They know not to ask me questions. They've witnessed what happens to someone who does. I can sense their fear. It's a pleasant odor.
"Get us to the coordinates, now!" I bellow, my voice echoing against the walls of the ship. The sailors scurry to work, rushing to press buttons. The ship vibrates as it awakens, engines thundering like a dragon preparing to take flight.
They know what to do. They have watched my eyes turn cold and my fists clench when they don't follow orders. They don't question. They just do. They are not like me; they don't go looking for trouble like it means something to them. But they do follow me because I can get them to win. Or, at least, that's what I think.
My location is off-limits. It's a secret location, a safe haven where the odor of the Viltrum War cannot find me. It's a location on the map that is mine, a refuge where I can recharge my sadistic energy without anyone disturbing me.
But now, I have to venture into the eye of the storm. To my native planet, Viltrum. The Grand Regent, Thragg, will be extremely pleased to hear of Thaedus and Nolan. Two birds with one stone. Or, two traitors fallen with one blow? Ah, the good feeling of victory.
I jump quickly off my ship, as if I am fleeing a terrible job interview with my mother, and make a beeline for the big V.
Viltrum.
The planet is powerful. It gives you the urge to tear a planet in half. The moment my feet hit the ground, the area lights up like a Christmas tree in Times Square. Everybody knows I'm here. The Butcher's Voice softly whispers to me, nudging my darkest thoughts.
"Welcome back, Conquest," it whispers.
Lucan and Kregg, the two tough guys, rush over to me like they are going to give me a great big hug. They have their faces twisted up in anger, like they have been chewing on their fingernails. And then there is Anissa. She approaches me like she believes she is the best thing since sliced bread, and perhaps she is. Her eyes are piercing, cutting through all the garbage to reach the truth. A glance like that with a body built like a coca cola bottle can make a man do anything she wishes. And I mean anything.
They all approach me as if I am the centerpiece of a large buffet. I can tell they desire it, starving for a little of the power I am willing to share. So, I share it with them, a little piece of information packed with a lot of confidence.
"Thaedus and Nolan," I tell them, my voice like gravel on a microphone. "Dust. I made them see stars, but not the good kind you wish on."
Thragg, the Grand Regent, is before me. His eyes burn like two blazing suns. He is grinning big, and his smile could shatter a planet. I know he is proud. He should be. It's not a common day to be able to say you've killed the two Viltrum traitors.
"Conquest, you've done a wonderful job," he cries out loudly, "you've made our nation and our planet proud!"
The crowd is losing it, and they're all throwing up their fists as if they're attempting to create a tornado. The Butcher's Voice beside me is laughing, a harsh and unsettling cackle. It sounds like it's whispering, always whispering, "Look at you, you clever monster! Revel in their fear and respect!" And I do, I drink it in like a blood-soaked sponge.
Thragg places his hand on my shoulder, and it's like an enormous mountain coming down on me slowly. The guy was 6'10 with 400 lbs of muscle. "You are now the Chief Enforcer," he tells me in a voice like the ground shaking. "Whatever you say becomes the law, and whatever you do is what the empire demands. Go out and conquer whoever opposes us."
The crowd cheers once more, and the noise is deafening in my ears like the sound in a teenager's bedroom. But I don't notice the applause. There is work to be done. The Coalition is arriving, and they are not arriving empty-handed.
I see these powerful aliens, and I want to say that, even though they are each distinct, they are my people. And if the Coalition thinks they can just come here and take over, they are very wrong.
"Listen up, people!" I yell, my voice cutting through the din like a hot knife through butter. "The Coalition's on their way, and they're not bringing a fruit basket. We've got to be ready to greet them with a welcome wagon of pain!"
Thragg glances at the group, his eyes as keen as the swords we will be using. "PREPARE YOURSELVES!" he yells, instructing us to prepare for battle. The atmosphere is charged, with superpowered humanoids who are eager to destroy anything that will hinder us.
So we soar up into the air. The air parts like the maw of a giant monster and swallows us whole. We're off our blue safe haven, my home, and into Viltrum space. it's filled with comrades who were killed by the Scourge Virus. It's like someone threw a party for death and no one swept up the remains. Having bodies floating in mid-air makes you consider what matters most. It's not pride. It's not power. It's life.
"TO ALL THOSE FIGHTING AGAINST THE VILTRUM EMPIRE!" Thragg bellows in their minds when he spots the Coalition Avengers. "GET READY TO DIE!"
The Coalition Force is coming, and they appear to be serious. Alien superheroes who think that they are significant because they can annihilate a starship. They are even more pathetic now that Nolan, Thaedus, and Oliver are no longer with them.
