The universe rankings had been announced, and every deity in attendance now understood exactly where they stood. The reactions varied wildly across the assembled gods—some radiated confidence and satisfaction at their position, while others had visibly wilted, the weight of existential dread pressing down on their shoulders. The mathematics were brutally simple: twelve universes competing, only four surviving. A thirty-three percent chance of survival. Those were terrible odds when the stakes were literally everything.
Losing a tournament match was one thing. Being completely erased from existence, along with every soul in your universe, was something else entirely. No one wanted to be among the eight that would simply cease to be.
Beerus was still riding high on the euphoria of learning Universe Seven had achieved fifth place, a small chuckle escaping him as he basked in the unexpected glory. Then Whis leaned in from behind, his voice pitched low enough that only the God of Destruction could hear.
"Lord Beerus, I wouldn't celebrate too enthusiastically just yet. Our universe may be ranked fifth, but let's not forget—that means there are four universes ahead of us. Four universes with higher mortal levels, presumably stronger fighters. And only the top four will receive exemption from the tournament. We're still very much in danger of erasure."
Beerus's good mood evaporated instantly. He turned to glare at his attendant. "Hey, Whis! What kind of comment is that? If Universe Seven gets eliminated, you disappear too, you know. We're in this together!"
"Hohohoho!" Whis's laugh was light and entirely too amused for the situation. "Actually, Lord Beerus, that's not quite accurate. We Angels exist outside the normal purging parameters. Even if Universe Seven were to disappear completely, I wouldn't be erased. I would simply enter a state of suspended animation—a deep sleep, if you will—until reassigned or until Lord Zeno creates a new seventh universe. Angels are supervisory entities, you see. We're not bound to any single universe the way you are."
"WHAT?!" Beerus's shout drew several curious glances from nearby gods.
"It's true," Whis continued, his tone maddeningly cheerful. "We Angels are responsible for overseeing and guiding the Gods of Destruction and Supreme Kais, but we don't share your fate. So if Lord Beerus were to be, shall we say, 'unfortunately eliminated,' I would mourn your passing appropriately before entering my hibernation period."
The casual way Whis described his potential demise made Beerus's face darken considerably. "You're enjoying this far too much," he muttered.
Across the way, Vados had apparently been eavesdropping and couldn't resist joining in the fun. She pressed both hands to her cheeks, affecting an expression of theatrical grief. "Oh, Lord Champa! It seems your universe will likely be erased! I shall miss you terribly! Your dedication to fine cuisine, your... unique temperament..."
"IT HASN'T HAPPENED YET!" Champa roared, his face flushing purple with indignation. "Stop acting like I'm already dead! And quit with the fake crying!" If he thought he could actually defeat Vados in a fight, he would have seriously considered gagging her. Unfortunately, trying to discipline your Angel attendant was an exercise in futility and humiliation.
The various conversations—ranging from desperate strategizing to nervous breakdown—had created quite a din in Zeno's throne room. The Grand Priest allowed it to continue for a few moments before clearing his throat twice, the sound somehow cutting through all the noise with perfect clarity.
Silence fell immediately.
"Thank you, everyone. Now then, please listen carefully to the tournament rules." The Grand Priest's serene expression never wavered as he began explaining what might be the most important competition in the history of existence. "This event will be officially designated as the 'Tournament of Power,' and it will be held in the World of Void—a dimension of infinite nothingness that Lord Zeno and I will construct specifically for this purpose."
He paused, ensuring he had everyone's complete attention.
"Each universe may select ten warriors to represent them. The format will be a battle royale—all fighters in the arena simultaneously, with every participant fighting to be the last ones standing. The time limit is set at one hundred taks."
"One hundred taks..." Old Kai muttered, doing the mental conversion. "That's equivalent to approximately forty-eight minutes in Earth time."
The Grand Priest continued smoothly. "The victory conditions are as follows: The universe or universes with the most fighters remaining on the stage when time expires will be declared the winners and will receive special rewards in addition to survival. If multiple universes tie with the same number of remaining fighters, or if fewer than four universes have any fighters remaining at all by the end, then secondary rankings will be determined by the total number of opponents each universe's team eliminated during the battle."
He raised one finger for emphasis. "Therefore, you have two paths to survival: either preserve your numbers and outlast the competition, or eliminate as many opposing fighters as possible to secure a favorable ranking even if your own team suffers casualties."
