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 38.

Rebellion? No, revolution !


What a mess in was in this throneroom! Dijicharate preferred order. Generally order in small pieces that didn’t move, and from which hemoglobin oozed out.

All the while moving at high velocity, she visually observed the combats and came to a clear conclusion: the rebels were butchering the guards. Similarly to the Emperor, that gave her little grief. On her own she could clean the room. And the Emperor himself… well, the simple fact that the energy balls from that bombardier had on him as much effect as raindrops attested the abyssal gulf in between him and the other warriors in this room.

The bombardier, that’s it, there was a mission worthy of her. The creature, hidden under a large veil, only fired to the bottom, which was normal seen as it grazed the roof. Around it, three resistant rebels attacked everything that came close. A good team. Except that the roof, that was Dijicharate’s domain.

During the semi-second necessary to plot a good course that would give her an optimal attack, she decided what type of assault to launch. She could kill the rebel in front of her, and continue directly through him, cutting the bombardier into pieces, leaving the other two bodyguards looking like idiots. But it surely wouldn’t be so simple. They had placed the good ones nearby. Yes, she had noticed. The armour they were wearing sported a thin layer of katshin, and even some star metal. She wouldn’t cut them in half. Her weapons would dig into them. They’d be dead but she’d be immobilized. And the other two would throw themselves at her.

She had to decide quickly. Soon the bombardier would be above Blizzard, and making blood and pieces of the warrior rain on the Emperor, that was something even Dijicharate wouldn’t dare.

Closing in at full speed, she found a fault in the armour. Ah, and he thought himself protected! And her blade entered with surgical precision in between two unbreakable pieces, a malformed joint. She continued into the skin, cutting the rebel’s arm, and exited as the latter screamed of surprize and pain. To do this, he tilted his head slightly backwards, revealing the joint at his neck. This one was of good quality, therefore the killer in the shadows hit harder. She stopped flying, and fell with her dead opponent.

For good measure, she finished cutting his head clean off, and disappeared in a blur.

The two other rebels shivered and changed positions to cover more defensive ground, but now they were leaving a large space in between them. Her next attack would be the good one.


Yshar saw the hole and thought to replace the dead bodyguard, but he knew he’d just be killed in one blow from the terrible Dijicharate. He preferred giving a few hits from his forgiving hand to his powerful opponent with the ravaged face.

The two shields remaining stayed on the lookout for the next attack, but they were as well placed as a rabbit that unknowingly prepares against the wolf. And it didn’t miss. The killer came from nowhere and launched herself at them. One raised his arm, but the attack was already started. They only had the time to see a blurred shape rush them, and a sharp circular attack cutting through the air, and with such strength it left a long scratch on the roof after.

What extraordinary speed. Such precision, such force, an admirable attack!

Under the shimmering light of the gigantic sword, the body of the queen of speed and shadows, Dijicharate, cut in half touched the roof at two different places. The rare people that followed the aerial bout, without losing sight of their own opponent, had a moment of shock. This proved fatal for one rebel, and another guard of the empire.

The strongest asset of the court had just been killed by the strongest warrior of the rebels, who had finally revealed himself.

Fortunately, not all had realized what had just happened. But the Emperor was going to find out that the one above him wasn’t just a simple bombardier.

— Now! screamed Krämm of Istaal, and the bombardier sent all his attacks towards the Emperor, as the two remaining bodyguards threw themselves onto the Emperor to try distract him, and as the gigantic mass of the paladin fell with an acceleration far superior to the planet’s gravity.

The bombardier aimed the eyes. Blizzard closed them. There wasn’t much smoke, the energy blasts has been chosen in that regard, so others would know where to attack. The first bodyguard charged his fist with energy that burnt bright, as well as the surrounding armour. He hit the Emperor’s shoulder, cutting through the shoulder armour like butter. The other rebel aimed lower, and with his bent knee, pushed by his flight to the ground to increase his speed, planted it like a needle into the left forearm of the monarc. One rebel who was at his feet abandoned his opponent to throw himself onto the massive tail tangled up on the floor. He hooked his arms and legs around the reptilian member, in two different spots (seen as it was wrapped around several times), which would prevent him from unfolding it, at least for the half-second that it would be needed. Yshar was too far to be of any use, so to help, he hoped, really hard.

The sword made from the alloy of the stars, one of the heaviest and keenest weapons of the known universe, sliced toward the Frost Demon. And time seemed to stop.

