The pillow was, in fact, incredibly soft.
Marcus had to admit that when his subordinates delivered results, they really delivered results. It had taken only two weeks of the allotted month for Melzalgald to locate the legendary artifact in one of the deeper treasure vaults, buried beneath approximately three thousand years worth of accumulated loot from conquered civilizations.
The pillow itself came from a world called Somnius VII, a planet whose entire culture had been built around the pursuit of the perfect sleep. The Somnians had been a race of beings who spent approximately twenty-two hours of every day sleeping, and they had devoted their waking hours to developing increasingly sophisticated sleeping technologies. Their civilization had produced mattresses that could cure diseases, blankets that regulated body temperature to the exact degree preferred by the user, and pillows—oh, the PILLOWS—that were so comfortable they had actually caused diplomatic incidents when foreign dignitaries refused to leave their guest quarters.
Boros had conquered Somnius VII about eight hundred years ago, according to Marcus's memories, and the Somnians had surrendered almost immediately after their leader had taken a single nap on a bed provided by the Dark Matter Thieves and declared it "adequate, I suppose." The insult had been so grave that the entire planetary population had laid down their weapons rather than continue associating with such barbarians.
The pillow currently resting in Marcus's private chambers was the personal sleeping cushion of the last Somnian Emperor, a being who had reportedly spent ninety-seven percent of his life unconscious and had considered it time well spent. It was made from materials that Marcus could not identify, filled with substances that defied analysis, and covered in a fabric so soft that touching it was like caressing a cloud made of baby angel feathers that had been individually blessed by the god of comfort.
Marcus had tested it, as he had told Nappa he would.
He had slept for fourteen hours straight and woken up feeling more refreshed than he had ever felt in either of his lives.
The pillow was GOOD.
Beerus was going to love it.
But that was a problem for two weeks from now, when the month was up and Marcus had to actually face the God of Destruction again. For now, he had a different concern, one that had been building in the back of his mind ever since his sparring match with Nappa.
He needed to fight something.
Not because he wanted to—Marcus Chen had never wanted to fight anything in his entire existence—but because his body DEMANDED it. The combat instincts that Boros had developed over millennia of warfare were not content to sit idle, and the brief exchange with Nappa had only whetted their appetite rather than satisfying it. Every day that passed without a real battle was a day where those instincts grew stronger, louder, more insistent.
It was like being hungry, except instead of craving food, he craved violence.
It was deeply unsettling.
It was also, Marcus had to admit, starting to affect his judgment. He found himself watching the Saiyan warriors who came and went from his ship with an intensity that made them nervous, his single eye tracking their movements and unconsciously calculating how quickly he could defeat them. He caught himself fantasizing about battles, about the thrill of combat, about the satisfaction of testing his strength against worthy opponents.
He was becoming Boros.
Not just wearing Boros's body and playing Boros's role, but actually BECOMING the being whose existence he had inherited. The line between Marcus Chen and Lord Boros was blurring, and Marcus was not sure how he felt about that.
So when Nappa informed him that a Saiyan invasion force was departing for a planet called Thenoria, Marcus made a decision that his past self would have considered absolutely insane.
"I will accompany them," he said.
Nappa's jaw dropped. Literally dropped, his mouth hanging open in a display of shock that would have been comical if Marcus had been in the mood to appreciate humor.
"M-my lord?" Nappa stammered. "You wish to... to join the invasion personally?"
"Is there a problem with that?"
"No! No, of course not, Lord Boros! It's just... you have never accompanied an invasion force before. Not in the entire fifty years of your rule."
That tracked with Marcus's memories. Boros had conquered the Saiyans personally, had fought their king and their champions, but after that initial demonstration of power, he had retreated to his ship and let his subordinates handle the actual work of running the empire. There had been no need for him to fight—no one in the conquered territories was strong enough to pose a threat, and Boros's presence was more useful as a looming specter of destruction than as an active participant in every battle.
But Marcus needed to fight.
And more importantly, Marcus needed to understand his own capabilities.
He had been operating on assumptions since his reincarnation, trusting his memories and instincts to guide him through situations without ever actually testing the limits of his power. He had faced Nappa, but that had been like an adult playing with a child—there had been no challenge, no risk, nothing to push him beyond the most basic level of his abilities.
He needed to know what he could do.
He needed to know how strong he really was.
"Things change," Marcus said, keeping his voice calm and authoritative. "I have grown... restless. The invasion of Thenoria will provide an opportunity for me to exercise abilities that have lain dormant for too long."
