the court, and if bother shielding an inefficient bomber, that would surely arouse suspicion..

— I am a bomber, said the short man. It’s my career, and my only skill. You are so tall that if I share the camouflage with you, it would make no visible difference.

— I think it’s a solid plan. While it would be a shame to not utilise Krämm’s extensive combat skills at the start of the battle, if we can kill a Frost Demon from the get-go, our grand act will have succeeded.

Yshar was glad to be part of this exceptional world. And this plan that had been hatched in a mere instant was excellent. Far better than his own.

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