Frieza's words hung in the air, but before Piccolo could even register them, the tyrant vanished, moving faster than Piccolo's eyes could follow. In the blink of an eye, Frieza reappeared right in front of him, driving a brutal punch into his stomach.
Piccolo's eyes bulged, his mouth opening in a silent scream as the air was violently ripped from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping for air, but Frieza gave him no chance to recover.
What followed was a merciless onslaught. Frieza's fists became a blur, each strike landing with bone-shattering force, faster and harder than the one before. Piccolo tried to defend himself, but Frieza's speed was overwhelming. Every attempt at defense was useless—his arms were swatted aside like twigs, incapable of keeping up. Each blow sent shockwaves through Piccolo's body, shaking him to his core.
Then came the final act of true cruelty. With a cold, malicious smile, Frieza grabbed ahold of Piccolo's antennas. With a vicious yank, he pulled Piccolo's head forward and slammed it into his knee. A sickening crack filled the air as blood sprayed from Piccolo's nose in a violent arc.
Piccolo's vision momentarily blurred as his head snapped back, but the savage strike didn't keep him down for long. Through sheer force of will, he pushed through the pain, forcing himself to look up and keep fighting. However, his determination was rewarded with a glowing energy orb in Frieza's hand.
Frieza slammed the orb into Piccolo's gut, and it roared to life, pushing Piccolo backward as if it had a mind of its own. After traveling some distance, the sphere erupted into a massive explosion that cast the battlefield in a fiery glow.
When the smoke cleared, Piccolo's once-bright Kaioken aura had vanished, flickering out like a dying flame. Burns snaked across his skin like some macabre artwork, and blood dripped from his nose and mouth, staining his tattered gi. The strain of the Kaioken had clearly taken its toll as well—his body twitched uncontrollably, muscle fibers spasming as if worms were crawling beneath his skin.
'Times five... was too much,' Piccolo thought grimly, teeth clenched in frustration. He had pushed his body beyond its limits, but it still wasn't enough. His vision blurred, the world spinning as he fought to stay upright.
Some hundred meters away, Frieza sneered as he floated calmly above the battlefield, arms crossed. The look of superiority was back, colder, and more calculated than before.
Piccolo's eyes narrowed, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps as he locked eyes with Frieza. The fight wasn't over. Not yet.
'Alright, I may have jumped the gun earlier when I said we could win,' Nail quickly corrected. 'Victory is probably off the table for us, but we can at least do some damage before this Goku person shows up. Although it seems like waiting for other guys to save the day is becoming a bit of a trend for you.'
'Shut up.'
Piccolo gave no other response to Nail. Instead, he stood motionless with an unreadable expression, his mind racing furiously in the silence.
'Could this work?' Piccolo finally asked, though his thoughts came as bursts—more fragmented concepts and vague ideas than coherent words.
Nail paused, considering the plan Piccolo had just conjured.
'Well damn, I suppose even a broken clock is right twice a day,' he finally admitted. 'We've never tried anything like this, but I don't see why it couldn't work. Although... the second part of the plan—didn't you pull something similar with that Burter guy already?'
'Yeah, and? He's dead.'
'Good point,' Nail conceded dryly. 'Carry on.'
With their decision made, Piccolo and Nail steeled their resolve, gathering the last of their energy for one final, desperate strategy.
Before them, Frieza stood tall and relaxed, his arrogance fully restored. It seemed that the tyrant no longer saw them as a threat, instead watching with smug anticipation for their next futile attempt. His crimson eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, appearing to silently dare them to make their move.
Piccolo's lips twisted into a snarl, baring his sharp canines as he summoned the volatile power of Kaioken X5 once again. The fiery red aura flared around him, instantly reigniting the unbearable strain on his already battered body. But this time was different—this time, Piccolo was shouldering the full burden.
Nail wasn't sharing the load anymore—he had his own part to play.
With a sharp "shui" sound, Piccolo exploded forward, his form blurring as he shot toward Frieza. He scrambled his trajectory by zigzagging through the air in erratic patterns in hopes of catching Frieza off guard.
But he really shouldn't have bothered. Frieza wasn't going to dodge; the tyrant saw no reason to. His confidence in his own invincibility was absolute, and that arrogance was exactly what Piccolo was counting on.
Moments before reaching Frieza, Piccolo made his move. He abruptly cut off the Kaioken, the red aura vanishing instantly. All the wild, destructive energy that had been tearing through his body was immediately redirected. He and Nail worked in perfect harmony, channeling every ounce of that immense ki into a single point: Piccolo's right arm.
The energy coursed into his arm with such violent force that his muscles bulged grotesquely under the pressure. The Ki burned so intensely that it scorched and sizzled his skin, but through sheer willpower, Piccolo kept it contained, refusing to let the energy slip away.
Even so, crimson veins of light crisscrossed his arm like cracks in a dam on the verge of bursting, and his right arm had already turned a sickly purple under the power surging through it.