Nappa nodded rapidly, clearly not understanding but equally clearly not willing to argue. "Of course, my lord! I will inform the invasion commander immediately! They will be honored by your presence!"
"See that you do."
As Nappa rushed off to deliver the news, Marcus turned to stare out the viewport of his chambers at the stars beyond.
Thenoria.
According to the briefing materials he had reviewed, Thenoria was a mid-sized planet in a system about three days' travel from Saiyan space. It was home to a race of warriors called the Thenorians, who had developed a fighting style based on manipulating gravitational fields. They were not particularly powerful by galactic standards—their strongest fighters had power levels in the low thousands—but they were organized, disciplined, and had successfully repelled two previous invasion attempts by other empires.
They were also, according to the intelligence reports, completely unaware that the Dark Matter Thieves even existed.
They were about to receive a very unpleasant surprise.
Marcus felt a twinge of guilt at the thought, a remnant of his human conscience that protested the idea of participating in an invasion force. These Thenorians had done nothing to him, had no quarrel with the Dark Matter Thieves, were simply living their lives on their own world until an alien army showed up to conquer them.
But the guilt was distant, muted, overwhelmed by the hunger for battle that burned in his chest.
This was what Boros was, Marcus realized. This was what it meant to be the Dominator of the Universe. You did not conquer because you were evil or because you enjoyed causing suffering—Boros's memories held no particular pleasure in the destruction of civilizations—you conquered because you COULD, because you were strong and strength demanded expression, because a being of your power could not simply sit idle while the universe waited to be shaped.
It was a terrifying realization.
It was also, in a twisted way, liberating.
Marcus had spent his entire previous life as a passive observer, watching others act while he sat on the sidelines and critiqued their choices. He had never taken risks, never pursued his ambitions, never done anything that might result in failure or embarrassment or discomfort.
Now he was Lord Boros.
Now he had power beyond comprehension.
Now, for the first time in either of his lives, he was going to DO something.
The journey to Thenoria took three days, during which Marcus spent most of his time in meditation, trying to center himself and prepare for what was to come. His body did not need rest—Boros could go for months without sleeping if necessary—but his mind needed time to process the enormity of what he was about to do.
He was going to war.
He, Marcus Chen, the guy who had once cried because his cat looked at him disappointingly, was going to participate in a planetary invasion.
The absurdity was not lost on him.
The Saiyan invasion force consisted of approximately five hundred warriors, a mix of elite soldiers and lower-class fighters who had been assigned to this mission as a training exercise. The commander was a grizzled veteran named Taro, a scarred warrior who had been fighting in Boros's armies since before the conquest of Planet Vegeta, and who regarded the Saiyans under his command with a mixture of respect and barely concealed disdain.
He regarded Lord Boros with pure, unadulterated terror.
"L-Lord Boros," Taro said, bowing so deeply that his forehead touched the deck of the ship. "We are... we are honored beyond measure by your presence. I assure you, we will not disappoint you."
Marcus looked at the alien commander—a being with grey skin and multiple arms, whose species he could not immediately identify—and felt a flicker of sympathy beneath the cold detachment that Boros's instincts demanded.
"I am not here to judge your performance," Marcus said. "I am here because I wish to fight. You will continue to command this invasion as planned. I will simply... participate."
Taro's eyes went wide. "You wish to... to fight alongside us, my lord?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No! No, of course not! It's just..." Taro trailed off, clearly struggling to find words that would not get him killed. "The Thenorians are not particularly strong, my lord. Their most powerful warriors would pose no challenge to even our weakest Saiyan soldiers. For you to face them personally would be... would be..."
"Overkill?" Marcus suggested.
Taro nodded miserably.
Marcus considered this for a moment. The commander had a point—fighting the Thenorians would be even less challenging than his sparring match with Nappa. There would be no satisfaction in it, no opportunity to test his limits, nothing but the hollow victory of crushing opponents who had never stood a chance.
But perhaps that was the point.
Perhaps what Marcus needed was not a challenging fight, but any fight at all. Perhaps his body just needed to MOVE, to express the violence that had been building inside him, to remind itself what it was designed for.
"Your concerns are noted," Marcus said. "But my decision stands. Proceed with the invasion as planned."
Taro bowed again and retreated, and Marcus turned his attention to the viewport, where the planet Thenoria was growing larger as they approached.
It was a beautiful world, he had to admit. Blue oceans, green continents, white clouds swirling in atmospheric patterns that suggested a complex and vibrant ecosystem. It reminded him of Earth, of the world he had left behind when he died, of the life he would never return to.
