As my vision fades—succumbing to another well-needed rest—I expect nothing.
No dreams.
…And yet—
I awaken.
—
My eyes open to Viltrum.
My body tenses instantly as I rise in a blur, every muscle coiling with instinctive readiness. My gaze sweeps the horizon.
Clean air.
Unpolluted.
Uncontaminated.
The architecture—flawless. Towering structures of purpose and strength, unmarred by decay or inefficiency. Order. Precision. Power.
…Home.
Or what remains of it.
I stand near the throne room.
My throne room.
A place that once symbolized absolute authority.
Turning my head, my gaze rises—
—and locks onto it.
The throne.
Occupied.
By me.
—
The figure sits in perfect posture, draped in the regal cloak of the Grand Regent. The weight of authority rests naturally upon his shoulders. His expression is cold. Unyielding.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
My reflection.
No—
Something else.
"What are you wearing, fool?"
His voice cuts through the air like a blade.
I glance down.
My attire.
A plain white shirt. Loose 'shorts.' Human sleep clothing.
…Sasha's doing.
I look back up, unflinching.
"Pathetic," he continues, rising slowly from the throne. "Wearing the garb of lesser beings. Intermingling with insects."
His lip curls in disgust.
"Oh, how you've fallen, Thragg."
I meet his gaze evenly.
"You claim I have fallen," I reply, my tone measured, controlled. "Yet you cling to the image of an empire that led us to extinction."
His eyes narrow.
"Our subjects turned on us. Our people fractured. Two thousand years of loyalty… shattered."
I take a step forward.
"And still—you wear that cloak with pride."
His expression twists.
"And you call me pathetic?"
—
In a blink—
He's in front of me.
Our faces inches apart.
No wasted motion.
No telegraph.
Perfect.
I track him without reaction.
Our eyes lock.
And for the first time—
I truly see it.
The rage.
Unfiltered.
Unrestrained.
Burning.
…Was this how I looked?
—
"You are a failure," he snarls, circling me now. Slow. Predatory. "You failed Nolan. You failed to preserve our numbers. You failed to uphold Lord Argall's legacy."
Each word is deliberate.
Calculated to provoke.
"To allow the empire to fall into the hands of a half-breed child—"
My fist tightens.
"—a weak, sentimental aberration—"
"You know nothing," I growl.
He stops.
Right in front of me.
Eyes blazing.
"I KNOW EVERYTHING!"
The force of his voice ripples through the air.
But I do not react.
Because I recognize it now.
This isn't truth.
…It's memory.
Distorted.
Refined into something sharper.
Something crueler.
—
His gaze shifts slightly.
Darkens further.
"It's the human," he says, voice lowering. "She has infcted you."
My eyes narrow.
"You hesitate. You restrain yourself. You… listen."
Disgust drips from his tone.
"You think you can live among them? Pretend to be one of them?"
He rises into the air.
I follow.
Instinctively.
"You are not human," he says coldly. "You are a conqueror. A destroyer."
I meet him at equal height.
"…That is not what I am doing."
My voice remains steady.
Measured.
"I am observing. Understanding."
His lip curls.
"Understanding what?"
"Why they changed us."
He freezes.
Just for a moment.
That is all I need to know I've struck something.
"Why Nolan—one of our most loyal—abandoned everything for them. Why others followed."
I continue.
"You clung to Viltrum's doctrine. Blindly. Rigidly."
I gesture faintly toward him.
"A single path. A single truth."
I shake my head.
"That rigidity… destroyed us."
"YOU'RE WRONG!"
His voice fractures the sky.
The world around us distorts.
Warps.
"Those humans are a disease!" he roars. "A poison worse than the Scourge Virus!"
His form flickers.
Reality shifts.
"Sixteen planatery cycles!" he snarls. "You've been among them for mere moments—and already you abandon everything!"
The world collapses.
—
Flames.
—
I blink.
And we are no longer on Viltrum.
We are in Gotham.
Or what remains of it.
Fire consumes everything.
Buildings crumble.
The air is thick with ash.
No screams.
No resistance.
Only destruction.
My gaze sharpens.
Recognition hits instantly.
"…This location…"
Our apartment.
Collapsing.
Engulfed.
"SASHA!"
The name tears from my throat before I can stop it.
—
A sound.
Choking.
My head snaps upward.
And there he is.
Floating above the destruction.
Holding her.
Sasha struggles in his grip. Her hands claw uselessly at his arm. Her legs kick desperately.
She cannot breathe.
I move—
But I am too slow.
SNAP.
—
Time stops.
Her body goes limp.
Eyes wide.
Frozen in terror.
Her corpse falls.
Disappearing into flame.
—
Something inside me goes… silent.
Not rage.
Not grief.
…Absence.
I stare as the fire consumes her.
Then—
I look up.
He is smiling.
"There you are," he says. "The Grand Regent."
"That human was clouding your—"
—
I move.
—
My fist connects with his face.
The impact shatters the air.
A shockwave erupts outward, tearing flames apart for hundreds of feet.
I do not stop.
I follow through instantly—closing the distance again before he can recover—and drive another strike into his jaw.
His body rockets upward.
Into the sky.
Into space.
Blood trails behind him.
—
I appear in front of him again.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
A barrage.
Each strike calculated.
Each impact devastating. He recovers on the fourth blow—
He blocks.
Counters.
Adapts.
—
Our fists meet.
The collision distorts space itself.
A silent war.
We recoil—
Then slam our heads together.
The impact shakes the void.
We hover.
Locked.
Eyes burning into one another.
—
("Did killing her make you feel something?")he asks, blood dripping from his lip.
I say nothing.
I strike again.
—
Thousands of exchanges follow.
Too fast for human perception.
Too precise for randomness.
Every blow carries intent.
Every movement reflects nearly three thousand years of mastery.
He mirrors me perfectly.
Because he is me.
—
I feint high.
He parries.
I follow with an elbow to his nose.
Blood bursts outward.
I press the advantage—
Driving my hand forward—
And impaling him through the abdomen.
He laughs. His laugh somehow audible in the void
Low.
Broken.
Amused.
("You think that will end this?")
Pain erupts in my own body.
I look down.
His arm is buried through my torso.
Piercing my heart.
—
We remain like that.
Connected.
Bleeding.
Unyielding.
("This is how it ends,") he says accepting. ("We are equals.")
He leans closer.
("There is no victory here.")
For a moment—
I almost believe him.
Because he is not wrong.
We are equal.
Same strength.
Same experience.
Same will.
But—
("No.")
The word is quiet. Even more so than usual.
His eyes narrow.
("…Explain.")
("You fight for what was.")
I wrench my arm free, ignoring the damage.
("You cling to an empire that no longer exists.")
I grip his arm.
Rip it from my body.
Blood drifts into the void.
("I do not.")
He snarls.
("And what do you fight for now?")
I pause.
For the first time—
I answer honestly.
("…Purpose.")
Confusion flickers across his face.
("A purpose beyond conquest.")
I surge forward.
Grab his head.
("A reason beyond domination.")
His resistance falters—
Just slightly.
Enough.
("A future that is not bound by the past.")
I tear with all my might
His head separates from his body.
Drifting.
Lifeless.
Silence.
My body gives out.
Flight fails.
Darkness creeps in.
—
As everything fades—
One final realization settles into my mind.
Cold.
Clear.
Unavoidable.
…I am no longer who I was.
And for the first time—
…I do not see that as weakness.