Then, out of nowhere, Space Racer shows up on his space bike. He brings a bunch of red monsters with him that look like they just emerged from hell. They are Ragnars. Even we Viltrumites are afraid of them. They are like the ultimate secret weapon created to destroy us.
They are a terrifying nightmare, with bared teeth, claws, and full of rage. It is like taking the Hulk, making him even more angry, and instructing him to kill. When they emerge from Space Racer, they fan out like famished wolves. And the screams, how sweet the screams are. It is beautiful to me to hear. The Ragnars easily penetrate my people, and the Viltrumites are dropping rapidly.
Thragg's eyes are really wide, like someone just informed him there is no longer any beer in the entire universe. He doesn't lose his cool, but he knows this is serious. "Stay away from the Ragnars," he yells, his voice indicating just how serious this is. "They are the Coalition's secret weapon. We cannot afford to fight them."
I see Allen the Alien, the large red one-eyed alien who enjoys making trouble. He is standing next to a little human wearing a tech suit. I recognize him as Tech Jacket. He is quite adorable. He is battling two of my men, tossing them around like ragdolls and ending their lives with ease. It's impressive—until the other Viltrumites decide that two against one is unfair and swarm him like a swarm of angry bees.
The Battle Beast looks like a cat that has been mixed up in a blender. There is a gleam in his eye, as if he found the last piece of gum on the planet. He flys over in his miniature space suit and clutches at Thula's leg. Thula is significant; she is one of Thragg's top warriors, or should I say top cow? She is not pleased. Her eyes widen, and she lets out a sound that is half scream and half cow in heat.
The Butcher's Voice gently reminds me. "Look at him, Conquest. He looks like a boy in a candy store, but the candy is the agony of your enemies."
The child is about to have his hand slapped, yet he enjoys it. Battle Beast grins all the more because several Viltrumites rush towards him. He has yet more foes and is more wounded, yet he enjoys it; he enjoys the thrill of battle, the thumping crowd, and the pungency of fear surrounding his body. It is a cornucopia of agony, and he is the famished man in the galaxy.
Then something unexpected occurs. Invincible, the poster boy of not being so Invincible, all of a sudden attacks me in a rage. He's seething with anger and hatred, and he strikes me with a punch that's like a meteor impact causing a little blood. Unfortunately for Invincible, I don't feel it as much as I would have a months back.
"WHERE IS HE?" he bellows in my head, clasping me around the neck with both his hands, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM?"
I find myself smiling slightly, the corner of my mouth twitching of its own accord. "Oh, kid," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "You have no idea."
I move closer, close enough to smell his sweat from nervousness. "Your mommy can't speak at the moment. She's... busy, let's just say."
Invincible's expression is very expressive, such as being confused and angry. He grips my neck harder, and his knuckles turn white. "What are you talking about?" he growls in a tense tone.
But I don't lose my temper. I just smile at him, a smile that says, 'Oh, you're nearly there, but not quite.' "Your father, Nolan," I tell him in a suave tone, "I didn't kill him. That would be too simple. No, I transformed him totally. A complete gender change, courtesy of the Conquest Spa and Torture Chamber." I lie towards the end.
Invincible's eyes are extremely wide, like they're going to pop out. He is struggling to comprehend what I just told him, and his mind is racing. "That's not... that's not possible," he stutters, and he relaxes his grip on my neck slightly.
But I can tell he's taking it hard internally. The truth is difficult to swallow, and it's coming fast. I can practically hear him thinking furiously, attempting to figure out the puzzle I presented to him. I wave my hand at him dismissively, and he goes flying through space like he's heading towards the sun. He's got the look of a kid who just learned that Santa isn't real and that Santa has been naughty this whole time.
Invincible regains his flying powers, and his eyes are brimming with intense anger. He comes charging towards me in a flash, his fists clenched tightly, ready to strike. "You're a liar!" he screams, his voice lashing out like a whip. But he also knows the truth. Doubt, fear, and disappointment are written all over his face. It's like a soap opera, but with more combat and less weeping.
We battle on, striking each other with punches powerful enough to rattle asteroids. The shockwaves are immense, a display of fireworks. Yet in all this, the Butcher's Voice mutters in my ear, prodding me on. "Make him acknowledge you are the master," it tells me, "make him plead for mercy."
But Invincible is stubborn. He's got a strong sense of justice that can be very frustrating. His punches pack a wallop, but I'm not going to give up easily. So we fight, our fists flying fast with rage and power, our bodies slamming into other Viltrumites like we're in a giant monster film.