Several gods were already calculating strategies, whispering to their companions about potential alliances and tactical approaches.
"Additionally," the Grand Priest said, and his tone became slightly more stern, "there are several prohibitions that will be strictly enforced. First: the use of flight is forbidden. All combatants must remain grounded—unless, of course, they possess natural wings, in which case limited aerial maneuvering is permitted. Second: no weapons or external tools may be used. Third: the use of any drugs, potions, senzu beans, or similar enhancement items is prohibited. Fourth, and most importantly: killing is absolutely forbidden. Any fighter who takes a life will be immediately disqualified, and their universe will face immediate erasure regardless of other circumstances."
That last rule sent a chill through several of the more violent gods and their warriors.
"The only acceptable method of victory is to force your opponent off the arena platform. Ring-outs are the sole elimination criteria. Are there any questions about these rules?"
The throne room buzzed with quiet discussion as everyone processed the information. This was a battle royale on an unprecedented scale— 120 of the multiverse's strongest warriors, all fighting simultaneously on a single stage, with the fate of entire universes hanging in the balance.
"One hundred taks for 120 fighters to battle," Shin mused quietly. "That's not much time at all when you think about it. In a melee that size, things could change drastically in seconds."
Old Kai nodded sagely. "Indeed. And with the possibility of temporary alliances between universes, even individually powerful fighters could be overwhelmed by coordinated opposition. Universe Nine is probably already scheming about which universes to team up with."
"You're both wrong," Beerus cut in, his voice cold and certain. "True strength transcends numbers and tactics. The genuinely powerful aren't threatened by mob tactics or temporary alliances. This battle royale format is simply designed to make the spectacle more entertaining for Lord Zeno. But when it comes down to it, the strongest individuals will dominate regardless of how many weak fighters gang up on them."
Beerus's understanding of combat was undoubtedly more refined than either of the Kais. He knew from millions of years of experience that real power wasn't a simple matter of addition. Ten weak fighters combining their strength didn't equal one strong fighter—it usually just meant ten weak fighters getting eliminated in quick succession. The idea that numerical superiority or clever teamwork could overcome truly overwhelming individual power was a delusion that Universe Seven couldn't afford to indulge.
The Grand Priest swept his gaze across the assembled deities one final time. "Very well. Everyone should begin preparations immediately. I will commence construction of the Tournament of Power arena in the World of Void. Select your ten warriors carefully—these representatives will literally hold the fate of your entire universe in their hands."
Raditz raised his hand slightly. "Grand Priest, how much time do we have for these preparations?"
The Grand Priest smiled. "Using Earth's time measurement system, which seems to be popular for some reason... you have less than thirty-nine hours."
The number hit like a physical blow. Thirty-nine hours to assemble a team, train them, coordinate strategies, and prepare for a tournament that would determine whether trillions upon trillions of lives continued to exist or simply ceased to be.
"Thirty-nine hours?!" someone gasped.
"That's barely a day and a half!"
The Grand Priest's expression remained pleasantly neutral in the face of the mounting panic. "Oh, and one more thing before you depart." His gaze shifted specifically to Champa. "Regarding the prizes for the winning universe—Champa, I'll need you to surrender the Super Dragon Balls you've been collecting since the last tournament."
Champa's eyes went wide. "How did you—"
"And Raditz," the Grand Priest continued smoothly, turning to Universe Seven's Supreme Kai, "you'll need to contribute the ones you've gathered as well."
Raditz and Champa's eyes met across the throne room, a moment of mutual recognition passing between them. Both had been quietly searching for the Super Dragon Balls over the past year, each thinking they were being clever and secretive. Apparently, nothing escaped the Grand Priest's notice.
With visible reluctance, both gods produced the massive Dragon Balls they'd collected, the spheres materializing in the air before floating toward the Grand Priest.
"Excellent. These will serve as magnificent prizes for the survivors." The Grand Priest gathered them with a gesture. "Now then—that concludes today's meeting. Perform well, everyone, and strive to present Lord Zeno with the most spectacular tournament imaginable!"
"Yes, Grand Priest!" The unified response echoed through the throne room as every deity bowed once more.
The Grand Priest spread his arms wide, his staff beginning to glow. "I shall return you all to your respective universes. May you choose your warriors wisely."
