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Long Live the King; Death Battle | Prince Regent Frieza Vs. King Cold
Topic Started: Jun 12 2018, 01:00 PM (76 Views)
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Lord & Master of all

OOC Notes: This battle thread takes place at a point during [url][b]this[/b][/url] thread (link TBC).

“You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.”
With a steady and slow pace that belied the adrenaline and emotions that were currently coursing through him like a torrent, High Prince Frieza moved along the length of the throne room. How many times had he walked this very same walk? Truly, he had lost count. However, despite that, this time somehow felt different. It was as if he was making this journey for the very first time all over again. He knew why too. It was so obvious. The excitement of everything that had happened so far, as well as was about to happen, was already thick within his veins.

The Changeling took his time as he made his way down the length of the room. After all, there was no need to rush. He planned to take his sweet time with all of this and enjoy every last moment. As such Frieza’s eyes had not moved from one spot since he had entered the throne room and the doors had closed behind him. They were fixed on the throne at the other end of the room as he moved closer and closer, or rather they were fixed on the individual that sat upon the throne; King Cold, Frieza’s Father.

Not a single word had been uttered from either of them as the prodigal son continued to walk through the room. Even if one of them had whispered the other would have heard, such were the acoustics of the large chamber, but there was no need to speak. Right now words did not matter, only the moment did and Frieza was enjoying every second of it. Eventually, though it had taken several minutes, the young Arcosian finished making his way across the throne room, or at least enough for him to finally feel as if it was time for him to finally talk.

Daddy dearest, I’m home,” Frieza began as he stopped walking.

He was not some ten or so feet away from the throne, though even then he was stood at the very base of the upward sloping dais on which it sat atop. From here Frieza had to crane his neck back just to look up at the King because of the height of the dais, though even without the dais he’d have still had to look up due to the gargantuan size of his Father.

“Though, as you’ve no doubt already guessed from all the commotion outside, I’ve come here with a purpose. The time has finally come for you to step down from that throne of yours and abdicate.” A wide smile pulled at Frieza’s face. “The Empire is in need of a new direction and you’re simply not capable of leading it down that path. Such a route requires one of… considerably more wisdom and strength than your frail body and mind has to offer.”

There was likely less truth to this than even Frieza himself believed, though he was not going to miss this rare opportunity to speak his mind toward King Cold. For countless years of the Prince’s childhood, the King had been all but a partly absent figure that he had even idolised. It was only after Frieza’s innate and unfathomable power had come to light did the King truly take notice of him. As Frieza had grown he had come to believe that his Father pandered to him as much as he had done because he feared the consequence of what would have happened if he didn’t. However, it took the youngest sons fall from grace to truly discover the truth.

His Father had used him, even when Frieza had believed it was he who was doing the using. While the Arcosian High Prince held the power it was King Cold who held control over him. There had been no real freedom, only perceived freedom. He’d been used as a tool to expand the Empire and eliminate any and all threats. Cooler had been used in this way too, albeit to a far lesser extent due to his weaker constitution in comparison to Frieza’s. It had taken the King’s humiliation while Frieza had been weakened, and his sudden favouring of Cooler, for the truth to finally come to light.

It had taken quite a bit longer than he had ever anticipated, but every decision and action that the small Prince had taken since his initial return to planet Cold after his resurrection, had been leading toward this very moment. This was his chance to humiliate the King in kind. This was his chance to take back everything that was rightfully his. This was his chance to take everything that should be his. Before this was over Frieza’s plans, or at least this set of plans, would finally come to a close.

“As you’re my Father I am going to offer you a curtsey that I never have to any other before now. I’m going to offer you mercy.” Frieza explained, a hint of humour tinging the edges of his voice.

It was meant exactly as it had no doubt come across - as an insult. In spite of this Frieza actually meant what he had said. He fully intended to keep his word and gran his Father mercy, if the King so wished to take that option. Yet, without even explaining what this option entailed, it was clear it would be far from befitting one of the King’s position and stature.

