SHLUCK.
The sickening sound of parting flesh and bone could not be mistaken. Thragg's hand pierced straight through Nolan's plaid shirt, driving deep through his abdomen, severing his intestines, and exiting out his lower back in a spray of hot crimson blood.
Nolan's eyes went wide, the pupils blown. He choked on his own blood, his hands weakly gripping Thragg's pristine white sleeve as he hung suspended on the Grand Regent's arm like a piece of meat on a hook. Behind him, Ms. Moo skidded to a halt, letting out a highly distressed, mournful sound.
"Dad!"
A sonic boom shattered the clouds above them.
Mark Grayson plummeted from the sky like a blue-and-yellow meteor, his goggles cracked, his eyes completely bloodshot. Seeing his father impaled on a stranger's arm triggered a blinding, unadulterated blood rage that completely overrode his rational thought.
Invincible slammed into Thragg with all of his strength. The sheer momentum tackled the Grand Regent across the pasture, tearing a massive trench through the earth and forcing Thragg to rip his arm violently out of Nolan's gut.
Nolan collapsed into the dirt like a puppet with its strings cut. He clutched his gaping, fatal wound as his blood begun soaking rapidly into the soil of the farm that he had sworn to protect.
Thragg skidded to a halt miles down the pasture, completely unbothered by Mark's tackle. Mark didn't stop. He was on him in a flash. Mark unleashed a frantic, screaming barrage of punches, driving his fists into Thragg's face, chest, and ribs with everything he had.
Thragg didn't even raise his arms to block. He stood perfectly still, his hands resting behind his back, letting the teenager hit him. The punches carried enough kinetic force to shatter cities, generating shockwaves that flattened the surrounding trees, despite Thragg absorbing much of the blows, but against Thragg's density, they sounded like a child hitting a solid brick wall.
"Fascinating," Thragg muttered calmly, completely ignoring the blows raining down on his face. His eyes tracked Mark's speed, his output, and the biological density of his muscles. "A human mother. An insect. Yet your DNA has nearly overwritten the inferior genes entirely. You are a near-perfect replication of pure Viltrumite heritage. Living proof of our Empire's salvation yet."
Mark screamed, tears of rage mixing with the sweat on his face as he drew his arm back for a massive, full-body haymaker.
Thragg sighed. He casually reached up and caught Mark's fist in mid-air. The abrupt, immovable halt of momentum sent a shockwave up Mark's arm, instantly shattering the bones in his knuckles and wrist. Mark screamed in agony.
"But your temper is horribly human," Thragg said, his voice laced with boredom.
Thragg backhanded Mark. The strike didn't just knock Mark away; it launched him entirely out of the farm. Mark flew through three consecutive barns, exploding out the other side in a shower of splinters, and skipped across a county highway like a stone on a lake. He tore up miles of asphalt before crashing violently through a steel billboard and embedding himself deep into the side of a concrete silo.
Thragg appeared in front of him instantly, as immaculate as he had arrived. He left Nolan to bleed out in the dirt miles away. He was only interested in the son now.
Mark groaned, his yellow goggles shattered, his face was swelling badly from where he had been backhanded while blood poured from his nose and mouth. He tried desperately to push himself out of the concrete, but his arms were trembling, his broken hand useless.
"You call yourself Invincible," Thragg said, floating inches above the ruined asphalt, his pristine cape billowing gently. He reached forward, grabbing Mark by the front of his bloody suit, and effortlessly ripped him out of the wall. He slammed Mark face-first into the hood of an abandoned semi-truck, crushing the engine block. "A fallacy of a name. A false idol for a weak planet."
Mark spat blood onto the shattered windshield, struggling weakly to pry Thragg's iron grip off his throat. "I won't... surrender..."
"For whom are you refusing to surrender?" Thragg mocked, his voice cold, humorous, and utterly devoid of pity. He lifted Mark up by the throat, cutting off his airway completely. "Who exactly are you protecting, boy? Look around you. Your world is burning to ash. Your heroes are dying in the dirt. Your father is a broken pet bleeding out in the mud. No one is coming to save you."
Mark choked, his vision swimming with dark, creeping black spots. His legs kicked uselessly in the empty air as Thragg's grip tightened, threatening to crush his windpipe and snap his neck entirely.
Then, a hulking figure suddenly appeared behind Mark. He was shrouded by the sun at the perfect angle to appear like a massive shadow. He placed a hand on Mark's squirming shoulder.
"He has me," came a gruff, gravelly voice.
Thragg's eyes narrowed. He paused his execution, his brow furrowing as he looked past Mark's shoulder.
Mark, gasping for whatever microscopic trace of oxygen he could force into his burning lungs, managed to crack his swollen, bloody eyes open and look up.
Standing behind him was a massive, muscular man. He wasn't wearing a superhero costume. He wasn't wearing pristine Viltrumite armor. He was dressed like a weary trucker who had just walked out of a roadside dive bar with baggy, grease-stained cargo pants, a red-and-black flannel shirt rolled up to his thick elbows, and a dirty baseball cap pulled low over his forehead.
A jagged, brutal diagonal scar ran violently across his face. One of his eyes was a ruined, milky white orb. And the hand currently gripping the back of Mark's neck was entirely prosthetic, made of dull, heavy grey metal.
Thragg stared at the man, a flicker of genuine, uncharacteristic shock cracking his regal composure.
Mark's blood ran colder than ice as his dying brain finally recognized the horribly scarred face of the absolute nightmare standing behind him.
It was the most dreaded Viltrumite.
Conquest.
[A/N]:
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