With a final burst of speed, Piccolo appeared before Frieza, driving his right fist into the tyrant's crossed arms with immense force.
Though Frieza had successfully guarded the strike, he couldn't fully absorb the staggering power behind it. The impact shoved him backward, his feet gouging deep trenches into the ground as he fought against the momentum.
But in the end, not even Frieza could defy the laws of physics.
However, the laws of physics were just as unforgiving to Piccolo. The same force that sent Frieza flying rebounded into Piccolo's arm, and the overloaded limb simply couldn't withstand the recoil. His right elbow gave way with a sickening crack, bones shattering as the arm crumpled, turning an even deeper shade of purple as the flesh tore itself apart.
Without a moment's pause, Piccolo grabbed his mangled right arm with his left hand. With a sharp growl, he ripped the ruined limb clean off, tearing it from his body in one swift motion.
Within seconds, a brand-new arm erupted from the stump, fully formed, accompanied by a spray of purple blood and green fluid. Piccolo flexed his fingers, testing the fresh limb, and with a grunt of satisfaction, tossed the severed one toward Frieza, letting it land unceremoniously into the dirt not far from the tyrant.
Meanwhile, deep in Piccolo's mind, Nail signaled his readiness. This was their gamble—a strategy that would either work spectacularly or fail disastrously. The idea was simple: if Nail could share Piccolo's senses and could even bear the burden of the Kaioken, then why couldn't the reverse be true?
Between the two, Piccolo uniquely possessed the Kaioken, but Nail also possessed something Piccolo didn't.
Closing his eyes, Piccolo synced with Nail's awareness. He allowed Nail to take the lead while he focused purely on the flow of energy between them, and instantly, a profound sense of clarity swept over him.
When Piccolo opened his eyes again, they were locked in absolute focus. Pale yellow electricity flickered in his irises, occasionally crackling outward in sharp, jagged arcs.
It was crude and unstable, but Piccolo had managed to enter the Zone nonetheless.
Nail and Piccolo pressed on, but with their body so worn down, the duo understood that if their next move failed, there would be no second chances. A Masenko began to take shape between Piccolo's hands, its familiar yellow glow flickering into life. But this wasn't going to be an ordinary Masenko—Piccolo had something else in mind.
Drawing inspiration from Goku's Kamehameha and Ajax's laser variant used against Ginyu, Piccolo decided to try compressing the energy, taking advantage of the enhanced Ki control granted by the Zone.
Rather than firing it straight away, he pulled the glowing orb closer to his chest, holding it tightly between his hands as if trying to crush the energy itself. Veins bulged across his arms and face, muscles straining under the effort, but he continued, forcing the Masenko into a smaller, denser form.
Meanwhile, Frieza, who had been forced back by the earlier strike, finally came to a halt. His momentum had run its course, and though he maintained an air of calm, he subtly rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers. The lingering numbness in his arms from Piccolo's blow irked him more than he cared to admit.
With a sharp crack of his neck, Frieza's cold, crimson eyes locked onto Piccolo, who was in the midst of charging his Ki attack. Almost lazily, Frieza raised one hand and began gathering energy for his own blast.
At an unspoken cue, both fighters unleashed their attacks simultaneously.
Piccolo's compressed Masenko shot forward, far denser and more concentrated than usual. It collided midair with Frieza's blast, and for a brief moment, the two beams struggled for dominance. But it quickly became clear that without the support of the Kaioken, Piccolo was losing ground. Frieza's unnamed attack quickly overwhelmed the Masenko, driving it back with ease.
The beam struggle was one-sided. Despite Piccolo's efforts and the improvement of his attack, Frieza's raw power was just that overwhelming.
But the Namekian duo wasn't finished. Not by a long shot.
Behind Frieza, something else was stirring—something the tyrant hadn't noticed. Piccolo's discarded, shattered arm, which he had torn off earlier, slowly began to rise from the dirt. It twitched, moving on its own as Nail guided it with their shared telekinesis. The fingers extended, two digits pointing outward as a small, crackling orb of energy formed at the fingertips.
It was subtle, quiet—completely unnoticed by Frieza, whose attention was focused on the ongoing beam struggle.
But there was a problem: the arm couldn't charge the attack quickly enough. Piccolo was losing ground fast, and at this rate, Frieza would overpower him before the arm could finish charging its attack.
Desperation surged through Piccolo as his mind raced. There was only one option left.
"KAIOKEN TIMES FIVE!" Piccolo roared, the words ripping themselves from his throat.
The instant he pushed the Kaioken to its limit again, something snapped—not in his body, but in his mind. The delicate equilibrium he and Nail had maintained within the Zone instantly collapsed, their concentration utterly shattered by the unbearable pain coursing through Piccolo's body.
The Kaioken was simply too wild, too furious, to coexist with the calm, meditative focus of the Zone. The two techniques clashed like oil and water.