In a few hours, this world would belong to Lord Boros.
In a few hours, everything would change.
The invasion began at dawn, local time.
The Saiyan pods descended from orbit like a swarm of metallic meteors, streaking through the atmosphere and impacting across the Thenorian capital city with devastating precision. Warriors emerged from the craters, already powered up and ready for combat, and the battle was joined.
Marcus did not descend in a pod.
He simply stepped off the command ship.
The fall from orbit was exhilarating in a way that Marcus had not expected. Wind—not really wind, more like superheated atmospheric friction—tore at his body as he plummeted toward the planet's surface, and he felt his power surge in response, an automatic reaction that protected him from the forces that would have vaporized any normal being.
He was falling at terminal velocity.
No, faster than terminal velocity.
He was a purple comet streaking across the Thenorian sky, and when he hit the ground, the impact created a crater half a mile wide.
Marcus stood in the center of the destruction, completely unharmed, and looked around at the devastation he had caused.
Buildings had collapsed. Streets had been obliterated. Fires burned in the ruins, and he could hear screaming in the distance, the cries of civilians who had just witnessed an extinction-level event land in the middle of their city.
He should have felt guilty.
He should have been horrified by what he had done.
Instead, he felt... alive.
The Thenorian military responded quickly, to their credit. Within minutes, Marcus was surrounded by warriors in gleaming armor, wielding weapons that crackled with gravitational energy. They were shouting commands, coordinating their attacks, preparing to face the alien threat that had literally fallen from the sky.
Marcus waited.
He could have killed them all in an instant. A single gesture, a fraction of his power, and they would cease to exist. But that was not what he was here for. He wanted to FIGHT, to feel the thrill of combat, to experience what it meant to be Lord Boros.
So he waited.
The first attack came from behind—a gravitational blast that was meant to crush him into the ground. Marcus felt it wash over him like a gentle breeze and turned to face the Thenorian who had fired it, a warrior with determination in his eyes and terror in his heart.
"Not bad," Marcus said, and he moved.
To the Thenorians, he simply vanished. One moment he was standing in the crater, and the next moment he was behind their formation, having passed through their ranks so quickly that none of them had even registered his movement.
"But not good enough."
He flicked his finger, and a wave of force swept through the Thenorian warriors, knocking them all unconscious without killing any of them. It was a level of control that surprised Marcus—he had not known he was capable of such precision—but it felt natural, as if his body knew exactly how much force to apply to incapacitate without destroying.
More warriors came.
And more.
And more.
Marcus moved through them like a ghost, dodging attacks that might as well have been standing still, striking with exactly enough force to neutralize without killing. It was not satisfying in the way he had hoped—there was no challenge, no risk, nothing to push him beyond the most basic level of his abilities—but it was SOMETHING, an outlet for the violence that had been building inside him.
He fought for three hours.
In that time, he personally incapacitated approximately twelve thousand Thenorian warriors, disabled their planetary defense grid, and destroyed their military command structure so thoroughly that organized resistance became impossible.
The invasion was over before the Saiyans even finished their initial assault on the capital.
When Marcus finally stopped moving, standing in the ruins of what had once been the Thenorian central command, he felt... empty. The hunger for battle had been temporarily sated, but it had not been satisfied. There had been no challenge, no moment of genuine danger, nothing that had forced him to push past his limits.
He was still just going through the motions.
He was still holding back.
"Lord Boros."
Marcus turned to find Bardock approaching, the Saiyan warrior's armor scorched from combat but his expression one of barely contained awe.
"The planet is secured," Bardock reported, bowing his head respectfully. "The Thenorian leadership has surrendered unconditionally. They... they wish to know who defeated their armies."
"Tell them it was the Dark Matter Thieves," Marcus said. "Tell them they now serve Lord Boros."
Bardock nodded and turned to leave, but Marcus stopped him with a gesture.
"Bardock. What do the soldiers say about my... performance today?"
The Saiyan hesitated, clearly uncertain how to answer. "They are... in awe, my lord. No one has ever seen such speed, such power. Some are saying that you could have conquered this world single-handedly, that the invasion force was unnecessary."
"And what do you think?"
Bardock was quiet for a long moment, his eyes meeting Marcus's single eye with a directness that few Saiyans dared to display.
"I think," Bardock said slowly, "that we have never truly understood how powerful you are, my lord. I think that the conquest of Planet Vegeta fifty years ago was not even a fraction of your true strength. And I think..." He paused, as if gathering his courage. "I think that there is nothing in this universe that could possibly defeat you."
