Chapter Text
Ignoring the truly immense power that stood only meters away, Hit crouched by each of the three bodies. Kale was first, as a cursory glance suggested she was the worst off. She was unconscious and made no movement when Hit pressed two fingers to her neck to confirm a steady pulse. One arm was obviously broken and her hair was matted with blood, but at least she was alive.
Cabba was next. The Saiyan was drawn up into the fetal position, his arms tightly hugging his chest. Bilateral broken ribs, Hit guessed, maybe worse internal damage. But alive, that was what mattered.
"Hit?" Cabba asked. His voice was a pained whisper. "Is everyone-"
"Yes, they're alive."
When the young Saiyan tried to reply, Hit cut him off. "Save your energy."
The assassin approached the last body, the only one capable of active motion, if the drag marks in the dust behind her were any indication. Caulifla stopped crawling and looked up at Hit. The Saiyan's typical cockiness had been wiped completely away and was replaced with a feral desperation not even the Tournament of Power had provoked in her.
"What happened?" Hit asked. The broad strokes were easy to see—it had been a brutal, one-sided massacre—but something important might be hiding in the details.
"We got our asses handed to us," Caulifla replied. She sniffled, barely holding back tears. "I think- I don't know- Can you get me over to Kale?"
"In a moment. Tell me exactly what happened."
"There's nothing to tell! Me and Kale were just relaxing when we felt this huge wave of energy. Like, massive. So we went to check it out. And it was him!" Caulifla pointed at the smirking golden warrior. "It was over before we could do anything. He knocked Kale out the second she went Super Saiyan. I tried to stop him and look what happened. Then Cabba finally decided to show up, and he got folded too."
"I see." Without another word, Hit gathered the wounded Saiyan into his arms. He rose a few feet into the air, his flight so controlled and steady he avoided jostling Caulifla at all. Once they were beside Kale, Hit gently reunited the two Saiyans.
"Oh, my poor Kale." Caulifla reached out and rested her hand on Kale's shoulder.
Hit turned his back on the tender scene.
"Wait a second, where are you going? You're not gonna try to take him on, are you?! I know you're way stronger than any of us, but it's still suicide!" Caulifla shouted.
"I will do whatever is necessary," Hit replied.
"I can't watch any more of my friends get beat up today," the Saiyan said.
That gave Hit pause. Caulifla actually considered him a friend? Why? If all of them survived, he'd have to ask her about it.
"People like him enjoy nothing more than the sound of their own voice," Hit said. "I'll try that first."
Before Caulifla could try talking sense into him, Hit stepped forward.
"And who are you?" Frieza asked.
It took Hit about half a millisecond to decide his opponent was baiting him. There was no confusion on Frieza's face, just pure, gleeful malice.
"Ah, of course, you're the dreaded assassin Hit who couldn't even survive halfway through the Tournament of Power." Frieza scoffed. "To think, you lived a thousand years to become a flash in the pan when your universe needed you most."
Hit considered reminding Frieza that he wasn't immune to being reduced to a punching bag, but suspected such a statement might get everyone on the planet killed.
"Could that be the reason you're here? Are you seeking redemption? Or to be put out of your misery?"
Hit remained silent.
"Let's try it again." Frieza leveled a finger at Caulifla. A tiny spark of energy began to dance at his fingertip.
"I'm here to offer a trade," Hit said. He time-skipped, appearing suddenly in front of the dimension-hopping emperor. It was a trick that almost never failed to startle his opponent. Almost being the critical word. Neither Frieza's cruel grin nor his finger wavered in the slightest.
"And what do you have to offer?"
"Myself, in exchange for the lives of the Saiyans."
"One life for three is hardly fair."
"I'm much more durable. You would get your money's worth."
"Interesting."
Frieza jabbed his still-glowing finger forward, prodding it against Hit's chest. The assassin stared resolutely ahead, unbothered by the threat of being blasted at any moment.
"If I were to put a hole through you in this exact location, would it kill you?" Frieza inquired.
"In about ten minutes," Hit replied.
"I can cause you considerable agony in ten minutes."
Hit gave a faint shrug. "You can do whatever you'd like to me if you agree to the trade."
"What would keep me from having my fun with you and then eliminating the marginally civilized monkeys?"
For most fighters, honor would be a good answer. However, Frieza was the type to betray his universe, double-cross whoever was foolish enough to take him at face value, and then kick a puppy just for the hell of it.
