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.

Updates on 1 of the month at 20:00 (Paris time)
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[Chapter Cover]
Part 4, Chapter 50.

Love Stories - After

Hanasia’s head hurt.

Hanasia’s head often hurt these past few days. There had been several parties, which ended on a night of the full moon. Each time, it was an excuse to eat and drink. Especially drink. Alcohol was unknown in her village, but it was all the rage in the capital! Even after years on site, she still couldn’t hold her drink.

That didn’t stop her from consuming. The Tsufuls had warned her many times to limit her consumption because of the baby, but she ignored them. Also, many Saiyans tried using her advanced stage of intoxication to defy her for the throne. They quickly regretted, if they didn’t die first. Generally, Hanasia didn’t kill her opponents, but with two grams of alcohol per liter and at four in the morning, she no longer knew how to hold back her fists.

Therefore, her head was hurting. She had vomited this morning (morning being after the wake, it was hence the afternoon morning), but hadn’t been able to distinguish if it was a pregnant vomit or a hangover. Sitting on her royal throne, she had two audiences that weren’t demanding too much mental capacity. It was doable. With time, she was starting to feel better. To help improve, she had a second breakfast before her next audience. Her 4pm breakfast done, she ordered the next person in, asking who it was.

— Happy Barrell.

— Fuck. Ok, let him in.

A small Saiyan of advanced age entered, not without sending a dark glare at the guard, holding her responsible for his long wait. Too old to fight, and therefore to get any respect, he had been for the last decade a producer. A rare breed among the Saiyans, and reserved for weaklings like him, but nevertheless respected, unlike librarians, because everyone saw the advantage of his work: alcoholic beverages.

Everyone was his client in the capital, and he had acquired his nickname based on what he produced: barils that made you happy. Hanasia quite liked him, with his round head and large moustache. Especially because he reserved his best brew for her. But he was always complaining. Since he was working with the Tsufuls, it was even worse. Their techniques to improve production went straight over his head, and he always had something to say about it. They were destroying ancestral heritage with their garbage. It had started with cleaning the fruit. Cleaning removed all the taste according to him, and you never knew what filth was in transparent water. Then it was the new recipients. The material wasn’t natural, and didn’t leak, it was suspicious and most likely dangerous. The lids you had to turn to open: everything was getting more complicated! And since last week, this notion of field. It was an almost daily reason to come complain. Come on, plants grow very well on their own, why plant them all in the same area, what’s with the smelly fertilizer, etc, etc.

— QueenHa, I can’t take it anymore.

Over the years, Queen Hanasia had also gained a little moniker. No monarch had had one before, because none had kept the throne long enough for most of the capital’s inhabitants to remember his name. Like many monikers, its origin wasn’t too kind. It was a Saiyan trying to mock her and in a tirade used that name. Two more years in hospital and he should be able to walk again.

But afterwards, it was often used to talk about her (when she wasn’t around), because Hanasia was quite a common name amongst Saiyans, and it made it easier to name her specifically. Especially, a huge, huge portion of newborns were now called Hanasia (girls and boys alike).

And one day, a particularly handsome young Saiyan had used the name in her presence. She had ended up finding it nice in his mouth, and had generally speaking accepted the use of the moniker. The young man had quickly become intimate with her and was as a matter of fact the father of the child. Probably.

— What now? She said while saying to herself in her head “It’s the field, it’s ridiculous!”

— It’s the bloody field, it’s ridiculous! he said without noticing her smile. Everyone’s always walking inside. And last night was even worse! I’ve got giant ape footprints all over the place! Almost every plant is dead!

— I thought you’d placed a, uh… a wall, there. A barrier, right? With a drawing on it?

Since Saiyans didn’t know how to read and didn’t understand the concept of limited open spaces, adaptation had been necessary. Therefore, the barriers were indeed augmented with the following signpost:

The first few days, many Saiyans jumped or flew over the barrier to walk across the field and innocently ask what the signpost meant.

And Happy Barrell, a weak elder Saiyan, couldn’t even beat their ass. It was terribly frustrating. Fortunately, he had been able to do it once, it was a little girl, he had been able to send her flying away instead of explaining. You had to take what life gave.

— A barrier a meter high, you just don’t see that as an Oozaru! The Tsufuls built it at their height! They thought it was high enough because they couldn’t see above! But they’re pipsqueaks! And apparently they don’t even grow on full moons, if that’s not weird!

— How didn’t they think of that? I thought Tsufuls were supposed to be smarter than us.

