Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH56

[Third Person POV]

[King Cold Flagship]

King Cold stood in the observation deck, hands folded neatly behind his back, his cloak draped across the polished metal floor like a curtain. Through the thick reinforced glass, Planet Vegeta loomed into view. A dead red rock spinning in the void, barely more than a dust ball with delusions of glory.

But useful.

Always useful.

Saiyans were dumb, but efficient, and easily replaceable. Cheap labor, for impressive results.

Behind him, a small group of elite guards waited in silence. They knew better than to speak unless spoken to.

Cold let his eyes narrow as the planet grew closer. “Ugly thing, isn’t it?”

No one answered.

Then, a voice—dry, clipped, arrogant—spoke from the side.

“I suppose. But it serves its purpose.”

Cold didn’t turn to look, but chuckled all the same. “You should learn to lie better, Frieza. This isn’t the court. You’re allowed to say you hate something.”

Frieza stepped forward, hands behind his back in a perfect mirror of his father’s posture. “I find them… annoying. Their pride, their shouting, their lack of respect. All so loud. And messy.”

Cold finally turned his head. “Well, after today, they will be yours to rule.”

Frieza nodded. “Of course, Father.”

Cold walked toward the display table in the center of the room. Holograms lit up around him: fleet locations, planetary data, power levels of notable Saiyan units. A detailed snapshot of a warrior race clinging to its purpose like a starving man to bread.

“They think too highly of themselves,” Frieza said, eyes scanning the data. “A few passable warriors, and suddenly those monkeys imagine themselves worthy of fear.”

Cold tapped the side of the display, highlighting a few recent battle reports. “In fairness, they are stronger than most. In large enough numbers, they can be dangerous.”

Frieza chuckled at the thought. “To us?”

How absurd was that?

“Of course not,” Cold chuckled back. “That said, unchecked arrogance breeds rebellion.”

He turned to face his son fully.

“This visit is important.”

Frieza met his gaze.

“You’re not here to destroy them. Not yet at least. You’re here to inherit them.”

Frieza gave a short, slow nod. “I am aware.”

Cold smiled, sharp and wide. “So be a dear and remind them who sits higher on the ladder.”

Frieza turned back to the window, arms crossed. “Do you expect them to challenge the handover?”

“No,” Cold said simply. “Their King knows better. King Vegeta may be proud, but he’s not stupid. Well, not that stupid at least.”

Frieza didn’t reply.

Cold stepped closer to the table again. “We’ll be delivering them new scouter systems. Updated tech. A gift. A leash.”

Frieza raised an eyebrow. “We’re giving them weapons?”

“We’re giving them surveillance,” Cold corrected. “Scouters with built-in spy protocols. We’ll know everything. If someone sneezes, we’ll hear it.”

Frieza’s smile returned. “You’re always thinking ahead, Father.”

Cold nodded once, then added, “As should you.”

The silence stretched.

Then Frieza asked, “Do you think they suspect you are retiring?”

Cold didn’t answer right away.

Eventually: “No. They expect business as usual, so this will take them by surprise. That said, our schedule remains the same: you’re introduced. You take control. King Vegeta nods and bows and pretends it’s voluntary. Then we leave.”

“And after that?”

“Then they’re yours, and I go to my personal planet to relax.”

Frieza looked back to the planet in the viewport. “And if I decide they’re more trouble than they’re worth?”

Cold allowed himself a small chuckle. “That’s the beauty of inheritance, Frieza. What you do with it is up to you.”

The doors to the chamber opened behind them with a hiss.

Zarbon stepped through, saluting. “Approach vector confirmed, Lord Cold, Lord Frieza. We will be arriving within the hour, the preparations are complete.”

Cold waved a hand dismissively. “Begone.”

“As you say.”

The door slid closed again.

Frieza tilted his head, considering something. “I should probably kill a few of them, to make them understand early on; how things will be from now on.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Escarot POV]

I was halfway through a plate of roasted meat I had taken my time to cook to perfection when it hit me.

Two massive power signatures, slamming into my senses like someone dropped a planet on my skull.

Huge.

Cold.

And overwhelmingly evil.

One of them was stronger than me — much stronger. Not just a bit stronger, but at least five times stronger, maybe more.

The other signature was smaller, weaker than me, but not by much.

I set the plate down.

“Well,” I muttered. “I’ll go out on a limb and say that’s King Cold and Frieza…”

I stood from the table.

Great. Just great.

I had hoped I would at least get a few days of pretending to understand how Saiyan politics worked before the universe decided to throw the Cold Clan directly into my living room.

But no.

Canon was apparently on a schedule to fuck me.

Was this the transfer-of-power day? The moment King Cold officially hands the empire to Frieza?

If so… perfect.

Perfect as in: fucking terrible.

If they expected King Vegeta to greet them and instead found me, the guy who murdered him in front of the upper class last night…

That was going to be an awkward introduction.

I inhaled sharply, trying to steady my nerves.

Okay. Focus.

Cold and Frieza arriving meant several things all at once:

• Confrontation was out of the question.

• Showing fear was also not an option. But being defiant would make it worse.

• Showing power was even more dangerous.

• I had to be the most obedient, well-behaved Saiyan in history.

• If I so much as blink wrong, I die.

Fantastic.

I pulled my cloak, the one the advisors all but forced on me, due to rules or something, on and started walking toward the throne room.

My thoughts were moving faster than my steps.