"It would be beneath you," Hit said. "You've proven your superiority, anything further would be egregious."
"I would hate to appear gauche," Frieza acknowledged. "Though I may despise Saiyans more."
The tyrant mulled it over. Hit waited in perfect stillness and silence for his answer.
"I accept your offer, assassin."
The finger that had been threatening to spear him with a death-beam withdrew. For a moment Hit assumed Frieza intended to shake hands, as several species typically did to seal a deal. Any chance of niceties evaporated when Frieza's hand, suddenly a tight fist, slammed into the assassin's stomach.
"There is but one shortcoming to this form: those who should be below me instead stand over me. I've found a fine solution, wouldn't you agree?"
Hit, doubled-over and on the verge of either retching or blacking out, could offer no reply. The small portion of his mind not focused on the agony radiating through most of his body was in awe of what it had just experienced. Hit had been struck by Super Saiyan Gods and the pride of the Eleventh Universe. He knew what power felt like.
Frieza was beyond power.
As strong as the golden transformation was, there was something buried underneath it. Hit had sensed merely a glimmer in the moment the emperor made contact with him. It was...infinite. Terrifying on a primal level. If Hit dwelt on it too long, he suspected he'd crack.
The assassin fell to his knees. Overwhelmed by both the physical blow and the realization of what he faced, he was unable to remain standing.
"This position suits you even better," Frieza taunted.
"Your power," Hit began, but couldn't think of a way to finish.
"If you keep me entertained, I may consider showing you more of it."
What the hell. He was going to die anyway. Might as well go out gazing into the heart of a supernova.
Hit managed to nod.
"Excellent. Now the only question that remains is how will you entertain me?"
By being viciously beaten, tortured, and eventually murdered, Hit assumed. He was still a little muddled, but not to the point his pragmatism deserted him.
"Being a man of few words may add to your mystique as an assassin, but when I ask a question, I expect to have it answered."
Before Hit could format a response that wouldn't actively encourage the aforementioned beating, torturing, and murdering, Frieza lost his patience. He swiped the tip of his muscular tail across the assassin's jaw, delivering a stinging slap.
"You've got a lovely mouth, use it."
It seemed Frieza had committed a verbal slip, judging from the way he immediately tried to backpedal. Hit's wide-eyed stare at the phrasing was met with the first sign Frieza wasn't entirely perfect and unflappable.
"I simply meant your color palette is better than anything else I've seen on this planet. I have a partiality to purple myself."
Hit could see that. Quite a bit of purple was currently shading the sadistic tyrant's cheeks.
"I can do as you ask," Hit said, "if you allow me to move the Saiyans to safety."
Indignant, Frieza asked, "What secret talent could that mouth of yours possibly possess that would warrant further alterations to our deal? I already have permission to do with you as I like."
"That's true," Hit acknowledged. "But what you don't have is my participation. As it stands, I won't resist, but I won't engage with you either."
Frieza considered his interest piqued. "Fine. Just know this is the last bone I intend to throw you and if you disappoint me, I'll destroy the planet."
Hit stood. "I understand."
Moving with his usual clinical efficiency, Hit assessed Kale again. Still unconscious, still the most dire. Caulifla, at least, was looking more lively. She was able to stagger to her feet and support her own weight. With a little help, Hit hoped she could fly. Or at least cling to him piggyback-style.
"Can you just tell me what's going on? What did you agree to do, Hit?" Caulifla asked.
"Nothing I'm unwilling to do," the assassin replied.
"But-"
"Where's the nearest hospital?"
"But-"
"Cabba, the nearest hospital?"
"About thirty kilometers northeast of here, in Celeri City," Cabba replied.
Hit knelt beside Kale. He supported her head and spine as fully as he could and then lifted her body. The Saiyan grimaced and whimpered, which was a good sign. If she responded to pain and the stimulus of being moved, she wasn't comatose.
"What's gonna happen-"
"Can you fly?" Hit asked, still treating the Saiyan's questions as if he hadn't heard them.
"Will you please stop being such an-" Caulifla tried one more time, this time less friendly.
"If you can, let's go. If not, hold onto me."
Caulifla managed to rise from the ground with all the grace of a fledgling on its first flight. Hit waited a few seconds to ensure the Saiyan wasn't going to tumble from the sky and then lifted off himself.
"Stay close. If you feel lightheaded or like you're going to fall, grab onto me," Hit instructed. "Cabba, I'll return shortly."