“Step down from my throne, kneel before your King and kiss the floor at my feet. Beg for your life.” Frieza finally added, raising a pointed finger. “Now I want to believe you truly wish to be spared, so you must convince me of such. Only then might I, the almighty Frieza, grant you the gift of your spared life.”

With that, the diminutive Changeling formed a small ball of energy in the space just atop his extended finger. Immediately its pulsating magenta light illuminated his face in a sickly glow. Despite this, the crimson pupils of his unblinking eyes continued to look beyond the energy toward the seated King. The focus was evident from his eyes, though so was the hatred that filled them.

“Alternatively, and I might add that this is my personal preference, if you should refuse this gracious offer…”

In the pause that followed, the small ball of energy drifted down above his steadily upturning palm before his fingers closed in around the small ball of energy, destroying it in his grip as his hand balled into a tight fist. With its magenta hue extinguished his expression was instantly plunged into shadowed darkness, though his sinister smirk was still ever apparent. Naturally, the act was symbolic of the clear meaning behind his words.

“And I shall obliterate you from existence.”

He allowed the words to hang in the air for a few seconds before his expression softened to what would appear to be indifference, only then did he fold his arms across his chest and close his eyes. It had been the first time he had taken his eyes off of the King since he had first entered the room. Briefly gesturing that he cared not with an upturned hand, he slipped it back into the folded position across his chest that it had previously resided within.

“What say you, Father?”

Word Count: 1,231.

Battle Info.
Edited by Frieza, Jun 12 2018, 01:42 PM.
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King Cold NPC
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Fresh Meat
It was dark inside the Royal Throne Room and this reflected the King’s mood quite appropriately. Muffled explosions could be heard as they worked their way through the thick marble that the palace was constructed from. Every now and then, a particularly powerful explosion would be accompanied by a small puff of dust as the foundations of the grand building shook and the mighty stone pillars that spanned floor to ceiling in the throne room shifted ever-so-slightly. The mighty Arcosion, enveloped in shadow from where he sat atop a great marble dais, grimaced, his teeth grinding together slightly at the thought of his Royal Palace suffering any structural damage from this unwelcome insurgency.

”Which one will it be?” Cold wondered aloud, interrupting the silence that fell in between the thundering explosions outside.

He was referring to the attack, of course, for what else could be on his mind at a time like this? To his, icy and calculating, mind, there this insurrection could only have been orchestrated by one of two people, both of whom he knew intimately. He very well should have done, because the both of him were sprung from his loins! The errant princes, Cooler the elder, cunning and powerful in equal measure, yet still jealous of his younger sibling, the prodigy that was Prince Frieza. Both of them were likely candidates for this assault on the capital, for both of them knew boundless ambition and held an insatiable thirst for power, a trait that was no-doubt inherited from their father. Really, this fate, this entire situation was the unavoidable consequence of decades of grooming; for had he not nurtured that desire for power where he could have stifled it? Had he not wanted them this way, a reflection of himself in life’s mirror? He could have likely raised them along a different path, had he so desired; instead of pitting them against one another in a violent struggle to win his approval and, eventually, his throne, he could have raised them to respect and value each other. Imagine what a team the two princes would make if they combined their strength and used it to rule over the Galaxy together!

”Pfft!” Cold scoffed, snorting with stifled laughter.

How pathetic a notion, to rely on the strength of another, even if it was your own brother. The King had taught his offspring, from a very young age, that one could only rely on one’s own power if they wished to be truly mighty and he had led by vicious example. It came as no surprise to him then, when fighting broke out this day within the capital city of his throneworld. He had sensed bitterness from each of his sons the last few times they had met, which was becoming less and less frequent every passing year. Each of the two brothers were becoming more and more secretive and more successful at eluding those agents he sent to spy on them; Frieza had even managed to turn one of his own agents to his own employ.

”What was he called...?” The King wracked his brain for a moment before the answer came to him. ”...Zarbon, that was it. He had such promise, that one. ” The words came out like a sigh. The King sounded almost wistful as he recalled the loss of a subordinate that had proven himself more capable than most. ”Good help is so hard to find, these days.”