Marcus considered these words carefully.
Bardock was wrong, of course. Beerus existed. Whis existed. The Angels and the Zenos and all the other divine beings of the Dragon Ball hierarchy existed. There were plenty of beings who could defeat Lord Boros, or at least give him a genuine fight.
But Bardock did not know that.
To the Saiyans, to the soldiers of the Dark Matter Thieves, to everyone who had witnessed his performance today, Lord Boros was invincible. Untouchable. A god in all but name.
It was a useful perception to maintain.
"You may go," Marcus said, and Bardock bowed again before departing.
Marcus turned to survey the conquered city, watching as Saiyan warriors rounded up prisoners and began the work of establishing control over the defeated population. In a few weeks, Thenoria would be fully integrated into the empire, its people put to work serving the Dark Matter Thieves, its resources extracted to fuel further conquests.
It was efficient.
It was brutal.
It was exactly what Lord Boros would have done.
And Marcus felt... nothing.
No satisfaction, no guilt, no triumph, no horror. Just an empty void where emotions should have been, a hollow space that the battle had failed to fill.
He needed more.
He needed a real challenge.
He needed—
"Lord Boros."
Marcus turned to find Nappa approaching, the young Saiyan's expression troubled.
"What is it?"
"We have received intelligence from Planet Vegeta, my lord. There are... rumors."
"What kind of rumors?"
Nappa swallowed hard. "Rumors of a rebellion, my lord. Some of the Saiyans are apparently discussing the possibility of... of overthrowing you."
Marcus felt something stir in his chest. Not anger, exactly, but something close to it. A cold, calculating recognition that someone was threatening his position, his power, his carefully constructed existence in this new universe.
"Who?" he asked, and his voice was ice.
"We don't know yet, my lord. The intelligence is fragmentary. But there are apparently factions within the Saiyan military who believe that fifty years of subjugation is enough, that the time has come to strike against the Dark Matter Thieves and reclaim their independence."
Marcus processed this information carefully.
A rebellion.
How... predictable.
The Saiyans were a proud warrior race, and they had spent half a century under the heel of an alien conqueror. Of course some of them would be plotting to break free. It was in their nature to fight, to struggle, to never accept defeat no matter how overwhelming the odds.
In the original timeline, some Saiyans had apparently plotted against Frieza as well, though those plots had never amounted to anything before the destruction of Planet Vegeta.
But Marcus was not Frieza.
And he had no intention of destroying Planet Vegeta.
Which meant he needed to deal with this rebellion in a different way.
A way that would demonstrate, once and for all, exactly why rebelling against Lord Boros was a monumentally stupid idea.
"When we return to Planet Vegeta," Marcus said slowly, "I want you to arrange a demonstration."
"A demonstration, my lord?"
"Yes." Marcus turned to face Nappa, and his single eye gleamed with something that might have been anticipation. "I think it is time to remind the Saiyans exactly who they serve. I think it is time to show them what happens when Lord Boros stops holding back."
Nappa's face went pale. "My lord... what do you intend to do?"
Marcus smiled, and it was the smile of a predator who had finally decided to stop playing with his food.
"I intend," he said, "to take off my armor."
The return journey to Planet Vegeta took three days, during which Marcus spent most of his time in meditation, preparing himself for what was to come.
He had never removed his armor before. Not in his four weeks as Lord Boros, not in the memories he had inherited from his predecessor. The armor was a limiter, a device designed to contain the vast reserves of energy that his body produced naturally, and removing it would unleash power that he had never actually experienced.
It was terrifying.
It was also, Marcus had to admit, exciting.
For the first time since his reincarnation, he was going to find out what he was truly capable of. He was going to push past the limiters that had been holding him back, to experience the full extent of Lord Boros's power, to understand what it meant to be one of the strongest beings in the Dragon Ball universe.
And he was going to do it in front of the Saiyans.
The news of the "demonstration" had spread quickly through the empire, and by the time Marcus's ship arrived at Planet Vegeta, a massive crowd had gathered at the planetary arena—a massive colosseum-style structure that the Saiyans used for combat tournaments and public executions.
King Vegeta was there, seated in the royal box with an expression of carefully controlled neutrality. The Saiyan elite were there, warriors whose power levels were among the highest in the race, watching with a mixture of curiosity and barely concealed hostility. And scattered throughout the crowd, Marcus knew, were the rebels—the Saiyans who had been plotting against him, who had whispered of freedom and revolution, who believed that the time had come to throw off the yoke of alien oppression.
They were about to learn how wrong they were.