After what felt like hours but had to be only minutes, Cabba heard Hit touch down. The Saiyan couldn't turn around, but he was able to follow Hit's approach by the assassin's footsteps.
"I'll be as gentle as I can, but there's no way to avoid causing you pain," Hit said.
Cabba nodded his assent. Hit wasted no time scooping up the wounded Saiyan. Cabba gasped and clenched his fists as broken bones and bruised muscles were shifted.
"You will return promptly, won't you?" Frieza asked.
"I will," Hit confirmed.
With his word given, the assassin took to the skies. He was able to fly faster this time around, as he didn't have to keep an eye on Caulifla.
Likewise, the medical staff were quicker on the uptake and spent less time looking at Hit like he was speaking a language they didn't understand. Cabba was whisked out of his arms and onto a stretcher by a platoon of doctors and nurses.
"Hit, wait!" Cabba called just before he was wheeled into the hospital. "I…wanted to thank you. Please, stay safe."
Hit wasn't in the habit of making promises he couldn't keep, so he said nothing. Alone with his thoughts, the assassin forced himself not to delay. He had a job, he was going to do it. Simple as that.
"So you've chosen not to flee," Frieza said upon Hit's return.
"The thought never crossed my mind," Hit replied. He approached the emperor with the calm, steady gait of a man walking a familiar street. Frieza considered putting a hole through the assassin for his audacity (and for being even taller than the accursed Goku), but held himself back out of curiosity.
Without prompting—or a crippling blow to his abdomen—Hit dropped to his knees in front of Frieza.
"I see you've learned your place," the tyrant said. "And now that you've eliminated all witnesses, what debauchery do you have planned?"
"Put your tail in my mouth," Hit said bluntly.
"I beg your pardon!" Frieza sputtered.
That might have been a bit too forward, Hit supposed. Not that he could blame himself for being rusty when it came to flirtation. It had been decades since he'd last used such skills, while short, simple statements—mostly "I'm here to kill you" and the like—were at the forefront of his lexicon.
"If you'd like me to use my mouth for your entertainment, your tail isn't a bad place to start. It's less intimate than genitals. Though if you'd prefer to start there, that's fine."
"Do you even know what parts my species possesses?" Frieza asked.
"I know the anatomy of your counterpart species in this universe. I imagine there are some similarities."
Frieza leered at Hit. "Don't tell me you've been wallowing in the mire with that cheap facsimile Frost."
Hit shook his head. "No, never. I've familiarized myself with the anatomy of almost every sentient species in this universe so I can kill them efficiently."
"And mate with them just as efficiently?" Frieza inquired.
The assassin shrugged. "Not usually, but I've made exceptions in the past."
Frieza chuckled at that. His prehensile tail rose and Hit braced for another nasty blow from the appendage. Instead, the tip of it lightly traced Hit's face, ghosting across his lips and traveling down the border where the lavender and purple skin tones met. It wormed inside the collar of his coat, then back up and across his throat. Hit imagined the tail tightening around him, as muscular as the coils of a python, and choking the life out of him. Something told him he wouldn't be the first.
"You really are too pretty for Frost. Open."
Pretty. Hit didn't think he'd ever been called that in his life. It just wasn't an adjective that sat next to words like intimidating, ruthless, and cold very often.
Hit was distracted from his thoughts by the cool, dry skin suddenly pressed against his lips. He did as ordered and opened his mouth, allowing the tail to slide inside. It was only the first few inches, nothing bothersome, even once the serpentine appendage started moving. Like a prospective home-buyer inspecting a property, the tail explored every corner of the assassin's mouth.
"I do appreciate the warmth, but beyond that it's hardly titillating. I must say, if you don't have anything else to offer-" Frieza's complaint was silenced as Hit closed his mouth around the tail and sucked firmly.
The squawk that came from the tyrant was one of the least-dignified sounds he'd ever made. The moan that quickly followed wasn't any more regal.
Frieza looked at his tail in a brand new light. The appendage had been a most useful tool for everything from strangling his enemies to bludgeoning his enemies to restraining his enemies when they tried to escape. It had not, however, ever been viewed as a potential source of carnal pleasure.
What a shame. Up until then, Frieza had no idea what he'd been missing out on. He'd have to make up for lost time.
"You're beginning to earn your keep, assassin. How do you feel about taking more?"
Hit nodded, beckoning Frieza with a wave of his hand. The tyrant grinned in a way that was anything but good-natured.
"If it becomes too much for you, try to choke quietly."