Just then, as if summoned by the King’s words, the great stone doors to the Throne Room began to swing inwards. There was a soft groaning noise that grew steadily louder as the doors were forced open, the heavy machinery that was usually required to operate such titanic slabs of marble (yes, they were made of marble too, practically everything in the palace was) was being overpowered by a massive force from the other side of the doors. It wasn’t long before whatever mechanism was contained within the walls either side of the great doors gave way with a final, horrendous screech and stopped resisting altogether.

It was at that moment that it was revealed to Cold, just which of his sons had come for his throne today; standing on the threshold to the room, with his ivory-white arms still placed against the heavy stone doors (which now no longer served as a barrier to anyone), stood the diminutive form of his youngest son, Frieza.

Ah. So it’s you, is it? He thought to himself, somewhat irritated, but also proud of his youngest son for beating his elder sibling to the inevitable punch.

Frieza paused, only briefly, as his eyes locked with his father’s across the grand Throne Room whereupon he thrust the mighty marble doors fully wide and, with no machinery to halt their movement, they clattered and shattered upon the palace walls, filling the area with noise and choking dust.

Insolent child. I loved those doors. The King couldn’t suppress the smile that crept into the corners of his mouth as he recalled the day he had come for his father’s throne. The smile faded when he remembered the other thing he had come to take from his father that day, his head.

Frieza approached him then. Crossing the room in silence and never once breaking eye contact with the King who sat on his throne with his head propped up with one giant hand, scowling at the son who had come to snatch his kingdom from him. Still, there would be no incivility this day; it was important to observe proper manners even under such trying circumstances as these, otherwise, they would be no better than those filthy Saiyan monkeys that had, thankfully, been all-but-eradicated from existence. When Frieza greeted him, the King responded in kind.

”Welcome back, son. I wonder what might bring you back home today...” He didn’t wonder this at all. ”...and was it really necessary to ruin the doors?”

The Arcosian Prince then explained his purpose here this day, and none of what was said was of particular surprise to the King; he had seen this day coming since both of his children were knee-high (a stature that Prince Frieza had since surpassed, albeit barely). His son extolled him with a variety of reasons why he would be more fit to rule than his father, garden variety stuff really, so Cold allowed himself to drift off for a few moments until it was his turn to speak again (this was often the way with Arcosians). It was only when Frieza said began to prattle on about “mercy” and “begging” that he began to take notice, and offense, at what was being said. The threat that followed the offer of mercy, however, the mighty King thought was a particularly nice touch, one which brought a genuine smile to his lips.

”Well then...” He said, when Frieza was finally done talking. ”...it seems like you’ve made your decision, as I have made mine”

Cold rose then, from his throne (you guessed it, marble) and stood up to his full height where he towered above most other creatures, especially now from his elevated throne. He felt his dark clock brush against his back and legs as he stood and considered removing it briefly, before re-considering; he doubted there would be much of anything remaining once all was said and done, so removing such a delicate bit of fabric in order to protect it was a ludicrous idea in the first place, so he left it where it was.

”Now, shall we see how frail this body of mine is?”

That was all the warning the Prince would get, for in the next instant, King Cold launched himself from the raised dais, directly towards the smaller Changeling below him. As he plummeted, Cold brought both of his massive arms in front of his body and began to channel every bit of his inner-energy towards his forearms, intending to use them as a kind of energy battering ram against his son. He knew that he couldn’t afford to hold back any of his power, or it would likely cost him his life. Whether or not this dive-bomb attack connected, he wouldn’t waste any time with the follow-up, where he would attempt to impale Frieza with the mighty horns he displayed atop his head. If the would-be-usurper was able to dodge the first attack, Cold would spring directly after him, hoping to press his advantage while his son was off-guard and skewer him through the midsection.

I always thought that form was silly. He had time to think as he fell towards his fated battle and his son, whose head was smooth and strangely devoid of the beautiful horns the King possessed. Why would you want to get rid of such a convenient weapon?

WC: 1,470

Battle Info.

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