Marcus descended from his ship alone, floating down to the center of the arena with a casual grace that belied the tension in the air. The crowd fell silent as he landed, thousands of Saiyan eyes fixed on the alien overlord who had ruled over them for half a century.
"Saiyans," Marcus said, and his voice carried across the arena without any apparent effort, amplified by some property of his body that he did not fully understand. "I have heard that some among you question my rule. I have heard that some among you believe that the time has come to rebel, to fight for your independence, to strike against the Dark Matter Thieves and reclaim your world."
He paused, letting the words sink in, watching as expressions of guilt and fear flickered across faces in the crowd.
"I do not fault you for these thoughts. You are Saiyans. Fighting is in your nature. To accept defeat, even defeat at the hands of a superior power, goes against every instinct you possess."
Another pause.
"But I think... I think perhaps you have forgotten why you surrendered in the first place. I think perhaps fifty years of relative peace have dulled your memories of what I am capable of. So today, I will remind you."
Marcus reached up and placed his hands on the clasps that held his armor in place.
"I have worn this armor for as long as I have ruled over you. It is not mere protection—it is a limiter, a device that contains my power, that prevents me from accidentally destroying everything around me simply by existing."
He undid the first clasp.
The air in the arena grew heavy.
"Today, for the first time in fifty years, I will remove this limiter. I will show you a fraction—the barest FRACTION—of what I am truly capable of."
He undid the second clasp.
The ground began to tremble.
"And then, perhaps, you will understand why rebellion against Lord Boros is not merely futile. It is IMPOSSIBLE."
He removed the armor.
For one single second, Marcus let his power flow freely.
The results were immediate and catastrophic.
The sky SHATTERED. There was no other word for it—the atmosphere itself seemed to crack and break apart, revealing the void of space beyond. Storm systems that had been hundreds of miles away were suddenly ripped apart by winds that exceeded anything the planet had ever experienced. The ground beneath the arena buckled and heaved, cracks spreading outward like a web across the entire continent.
Every Saiyan in the arena was slammed to the ground by the sheer PRESSURE of Marcus's unleashed power. Warriors who had power levels in the thousands found themselves unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but lie helpless as energy beyond their comprehension washed over them.
King Vegeta, in his royal box, was pressed into his throne so hard that the metal bent around him.
The elite warriors who had been standing guard found themselves driven to their knees, blood streaming from their noses and ears from the sheer force of the power that surrounded them.
And in the crowd, several Saiyans—the rebels, Marcus suspected, the ones who had been plotting against him—simply passed out, their minds unable to process what they were experiencing.
One second.
That was all it took.
One second of Lord Boros's true power, and an entire planet was brought to its knees.
Then Marcus put the armor back on.
The pressure vanished instantly, the sky began to repair itself—some property of the atmosphere, Marcus noted, perhaps a natural resilience built up over millennia—and the Saiyans slowly began to recover, gasping and whimpering and staring at their overlord with expressions of pure, undiluted terror.
Marcus looked out at the crowd, at the warriors who had thought themselves mighty, at the rebels who had dreamed of freedom, at the king who had spent fifty years nursing a grudge.
"Let this be a reminder," he said, and his voice was calm, almost gentle. "I am Lord Boros. I am the Dominator of the Universe. And there is NOTHING you can do to stop me."
He floated back up toward his ship, leaving behind an arena full of traumatized Saiyans and a planet that would never, EVER forget what had just happened.
The rebellion died that day.
Not with violence, not with executions, not with the bloody purges that Frieza would have employed in the original timeline.
Just with the simple, undeniable demonstration of absolute power.
As Marcus settled back onto his throne, he felt something he had not expected: satisfaction. Not the satisfaction of cruelty or domination, but the satisfaction of a problem solved efficiently. The Saiyans would not rebel again. They would serve the Dark Matter Thieves loyally, not out of love or respect, but out of the absolute certainty that resistance was futile.
It was not a kind solution.
But it was an effective one.
And in this universe, Marcus was learning, effectiveness was often the only thing that mattered.
"Nappa," he said, and the young Saiyan—who had been present in the arena and was still visibly shaking—snapped to attention.
"Y-yes, my lord?"
"Prepare the pillow for transport. We have an appointment with Lord Beerus in two weeks."
"Yes, my lord. Right away, my lord."
As Nappa hurried off to carry out his orders, Marcus allowed himself a small smile.
He was getting the hang of this "Dominator of the Universe" thing.
Now he just had to survive a meeting with the God of Destruction.
How hard could that be?