Krämm of Istaal, by eliminating in the same second Dijicharate and the Emperor, was going to win the battle on his own.




Like anybody civilized, the tall telekinetic Avoka despised Yikoun. The drooling beast escaped the realm of animals because of his faculty of speech, but for the rest, he was an insult to the words “superior intelligence” that one generally gave any species that would hit two stones to make fire. As a matter of fact, on his planet of birth, fire hadn’t even been invented.

The Glaviots, Yikoun’s species, had been discovered some tens of millennia ago at least. And yet, no evolution on their behaviour had been noted since. Their planet had a stranger particularity; like the moon that orbits earth, and only shows one face, his planet orbited its sun with one hemisphere permanently facing the sun, and the other in an eternal night. The only luminosity came from the stars, and generally those were hid beneath heavy clouds. Very close to its own burning star, the night side wasn’t cold either. Some thirty degrees celsius at its coldest point, closer to the hundreds where it bordered the light. On the light side, no life form had ventured to use a thermometer.

The Glaviots had a pair of globulous eyes that saw in the infrareds, meaning heat sources. And they saw with strong acuity. Even an assortment of random objects at room temperature actually had small differences in temperature of a tenth of a degree, and was clearly visible in their eyes. The light from the “visible spectrum” however was as invisible to their sight as infrareds are to us, and being under strong light didn’t bother them in the slightest. They therefore didn’t have any preference for dark places.

These beasts lived a long time. Two or three hundred years. It was a necessity seen as the smartest ones only mastered language at 34 for the quickest. They were naturally proficient at mental additions and subtractions, but only up to 2931, and never into negative numbers. The most motivated mathematicians definitively gave up teaching them multiplications, they just weren’t capable of it. As one of the best Glaviot students said: “It’s complicated. Two times two is four, and two plus two is four. But one times one isn’t two and three times three isn’t six. And that’s dumb”.

Glaviots also sometimes ate pure energy, generally in lightforms. More than once had they been spotted eating a fire or a lamp, because as they said, they couldn’t resist such tasty light. They were of course talking about the infrared light these elements emitted, and not the portion of the visible spectrum we’d see.

Their large size and exoskeleton, armed with massive claws, and legs in a spring-like configuration giving them monstrous speeds, quickly placed them in the universal top tier of powerful species. Beneath, of course, Saiyans, Nameks, Frost Demons and Black Dragons of the planet Dromor. An experienced Saiyan would be taking many risks facing off against an adult Glaviot. A Black Dragon too, for that matter. But what differentiated Saiyans from the other two species, was that Plant counted several hundreds of thousands of individuals, whereas the other two previously named species, living much longer and reproducing as often as giant pandas, only counted one or two thousand kin.

Yikoun was the strongest Glaviot and had reached the rank of elite. None of his species had reached such a power level. The only one who would surpass him, in thousands of years, would be called Yakon, and as he, would die from the hand of a Super Saiyan.


The news of the attack on the imperial palace was far from having reach their ship as they navigated towards Plant.

Frost was impatient to arrive there. He was already prepared. Contrary to his brothers, he was able to remain in his final form, the one in which he was born to. To achieve this, he had trained hard to master the terrible power of his body, which could have normally been easily done by using a reduction form.

But the benefit was colossal. Frosty was always at his maximum capacity. None could endanger him as he tried to exit the reduction form. During an attack, he was calm and confident, unlike his brothers who lost themselves in the wave of their power. Frosty wasn’t the strongest prince simply because he was the eldest, but also because he was the most ahead in the road to combat and self-control. He didn’t hesitate to believe himself stronger than his father, who slept on a throne since many years, in a reduction form.

The only demon that would follow in his footsteps, many years later, would be Coola, who would draw even more benefits.

— Yikoun, you’re shaking, jumpy, and you’re not staying in place. And you’re drooling everywhere. Calm down, said the only one capable of speaking thusly to the monster.

— I’m trying my best, Lord Frosty, answered the beast. If we find the light warrior, it will be the most amazing fight of all times! He his so strong! And so… uh, light! I can’t sleep, I think of his light. I drool, because I think of his light! And sometimes I see a lamp, I think of his light.

— Well then, keep yourself busy, go out and run, there’s space.

— Done that, Lord. I did one thousand laps of the space stadium. The big round part with the big plants. Trees, yes those things. And, I’m still excited.

— Did you count until one thousand, Yikoun? asked the Frost Demon as if he was speaking to an infant.

— I don’t know Lord. But I think a thousand is a pretty number.