Due to the tradeoff between the Kaioken and the Zone, the beam struggle between him and Frieza began to stabilize, though not as much as he'd hoped. In the distance, his severed arm—their hidden ace—dropped lifelessly to the ground, the energy it had been gathering fizzling and dissipating into the air.
Piccolo and Nail both fell into a heavy silence. There was no need for words; the cold and unforgiving truth was painfully clear to them both:
The Kaioken and the Zone were incompatible.
'Zone or Kaioken,' Nail's voice broke through the silence in their thoughts, his voice grave. 'We can only choose one.'
Piccolo didn't respond right away, instead throwing everything he had into maintaining the still-unnamed Masenko variant. His body was screaming in agony, every instinct urging him to pull back and look for another option. But there were no other options. This was it.
'The Zone. I'll buy us some time.'
'You do realize we're about to get a faceful of Frieza's beam if we go through with this, right?'
Piccolo's jaw tightened.
'Just shut up and do it.'
Piccolo took a deep breath, steeling himself. He pushed aside the voice of reason, ignoring the sharp warnings from his body and the instincts bestowed through his mastery of the Kaioken.
"KAIOKEN TIMES TEN!!"
For a few glorious moments, the power Piccolo received was immense. His beam shot forward, gaining significant ground against Frieza's. But just as quickly as it had surged, the Kaioken began to wane. Exhaustion slammed into him like a freight train, and with it, his beam faltered, weakening far more than it should have.
Nail acted immediately. The instant the Kaioken failed, he yanked Piccolo back into the Zone, their shared consciousness sharpening once more.
Fully immersed in the Zone, Piccolo and Nail shifted their focus to the severed limb lying behind Frieza. With painstaking effort, they forced it to rise again, its fingers twitching, pointing skyward as energy once more began gathering at its tips.
Meanwhile, the beam struggle was already lost. Frieza's energy completely overwhelmed Piccolo's, the blinding purple light of the tyrant's blast hurtling toward them.
Piccolo sprang into action, twisting his body violently to evade the oncoming blast. The scorching hot energy sliced through the air, and though he avoided the brunt of it, part of his right side was singed by the lingering heat.
The beam struggle might be lost, but Piccolo wasn't finished.
His mind sharpened, zeroing in on the technique he needed to unleash: the Special Beam Cannon. Normally, it took precious time to charge, but in the Zone, the rules were bent. With his now monstrously enhanced Ki manipulation, what would have taken a full minute or more to charge now took only five seconds.
It took three seconds for Frieza to crush what remained of Piccolo's earlier attack, obliterating the remnants of the beam with the ease of a child snapping a twig.
It took him one to notice Piccolo was collapsed just beyond the blast radius, still clinging to life.
And it took one more for Frieza to sense that something was off.
The tyrant whipped around, eyes locking onto the severed arm behind him. At that very moment, the limb fired a fully charged Special Beam Cannon from just ten feet away.
But this wasn't Frieza's first form—this was him wielding a quarter of his true power. He blurred, moving impossibly fast, just enough for the beam to whizz past his head, missing by mere inches.
Or so it appeared—until the beam suddenly changed direction mid-flight as if it had ricocheted off an invisible mirror.
Frieza's eyes widened in shock. The Special Beam Cannon's abrupt shift in trajectory had completely nullified his dodge. Worse still, he had no time to react with his usual grace, and his body was positioned awkwardly relative to the attack as well.
Panicked, the tyrant spun, hands raised in an awkward attempt to receive the incoming attack. He cupped his hands together as if bracing to catch a volleyball spiked directly at him.
Frieza wrapped his hands in a swirling mass of energy, channeling every ounce of power he could summon. A sharp hiss of pain escaped him as the Special Beam Cannon pierced through his energy, making contact with the flesh of his hands.
But with a roar of exertion, he redirected the beam, twisting it sharply upward. It spiraled past his cheek and over his left shoulder, violently cutting through the air before vanishing into the sky above Namek, a streak of light fading from view as it climbed higher and higher.
For a brief moment, everything fell silent. The cacophony of battle ceased, leaving only the harsh rhythm of Frieza's breathing and Piccolo's agonized screams.
Frieza shot a quick glance at Piccolo.
The Namekian warrior had crumpled to the ground in agony, his body not-so-kindly punishing him for pushing it far beyond its limits with the Kaioken.
Frieza sneered.
The Cold family lived by the saying, "Cruelty is best served cold." So, rather than putting Piccolo out of his misery with a final blow, Frieza instead turned away, deciding it was far more merciless to leave him to suffer.
Typically, Frieza would relish the torment of his enemies, drawing satisfaction from their suffering. But at this moment, that pleasure was eclipsed by something far more potent—pure humiliation from having sustained an actual injury.
His hand throbbed as his murderous gaze shifted across the battlefield, locking onto the culprit—Ajax.
His hands itched for blood.