— Bah, well, yeah, they did tell me to keep an eye on the fields last night to make sure it doesn’t happen… but their plan sucked, because it didn’t work! Everything’s broken, even the barrier!

— But therefore you were there? You couldn’t stop the accident? If someone came close, you knew you just had to say my name for them to turn around. Those Saiyans need to be punished. How many were there? Do you know them?

— Well… you know… memories of an Oozaru-night, it’s a little hazy… I don’t really remember what happened… Not even if…

— Hang on, your field is actually far from the city. Wait a minute…

— Maybe not that… Well…

— No one came to your field last night! You destroyed everything as an Oozaru, not even capable of realizing where the field you were supposed to protect was!

— That’s not… entirely impossible…

— Go on, scram! I’ll let you handle that with the Tsufuls to fix this.

Sheepish, the Saiyan left with his head hanging low. He looked as small as a Tsuful.

 

— Next audience? Hanasia asked while rubbing her eyes.

— It’s a Saiyan asking to see you.

— What’s his name?

— It’s “What’s it to you? I want to see the Queen, let me through”.

— Ah, good. Did you teach him a lesson?

— Ozeille tried, but he beat her up. So we thought best not to fight in the castle and left it at that.

— Ok, let him in.

The intendant left the room, and a young Saiyan entered in his stead. He was of overage height, but very large. No noticeable scars, which was usual for his age, but less for a warrior who must have trained, since he’d stomped the powerful Ozeille. He wore classic clothing for a remote villager. He had quite a strong aura and confidence in his stride. Something strange about him was that he didn’t have a monkey tail, though she didn’t notice that at first.

However, he was surely too young to have participated in the second battle against the Frost Demons, where, trying to flee the enemy, many Saiyans had cut their tails to remain more discreet among the Oozarus. As a matter of fact, for most, the tails had already grown back.

The Saiyan stood straight in front of her, arms crossed and posturing his chest forward, surely to impress her. A challenge, no doubt.

— Well then, what do you want? She asked.

He responded with a large smile. His eyes looked straight through her. And he simply said:

— Hanasia! What do I want? You should know that, right?

She frowned. She didn’t recognise him. His voice neither. Meeting a hunk like him, she’d remember that! So who was it? Dammit, she said to herself, she must have promised something to this idiot at an ungodly hour and was too drunk to remember.

— Know that by royal decree, any promises made during the night are null and void.

There had been precedents.

Amused by the situation, the Saiyan uncrossed his arms and took the pose of a presenting body builder - one arm high, one arm low and squeezing his muscles out.

— Don’t you recognize me, Hanasia ? You can’t believe what a good looking man I turned into huh?

— What are you on about… Are you the ugly dude from the day before yesterday? Found a magic potion or something?

— What? Oh come on. Look at my face.

— Your face… To start off your voice says nothing to me, zilch nothing. And your dumb face… face…

There were a few seconds of silence as she extruded her neck forwards.

— Harik?!!

 

— Damn straight.

— You grew tall!

— Hell yeah, I’m ten years older. But I didn’t just grow. I also trained, hard, you know, based on your father’s combat techniques. I toured the villages and learned from everyone, including some instructors of the army.

— You became chief of our village?

— The village is too weak for me. I left someone else in charge. But first I beat up the previous one.

— You killed her?

— No. But in the state she was in by the end, she couldn’t participate in the fights for the next chief.

— When did you lose your tail? Wasn’t it too frustrating, last night?

— Nah. Actually, I cut it off myself last night. There were two arrogant soldiers who were trying their luck. So I challenged them. In normal form, to give me a little handicap.

And since his body sported no wounds, he must have won. Easily.

— You defeated two Oozarus without being one yourself?

— A few more. After they lost, it turned into a free for all.

— So you’re really strong…

— I did my best. To be worthy of you, Hanasia.

— Hmm…

 

She got up and walked towards the bay window. She opened it (a difficult reflex she took years to acquire) and invited him outside.

— Show me.

She took off and he followed. She flew quickly to the sky and when she turned around, he had just joined her. He was fast…

— Let’s see if you can touch…

Harik’s foot landed on Hanasia’s cheek, turning her on herself, her body following the head’s movement. No one had taken her by surprise in years! She quickly understood she needed to get her head back in the game and evaded the second blow which was already on its way. She saw only then that the weak attack was a trick, and took his knee to the stomach. She was bent in half from the pain, added to by the baby who didn’t appreciate it at all and avenged himself by hitting from the inside.

Harik didn’t plan on leaving her any reprieve and was going to hit her again. She transformed into Super Saiyan. Harik’s fist landed on her jaw, except this time he was the one hurt.

