Planet Ifrite was a smoldering red world. Today, the constant barrage of cannon fire and ki blasts only deepened that crimson hue.
High overhead, a Galactic Patrol heavy cruiser pierced the clouds. Having the Saiyan insignia, not the Patrol's crest—this was the flagship of Queen Hanna's Special Strike Force.
The spaceship was piloted not by Saiyans but by Galactic Patrol flight officers assigned to support them.
Pilot: "Your Majesty, we've entered Ifrite's atmosphere. Sensors show Cooler's mothership hovering above the capital!
Hanna: "Then we go straight for them. Prep the drop bay!"
Before the pilots could comply another officer blurted:
"Wait! Ifrite's government just sent a distress signal—their civilian caravan is under attack. They're begging for immediate rescue."
Hanna clicked her tongue—she'd hoped for a head-on clash with Cooler himself.
"Fine. Divert course to the convoy."
The Burning Convoy
On the surface, chaos reigned. A line of armored transports rumbled across the blasted plain, hounded by Cooler's soldiers.
The Ifriteans—red-haired, sharp-eared near-humans—lacked the Saiyans' innate battle talent but were famed for their advanced tech. Wearing powered exosuits, even an average Ifritean could reach a power level above 10 000.
Ordinarily, that made them a force no pirate dared provoke. But today they faced the notorious Cooler Armored Squadron.
Unlike Frieza's old army—bloated with cannon fodders—Cooler's force was elite and compact: every soldier sat above 10 000, and his three-man Armored Squadron all broke 100 000.
Against such monsters the Ifriteans were helpless. Their proud tech amounted to little more than tickles.
Armored troopers fell one after another, and the refugees watched in despair—
—until silhouettes streaked from the sky: black-haired warriors with long brown tails.
"Huh? Who are—" One of Cooler's soldiers raised his scouter—only for it to explode a second later. Every other scouter around him blew out in the same instant.
Up at the rear lines, Salza, leader of the Armored Squadron, shot into the air. His eyes widened: Saiyans.
"Idiots! Forget the Ifriteans—prepare for combat!"
Even Cooler's hardened elites couldn't afford complacency. They had learned, these last six years, that Saiyans were no longer a ragtag race but a rising juggernaut.
Salza himself had once crossed fists with a scar-faced Saiyan and barely escaped with his life.
Saiyan Warrior: "Your Majesty, enemy scouters just overloaded. "Hanna: "I see them."
Hanna's golden gaze locked onto the purple figure levitating above—the spitting image of Frieza's final form, save the color.
There was no doubt: Cooler.
"Clear the field. He's mine."
Golden light erupted—Hanna ascended to Super Saiyan.
Clash of Elites
Below, Cooler's troops—already few—crumbled instantly. Hanna's squad sliced through them like razors; ki spheres rained from her fingertips, perforating armor and flesh alike.
Then Cooler moved.
His power level exploded: 16 000 000.
The Saiyans halted mid-charge. Their scouters—Earth-tech models new to the empire—displayed the figure in stark numerals.
"Sixteen million…" "Stay calm! Her Majesty's sitting at eighteen million!" "Frieza fell; Cooler's nothing!"
Yet every warrior could feel the crushing aura radiating from the tyrant.
Cooler's tail cracked like a whip.
For a heartbeat the battlefield froze—two titans measuring one another.
(to be continued…)