The Butcher's Voice is extremely loud and it is unpleasant. "Show him what you can really do," it mutters quietly, "let him see what he can never become."
So, I do. With every punch, I can feel the power building up within me. I'm like a dam waiting to burst, containing a massive wave of destruction. Although I enjoy seeing him fight, I know it can't continue indefinitely. It's time to stop having a good time and be serious.
"I've played with you long enough," I say, causing Invincible to come to a halt in surprise, unsure if I was being serious or not.
I yell loudly to frighten a T-Rex, and I punch him harder then ever before. My fists are flying, my legs are kicking, and I'm living in a Bruce Lee film directed by Quentin Tarantino. Invincible is struggling to keep pace with me, like, he's a Pixar hero, with a lot of heart but not for fighting Batman's Rogue Gallery of Villains.
When he punches me, it is a pat from a kitten's paw. It is frustrating, but it won't deter me. But my punches are a stern warning in comparison. Every punch sends him flying, like he is on a painful rocketship.
I see the fear in his eyes, and he begins to comprehend what is happening, like a sunrise. He sees that I am much superior to the man he encountered some months back. My youthful appearance was not just a pretence. With each punch and hit, the contrast between us intensifies.
He's like a ragdoll in the hands of a toddler with a vendetta. I throw punches that could knock out moons from orbit, and he's taking them like a champ. But even champs get tired, and eventually, even they get knocked out.
"This is your limit, kiddo," I sneer, my fist slamming into his jaw with a boom, as if a pistol had gone off. "You've got a good heart, but that'll not save you when you come up against the fists of Conquest."
I grin in an odd fashion as Invincible's body contorts beneath my blows. His once hopeful face is now contorted with agony and resembles a crimson-smattered mess. His costume, once a powerful emblem of bravery, now lies in tatters and in filth, flapping from his body like a pitiful, vanquished banner. Even from here, I was still holding back. I could've ended the fight in one blow if I desired it.
But just as I'm going to kill him, the Butcher's Voice in my head abruptly ceases. It is interrupted by another voice, Thragg's, echoing in my mind like a party drum blaring loudly. "Conquest! Enough! Leave him alive!"
I pause, fist raised high above Invincible as I glance over at Thragg. I consider why Thragg wants to spare him, then I recall the truth. The Scourge Virus murdered a lot of us, and we are now as uncommon as diamonds. Thragg is objectively right here without any metaknowledge. We can't keep killing each other.
But in my heart, I know why I don't beat him to death. Invincible is the boss of every RPG who you wish to battle again. He is the ideal punching bag boss to farm in a game or in this case for the System. And that expression on his face when he realized his issues with his father were more than he expected? Priceless. So I released him, allowing him to continue playing a game of 'Who's the Most Powerful Space Bully'.
Me.
Conquest.
Its reputation strikes gods, kings, and men in awe. I take pride standing here in this sea of stars. The stillness that surrounds us is much in contrast to war's clamor we left behind. My only companions are the deep metaphorical intakes of breathing of my other Viltrumites, the gleam in their eyes lighting up for triumph and for the desire to claim more.
"What happened here?" I say, faking ignorance, like a cat that didn't shatter a vase. But I actually do know what's going on. The Coalition Avengers are defeated, and the Ragnars are floating through space wishing they could fly like us Viltrumites.
"Minimal casualities," Thragg announces, standing tall like a bird. "The Coalition has departed. And the Ragnars are no longer an issue."
I nod and think on my feet. "What shall we do now, my Grand Regent?" I ask, knowing the reply in advance. It is like asking a shark what it will eat—it will eat something noisy and messy.
Thragg's eyes close, and he appears very stern. "Earth," he says softly, as if a great rock were falling. "We will travel to Earth. It is prepared for us to claim, and rebuild our numbers. The Scourge Virus took too much from us."
Kregg charges however, his fists glowing vibrant and multicolored like Christmas lights in a blender as he prepares to kill Invincible. He is as thrilled as a kid who just learned they are allowed to have as much candy as they want without being scolded. "Forgive me, Grand Regent, but he deserves death," he speaks softly.
Thragg apprehends Kregg as he attempts to finish my work. "No," he declares, "We need all the warriors we can muster."
Kregg snarls, his gleaming fists trembling with restrained fury. "But him?" he queries, his tone perplexed. "Why rescue the traitor?"
Thragg looks forward at the unconscious Invincible. "Because he is one of us," he says, his voice firm like the determination that drives our people. "We are not unlimited, Kregg. The Scourge Virus has thinned our ranks. We can't squander our strength in minor disputes."