He slowly removed his hand, mesmerized by the light and the new hairline Hanasia sported. They stared at each other intensely. He approached his other hand - because the fingers on the other one were kind of painful - and touched the sparkling threads. It was Saiyan hair: rigid, following a predefined form since birth, but flexible enough to ondulate in a strong breeze. Adapted from the original format, sure, but with a higher tendency to aim towards the sky.

He started caressing her hair and Hanasia felt herself getting warmer. Their faces were already at the same height, because they were levitating, Harik’s feet lower than Hanasia’s. As she brought her face closer to his, they were immediately so close their breathing mingled.

They kissed.

They embraced.

They rubbed body parts.

They passed their hands beneath clothes.

 

Two hours later, the couple returned to the audience room, through the bay window they have previously exited through. On site, a palace guard was impatiently waiting, clearly irritated. She told them:

— My Queen, the audiences weren’t done yet.

Hanasia was embarrassed for a second but said hopefully:

— So it’s over now right?

— Yes, the two remaining left.

— Ok, well, great.

— One of them wanted to break the door, we had to correct her.

— Good.

— Several of us… She was surprisingly strong. All that wouldn’t have happened if you respected your hours.

— That strong? That makes what, two smackdowns you took today, Ozeille?

The guard glared with rage at Harik who had beaten her earlier, with an armlock that had immobilized her without being able to do much without endangering the palace walls.

— No. Given her annoyance and the evidence that it wouldn’t end well, I decided to not take the risk of destruction and group up.

In the fragil palace, and indeed the entire capital, it was forbidden to fight seriously. And that was starting to get on Ozeille’s nerves, she hadn’t joined the army to restrain herself.

— She’ll be back tomorrow, Ozeille said with a glare loaded with intent on reminding the Queen of her responsibilities.

— Yeah, I’ll be there. Ok, find me a roof for Harik here. He’s my guest.

— Figured.

 

Hanasia removed herself to her quarters, and Harik followed the guard. They hadn’t done twenty metres that she abruptly turned around, menacing him with her index:

— You, Harik, I challenge you. Now, outside.

— Yeah, nope.

— What?! You are a coward!

— I’m hungry, and you can’t show me my room if I kill you.

She screamed her exasperation and turned her back to him, walking almost at a running pace. They arrived at a corridor with many numbered doors. She stopped in front on N°12.

— Here’s your room, she said, in a hurry.

— Someone’s inside, Harik answered.

— What? She said, surprised, looking at the closed door.

She opened it, because there were no keys or locks in a world where any adult could break the doors themselves. There was indeed someone. How did he know?

— The hell are you doing here, you?

— Uh, the room was empty, and… the elderly saiyan said, flustered. He had surely been kicked out of his family home.

— Get lost.

The elderly took all his belongings - an old tunic - and ran out through the corridor.

— Ok, now the kitchen. Follow me.

 

 

The following day, Hanasia was almost on time at her throne, ready to start the day’s audiences. She had passed a calm night - no alcohol, no guy, and more than eight hours of sleep - a boring night, but calm and resting. She was in peak form.

It was so boring, whereas the sun was shining and she was in great shape, staying stuck inside to listen to trivial affairs. She could make a run for it and be at the other side of the planet in a dash and have fun…

The door opened, putting an end to her train of thought. She had already put a foot down that would have inevitably led to the bay window, and to her freedom. It was Ozeille who had opened the door. She had a bruised face and her arm in a sling. She sported across her body several small visible lines of the magic Tsuful bandages, that could perfectly heal wounds in less than a day. The different members of the palace were allowed the advanced medicines of their new friends. The doctor remained behind a screen for the consultation. Despite the obvious pain coursing through her body at each moment, she kept her guard duty with vindictive spite. For sure, the Tsuful doctor had surely told her to rest, and she had insulted him before challenging him to get out the screen and oblige her.

Ah, I wonder who she fought against, Hanasia wondered. It was last night for sure. Now that she thought about it, she had seen a large explosion far off in the fields last evening… In any case, she had surely not won.

The girl who had asked for an audience the previous day entered, passing next to Ozeille while throwing her an angry glare. A strong presence emanated from her. Hanasia understood straight away it was the one who’d been forced out the day before: she still had traces of hits from a group beating. Cut lip, a blackeye, a bruise on her arm. Wall, you gotta be polite in the palace, dammit, it’s not for a lack of saying so!