Divine light enveloped all the assembled gods. In the span of a single heartbeat, they were transported away, each group returning to their home universe to begin the desperate preparations.
Universe Seven's contingent materialized not in the Destroyer's Realm but directly on Earth. Whis had made the executive decision to bring Goku and Vegeta along immediately—there was no time to waste traveling between locations when the universe's survival was at stake.
They gathered in a small clearing outside West City, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the grass. Shin wasted no time repeating everything the Grand Priest had explained, ensuring that Goku and Vegeta understood the full scope of what they were facing.
Both Saiyans stood in stunned silence for several seconds after Shin finished speaking.
Then Goku's face split into that familiar grin, his eyes gleaming with barely contained excitement. "The Tournament of Power... fighting against the strongest warriors from all universes at once! This is incredible! I can't wait to see what kind of techniques they use, how strong they are—"
BONK!
Beerus's fist came down on Goku's skull with enough force to drive him several inches into the ground. "BE SERIOUS FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE! This isn't a game, Goku! If we lose, the entire universe disappears! Everyone you've ever known, every planet, every living thing—gone! Erased! Do you understand?!"
"Owwww!" Goku clutched his head, tears forming in the corners of his eyes from the pain. "Okay, okay, I get it! Geez, Lord Beerus, you didn't have to hit so hard! But don't worry—we'll win! I promise!"
"Kakarot's right," Vegeta added, his expression deadly serious despite the confidence in his voice. "We have the strength to win this tournament. Universe Seven isn't going anywhere."
"Hmph. Don't be overconfident," Beerus warned, though his tone had lost some of its edge. "The other universes have their own exceptional warriors. I don't even know half the fighters in some of the higher-ranked universes—they could have beings even stronger than you two. And let's not forget that Saiyans are notoriously bad at teamwork and cooperation, which this tournament will absolutely require."
The criticism stung because it was largely accurate. Saiyan pride and independent fighting spirit were legendary, but those same traits made coordinated battle strategies nearly impossible.
"Then we'll have to work on that," Raditz interjected, his calm voice cutting through the tension. "But before we worry about strategy and training, we need to finalize our roster. Self-confidence is meaningless if we don't choose the right team." He began counting on his fingers. "Goku and Vegeta are definite selections. Who else should we consider?"
The discussion that followed was intense and occasionally heated. Names were proposed, debated, accepted or rejected based on power level, fighting style, reliability, and potential synergy with other team members.
"Son Gohan," Raditz said firmly. "He's let his training slip somewhat, but his potential is undeniable. We'll get him back in fighting shape."
"Broly," Vegeta suggested. "Raw power like that could be decisive."
"Piccolo," Goku added. "He's tactical, experienced, and his regeneration gives him serious staying power."
The list grew: Super 17, with his energy absorption abilities. Majin Buu, nearly impossible to ring out due to his elastic body. Tarble and Tapion, both warriors who had proven themselves time and again.
Raditz was deliberately selecting fighters who had achieved at least Super Saiyan 3-level power or equivalent. Warriors like Nappa, Pepara, and Zucara—stuck at Super Saiyan 2—didn't make the cut despite their potential. Android 18, while formidable, didn't quite meet the threshold either. Zangya was certainly strong enough, but Raditz knew better than to risk his wife in something this dangerous if he could avoid it. Rukon, Goten, and Trunks all showed incredible promise for their ages, but they were still too young, too inexperienced for a stage this brutal.
"That gives us nine confirmed fighters," Shin observed, reviewing the mental list. "We need one more."
Suggestions flew. Someone proposed recruiting Rukon, but he was still too young and untrained. Others suggested seeking out hermit masters or legendary warriors who might be living in isolation somewhere in Universe Seven.
Raditz shook his head to each proposal, his expression thoughtful but firm.
"Hey!" Beerus's patience finally snapped. "This doesn't work, that doesn't work—who exactly are you planning to choose?! We're running out of time here!"
Raditz held up a single finger, a knowing smile crossing his face. "I have an excellent candidate in mind. Someone with extraordinary power, tactical brilliance, and a ruthless efficiency that could prove invaluable in a battle royale environment."
Everyone leaned forward, curious.
"Frieza."
The name hung in the air like a curse.
"WHAT?!" The collective shout came from nearly everyone present, shock and horror written across their faces.