I hadn’t met Frieza or Cold yet, but I knew enough to draw a picture.

Cold was a monster. A very polite, well-dressed, articulate monster. Frieza? A sociopath wrapped in a four-foot-tall body.

If either of them discovered my true power, the entire planet would be a memory before lunch.

Which meant I had to hide it.

Completely.

I dropped my ki to something embarrassingly low — around 35,000, I reckoned. The kind of level that said, “I’m strong enough to pretend to lead but weak enough to not matter.”

I hated how vulnerable that made me feel.

I really hated that I didn’t have a choice.

As I walked down the main corridor, Saiyans rushed around, trying to get on my good side… It was honestly annoying. It took them a week to go from fearing me, to sucking up to me.

Then scouters started beeping.

Then shrieking.

Then exploding.

Yep.

There it was.

They finally noticed.

“Power… what the—?!”

“One of those readings is off the scale!”

“What class of being produces that level? NOTHING registers that high—!”

Saiyans stumbled back, some grabbing their heads, some staring upward like the sky itself had suddenly developed teeth.

The advisors behind me practically tripped over their own tails.

I muttered, “This is going to be a nightmare.”

A palace guard sprinted forward and bowed so fast he almost smashed his forehead on the floor. “K-King Escarot! Two unidentified energy signatures approaching the planet!”

No shit.

“We detected a ship—no, a fleet—entering orbit!”

Another guard yelled, “Requesting your orders, my King!”

My King.

God, that still felt weird.

“Calm down,” I said. “Prepare the landing platform. And do it without panicking.”

“T-That might be difficult, Sire!”

I glared. He shut up and ran.

I continued walking until I reached the outer balcony overlooking the horizon.

And then I saw it.

A massive, sleek, obsidian-white flagship gliding through the clouds. A design only one family in the universe would flaunt with such confidence.

Cold’s ship.

My heartbeat stayed steady, but my stomach dropped straight into my boots.

They hadn’t landed yet, but the pressure of their ki alone was enough to make the air vibrate and feel heavy at the same time.

Okay…

Role: Obedient King.

Actions: Don’t piss anyone off.

Goal: Stay alive. Hopefully?

I stood straighter, forcing my expression into something neutral and king-like. Whatever that meant.

The ships began their descent.

A large circular portal opened beneath the flagship, a docking bridge lowering slowly.

Every nerve in my body tensed.

Then a transmission crackled through the palace loudspeakers.

A deep, crisp voice.

“Attention, Saiyan leadership. This is King Cold. Prepare to welcome us.”

Polite tone.

Very polite.

Like someone asking a waiter for a menu seconds before flipping the table.

I exhaled slowly.

So this was it.

Showtime.

I started walking toward the docking platform.

I could already imagine the misunderstanding. Cold steps out expecting King Vegeta. The doors open. And instead of his usual contact—

Surprise!

A completely different Saiyan is wearing the ridiculous royal attire. A younger one. A stronger one. One without royal blood. One whose existence he wasn’t warned about.

A question he’d certainly ask:

“And who exactly are you?”

And I’d have to answer without dying.

Perfect.

Behind me, the advisors scrambled to keep up.

One whispered frantically, “What are we going to tell them when they ask for King Vegeta!?”

I stopped walking.

They froze.

I turned, looking them each in the eye.

“Nothing,” I said. “You say nothing. You let me speak.”

“But—!”

“Say. Nothing.”

They shut their mouths.

Good.

I resumed walking.

When I reached the platform, the wind was enough to yank at my cloak. The heat from the flagship’s thrusters washed over the stone, cracking it. Guards lined up on each side of the platform, and scouters trembling.

A few looked like they wanted to run.

Honestly? I didn’t blame them.

“What’s the plan, Sire…?” one of the guards whispered.

Plan?

Right.

“I’m going to be very polite,” I said. “And very stupid.”

He blinked. “Stupid?”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “Because intelligence tends to get people killed around these two.”

The wind intensified as the ship finally docked.

Metal groaned.

Hydraulics hissed.

The bridge locked into the landing pad with a heavy, final clang.

Then the doors began to open.

A pale blue mist billowed out, covering the stone. The chittering of mechanical drones echoed from inside. Footsteps followed—slow, deliberate, heavy.

Cold.

His ki pressed down like an invisible storm. Not emotional. Not angry. Just… present. Quietly letting you know that if it wanted, it could erase you without blinking.

Then a lighter set of footsteps followed. More rhythmic. More arrogant.

Frieza.

He was weaker than me now, but his father, even in his current form, could kill me rather easily…

Frieza walked at his Cold’s side, hands clasped behind his back, tail swaying lazily. Both of them paused as the fog thinned.

Both of them looked at me.

King Cold’s expression didn’t change, but I could feel the question forming.

Frieza’s brow arched slightly. Not surprise—just interest. The kind a cat gives when it notices furniture has been rearranged without permission.

This was the moment.

I squared my shoulders, forced a calm breath, and said the line I had prepared in my head:

“Welcome to Planet Vegeta, Lord Cold. Lord Frieza.”

Cold looked at me for three full seconds.

Then:

“…And you are?”

Here we go.

I bowed just enough to be respectful, not enough to look submissive.

“I am Escarot,” I said. “King of the Saiyans.”

Cold blinked once.

Frieza’s smile started slowly, spreading like oil across his face.

This was going to be hell.