She was a very tall Saiyan, who’s skull almost reached the top of the door. Large, an impressive stature, long hair that went backwards in one piece, more straight than the average Saiyan, going so low it almost looked like she was wearing a black cape. She wore clothes made of tissues, new and clean, and jewelry. That style only belonged to elder Saiyan families from the capital, who could be recognised generally by their arrogance. It’s worth noting that members of these families are generally better educated, stronger and lived longer than their counterparts in the countryside. Their luxurious houses and their privileged access to good food and drinking water, as well as sometimes, access to Tsuful objects, gave them advantages that were passed down between generations.

The tall lady approached. The word “lady” came to Hanasia’s mind, because she imposed respect and politeness. Hanasia had often met established Saiyans, and they always had that effect, which she easily ignored. But this time it was stronger. She felt small and vulgar in front of her. A commander. A… a Queen, in stature.

She made her want to be formal. If formal existed in Saiyan tongue, which obviously wasn’t the case. In Tsuful however, there are eight ways to conjugate depending on the level of politeness.

She planted herself in front of Hanasia, eight meters away. Facing her, arms crossed and her back straight. It seemed that the center of the audience room wasn’t the royal throne anymore. She looked into her eyes, breaking through the iris, and seemed to read all her most inner thoughts. The silence, deafening for Hanasia, lasted a few eternal seconds.

— Hmm, uh, what do you want? Hanasia squeaked in a small voice.

— I am Brussel VII!

Hanasia waited for the follow-up, and so a new silence began.

— And… ok, welcome. Uh, what’s up?

— Queen Hanasia! Do you not remember me? Thundered Brussel in an interrogation that sounded closer to a condemnation.

— Oy, hey… ok, you’re not all going to pull that on me are you?

Brussel uncrossed her arms and placed her firsts next to her waist. Hanasia noticed that her powerlevel was rising.

— I am your nemesis.

— My what now…

— Your worst nightmare. I am Death, I am vengeance! I, Brussel, seventh of my name, I challenge you! I will vanquish you, kill you, and defile your body! I will wash the affront you made me ten years ago!

Hanasia had a moment’s silence, incapable of remembering what the lady was on about. She looked at her with round eyes, ignorant, and Brussel noticed and understood well, which only made her angrier.

— You don’t recognise me. I was a weak young girl back then. But, nourished by hatred, pushed by honor, I trained. I became strong, and I became the best, the number one of the universe!

As she raised her voice, her aura increased, her power, pushed to extremes by her emotions, unfurled throughout the room. The heated air abruptly started turning around her, moving her hair along with it, which ondulated like a sail in the wind. Objects and furniture started to tremble.

Hanasia had never seen that before. And she had goosebumps.

The aura of the lady filled the room. All belonged to her now. The throne, the furniture, the way window, were hers. Ozeille worked for her. She was in her palace. She just had to wipe the dust still sitting in her chair.

The Queen - for how much longer now - Hanasia had to admit. She had never seen so much raw power emanate from a Saiyan. Even Harik wasn’t so strong. Her heart started racing. The challenge, the doubt! Without transforming, would she be able to do it? Feeling overclassed in form, in stature, Hanasia had no more choice.

She panicked.

Seeing her dismay, Brussel pointed her index towards Hanasia, and with a deep voice, accompanied by her power, that continued to unfurl and grow, the taunted:

— Announce to the people, puny Queen, that your last duel has arrived. This afternoon. The entire capital will watch your demise. You’re living your last…

Transformed into Super Saiyan, Hanasia lurched forward in a jump. Her fist in Brussel’s stomach bent her in half. Without giving her the time to expulse the air inside her lungs and as she just started to wake from surprise, her brain just starting the reflex to counter, Hanasia turned over herself, with an outstretched leg, that plummeted through the shoulder and hip of Brussel. Her bones and muscles were crushed and her entire body was projected at maddening speed to the side. She went right past Ozeille, who hadn’t had time to react either. Continuing without control, she went through the walls of the palace, then those of the waiting room. Breaking furniture in the next room, and was finally stopped by a third wall, that crumbled over her.

Then all was calm.

Hanasia, straight, sweating, leaned towards the entry of the throne room. Ozeille, paralysed, and the destroyed wall from which the dust cloud came from.

— Oops.

The room had returned to its initial state. No more wind, no more trembling, Brussel’s aura had disappeared… forever. Hanasia dropped her transformation, her black hair falling back down. Ozeille started breathing again.

Hanasia had a small timid smile.

— Oh, well… Hmm… Too bad!

Picture by:

BK-81       64 65

Grenziger      

Salagir      

Asura      

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