Before Hit could react to the callous words, Frieza thrust his tail forward. There was no more curious exploration, only vicious conquest. The tail forced its way in until its diameter became too great to squeeze past Hit's teeth.
Most beings would have been thrown into a panic by such a violent and sudden intrusion. Hit was lucky enough to have both excellent foresight and nigh total control over his body. He suppressed his gag reflex and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. If he focused on breathing through his nose, he was able to get just enough air to avoid suffocation.
"I could—oh! If that was voluntary, do it again—tear you apart from the—exquisite work—inside out. And I will, if you dare stop!" Frieza threatened. "You, this planet, and this entire universe."
For the sake of himself, Sadala, and the rest of the Sixth Universe, Hit continued. The act that had Frieza in such a tizzy was easy to replicate: it was nothing more than repeated swallowing. And the occasional spasm brought on by the stress his mouth and throat were under. Again, easy to replicate given the circumstances.
Frieza laid two fingers against Hit's forehead. He pushed the assassin's head back, exposing his throat. A light touch down the taut skin made Hit shudder.
"Does it hurt? Are you suffering for my pleasure?" Frieza asked with mocking sweetness.
There was no way for Hit to answer, except to himself in his head. Of course it hurt, his esophagus was crammed with tail. Though, if there was any bright side, at least the pleasure wasn't all Frieza's. The overwhelming majority surely was, but Hit was able to eke out enough to give himself a few tingles.
Frieza withdrew his hands and allowed Hit to lower his head. "Let's see how comparable my anatomy really is."
That was an interesting switch from sadistic taunting. Though Hit suspected this moment would come sooner or later. Frieza, charming personality and people skills aside, didn't seem like he received much sexual satisfaction. Having his tail enveloped in heat and pressure—and having complete control over Hit—was no doubt enough to get him aroused, maybe even enough to get him desperate.
What it wasn't, however, was enough to get him off.
Hit held his hands out like a supplicant, requesting permission to touch. Though he found it easier to stay calm and focused if he kept his eyes closed, he doubted Frieza would appreciate him groping blindly.
"I'm nothing if not a gracious lord," Frieza said. He stepped closer, allowing Hit easy access to his body.
It would have been nice to be able to speak, to ask for feedback or clarification, but it didn't seem like Frieza had any inclination to remove his tail. Moving slowly so as not to jostle the choking hazard, Hit plied his hands to Frieza's hips.
"Aren't you brash?" Frieza asked. "Though I suppose we've had enough foreplay. Continue."
The assassin's fingers slid inward, dragging over the golden musculature of Frieza's thighs. His hands met at the confluence of the emperor's legs, a smooth, unassuming patch of skin. Hit hesitated just a moment, wished again he could request explicit permission, and decided to throw caution to the wind. He ran his index and middle fingers up and down the seemingly sexless crotch.
"It's going to take more than that," Frieza huffed.
Maybe, but Hit wagered not much more. He could already feel moisture beneath his fingertips. The assassin began to trace a series of overlapping circles to gauge the tyrant's response. Any area that was met with a shiver or moan received additional attention.
Given the small space, it really was a job better suited for one hand. Instead of letting it go to waste, Hit used his now-free hand to grab Frieza's tail as close to the base as he could reach. That spot was, according to the anatomical literature, nearly as sensitive as the tip of the tail due to its proximity to the spine.
A few firm, massaging squeezes to the tail coupled with a more teasing direct approach turned out to be the magic combination. Because, all of a sudden, Hit had what he assumed was a cock in his hand.
Frieza threw back his head, his energy blazing around him. The emperor inhaled deeply—Hit never thought he'd be jealous of someone breathing, but here he was—and then looked down at the kneeling assassin.
"I trust you know what you're doing with that," Frieza said.
Hit had some familiarity with the equipment, though he'd never worked with Frieza's exact model before. It did bear a strong resemblance to what the assassin had seen in clinical texts and photographs, though the coloration was different, skewing purple instead of blue. Aesthetics aside, Hit understood what he was dealing with.
A two-fold approach had worked to coax the organ out of hiding, and Hit saw no reason to fix what wasn't broken. One hand continued to apply rhythmic pressure at the base of the tail, while the other followed the same tempo, stroking the slick length.
The synchronized motions soon had Frieza gasping and writhing. There was one issue, however, Hit had not foreseen. As Frieza lost himself to his passion, his tail took on a mind of its own. The appendage squirmed, each movement more forceful than the last. Besides being agony on Hit's raw nerves, there was the growing threat one wrong flex would compress his trachea or tear something.