— Avoka, how many laps did our Yikoun do? asked the demon while turning his head to his warrior, who had been sitting as far away as possible to avoid the smell of Yikoun.

— Two thousand three hundred and seventeen laps, my lord, said Avoka without raising his head.

Frosty knew he’d have the answer. When one had the perception and intelligence of Avoka, knowing every move of every being on this gigantic ship, and remembering anecdotal details, was as natural as for a human remembering what he had for breakfast. Frost Demons also had a terrifying acuity of their senses and a high intelligence, and they could also naturally do what a genius, or an autistic savant, could perform with concentration. But Avoka was even beyond that, and Frosty was fascinated, he never lost an occasion to test him.

— Oh, said the Glaviot. I was wrong, I must fix that!

— You will remove your one thousand three hundred and seventeen too much? And how?

— I’ll do them the other way.

The monster left under the demon’s smile and Avoka’s joy. Yet he wasn’t able to ignore the fact that, despite counting them aloud, Yikoun actually did 1412 laps in the other way.


Avoka killed time playing chess, a game with 63 different pieces, that was played turn-by-turn, on a checkered board. He played against a computer, because no-one in the room was able to hold very long against him. Even the generally superior cerebral capacities of the Frost Demons were obliterated by his strategies. Avoka had only lost 12 pieces out of his 31. His King was protected behind his wall of fortifications, themselves protected by his strongest pieces. The computer only had 8 pieces remaining, but had aptly manoeuvred so as any attack to his King would open the way to the 63rd piece, the one at the centre of the board, and that randomly decided of an entire line to wipe out. Well, not so randomly. That piece was called the Emperor, the one that decided who died and who lived.

The problem with computers was their predictable way of playing. Their algorithms simply calculated millions of moves, and took the least risky route to success. Therefore Avoka often played in “crazy” mode, and the computer would try desperate moves. That how it had lost most of its pieces. But it’s final total defense was an interesting move. Avoka made a mental note that this could be an interesting strategy for an attack further down the line if he’d be in difficulty. Or in a group combat. Avoka generally wasn’t in difficulty, but he liked to be prepared.

Another few more days before arriving. The planet-trap that was Plant would surely bring surprises he’s gladly figure out.

That was, if Frosty didn’t destroy it at their arrival, which was his plan.



Hanasia was sleeping, and from the superior strength granted by her extra-sensorial powers, she was dreaming of the grand events that concerned her.


Bourgo was sleeping, and because of his superior nature as a Namekian, he wasn’t dreaming. He opened an eye and looked at the screens. He still had a long way to go.

Why hadn’t he joined the rebels attack the palace?


He wasn’t sure himself. By fear of finding himself against the Emperor? Or by fear of being useless, or of defeat? When he had access to this ship, small but among the fastest, he had seen an opportunity. But just because it was possible didn’t meant it was a good idea.

His conscience was telling him he was running away from something, under the pretext of running towards something else.

On the other side, there were only a few rebel warriors near planet Plant, and they weren’t really the strongest! He had to help them, right?

In fact, the real motivation was probably to see the most powerful being of the universe. It was rather selfish.

He hoped the attack was going well.



Despair doesn’t take people by surprize. It is generally the result of a long list of mishaps and failures. In rare cases, it can come instantly, like when someone sees the work of his life disappear. In Krämm’s case, it was a little like that, when he found himself blocked mid-flight, his sword aiming downwards, held by two gigantic fingers of Blizzard. Two fingers of his hand at the end of his forearm where the armoured rebel was still sticking out of. Krämm would have cried his he’d had the time. But the tenth of a second where time seemed stuck didn’t allow his eyes to fill with enough liquid. The other armoured rebel was paralyzed next to the head of their enemy. He looked like a parrot, his incandescent fist of a thousand degrees celsius smoking against the shoulder that wasn’t even scratched.

It wasn’t so much the shameful ease with which Blizzard had stopped his attack that filled Krämm’s heart with emptiness and despair. It was the look he gave, barely turned toward him. A bored look that said: “Pff… did you really hope that was enough…”


They were doomed, they had been wrong. One does not sunder a Frost Demon.

Picture by:

PoF       14


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March 8th

Rest in peace, Toriyama-sensei

[img][img]Akira Toriyama passed away. Our work would be nothing without him, and we will continue to try to honor him through our pages. "Writing manga is fun," as you used to say, but today is a sad day. Thank you and rest in peace, Master.

This Sunday, DBM's page will be replaced by a tribute.

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