"Would you like a little reward? Perhaps to taste something new?" Frieza asked, as though reading the concerns straight from Hit's mind.
Hit nodded as forcefully as he could, given how much was jammed down his throat. He liked to think he wasn't squeamish about his own death, but the idea of asphyxiating on Frieza's tail was appalling. The idea of replacing tail with cock was…considerably better.
Frieza slid his tail free by torturous inches. Hit winced as already abused flesh was raked over again. The assassin's hands faltered once or twice due to spiking pain, but by the time Frieza finally finished withdrawing, both parties were left quivering, albeit for different reasons.
A minute to catch his breath and work some of the stiffness out of his jaw would have been appreciated, but Hit understood Frieza had already granted him a rare mercy. The tyrant could have easily found release in Hit's hands—and probably choked him unconscious or worse in the process—but Frieza had opted to provide a more manageable treat.
"Keep your hand on my tail," Frieza ordered.
"Of course." Hit flinched at the sound of his own voice, more a harsh caw than anything. He hoped it wasn't permanent damage, and then remembered he still fully expected to die in the next few minutes, rendering the fear moot either way.
Hit activated his time skip for a novel purpose: to seamlessly trade his hand for his mouth in the service of Lord Frieza.
The burst of uncontrolled energy that surged from Frieza let Hit know his unorthodox time skip had been a rousing success. Smirking a bit—and damn did it feel good to be able to move his lips and mouth enough to smirk—Hit deployed a few less complicated techniques. He could work a fair bit of magic with his tongue when it wasn't pinned flat.
Fingers grabbed the collar of his coat. Hit guessed if he had hair, antennas, or any other sort of protrusion on his head, they'd be tangled there instead. At the sound of fabric ripping, Hit thanked his lucky stars his species was bald.
The taste of salt grew more prominent as Frieza continued to mangle Hit's coat. There was no denying the end was near. If that was the case, Hit decided it needed to be...explosive.
The assassin ensured he had a good seal with his lips, then applied full suction. At the same moment, Hit clamped down on Frieza's tail. The shocking blend of pain and ecstasy hurled Frieza off a cliff. He arched his back, forcing himself as deeply into Hit as he could, and came with a guttural cry.
The world erupted into light. Even pressed as he was against Frieza's body, Hit was still blinded. He felt something, either a shockwave of energy or Frieza's foot, hit him square in the chest and send him tumbling. Hit had just enough wherewithal to let go of Frieza's tail before he was swatted away like a bug.
Stunned from the radiance, the blow, the building energy, and having been on the verge of hypoxia for who knew how long, Hit was slow to rise. By the time he secured his footing, the blinding light had faded enough to reveal a Frieza who had changed dramatically. His golden form had been exchanged for black.
"Congratulations are in order," Frieza said. "You're the first person in the Sixth Universe to have the privilege of this form."
"Thank you, Lord Frieza." Hit bowed his head. Though he wondered who else in which universe had had the pleasure.
"After I finish my business elsewhere, I might be tempted to visit again. If you have anything more to offer, that is."
Hit nodded, dumbstruck both at the proposition and at the fact he, apparently, wasn't going to die.
Frieza chortled. "Did you expect to be killed?"
"Yes."
"I have found so few suitable bedmates, pruning one as delightful as you would be a disservice to myself."
Having paid his one allotted compliment for the decade, Frieza began to power down. Stark black gave way to glowing gold, which was soon replaced with porcelain white. Hit watched the transformations with curiosity. Was the black form, as omnipotent as it seemed, too much of an energy sink to be maintained without a good reason?
Noting the assassin's interest at his downgrade, Frieza said, "I am more than capable of sustaining that form for as long as I wish. I simply enjoy watching the confidence and hope bleed from my foes when they realize what they're truly up against."
Hit would have liked to know which foes specifically were about to be turned into paste, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The longer Frieza stuck around, the greater the chance he'd unleash a cataclysm.
Without another word, Frieza bent his knees and then launched himself upward. His speed, even in his reduced form, was incredible. Within seconds, there was nothing more to see, nor even energy to feel. It was like the emperor had vanished from the universe.
Hell, maybe he had. Hit would think about it after he concocted a plausible excuse for how he'd survived and why he sounded like a crow with laryngitis. Because under no circumstances could anyone ever discover what he and Frieza had done.
Or might do in the near future.