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Life can Change Chapter 91 — The Conqueror
🕑 Added 2025-11-29 06:35:53 +0000 UTC
Mark stood naked at the wide viewport in the suite, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared out at the sprawling city that seemed to be built in the sky. The Viltrumite capital stretched endlessly in every direction, thousands of towering spires that pierced the sky. Lots of the Massive structures floated in mid-air, connected by bridges that went to other buildings. Vehicles zipped between them, piloted by alien species in uniform, while larger transports hauled materials across the horizon.
It was nothing like Earth. No traffic jams, no billboards or neon signs cluttering the view. Everything here was perfect for lack of a better word, built on a scale that made Metropolis look like a small town. The symmetry was perfect, almost unnatural, with roads forming geometric patterns that fed into central hubs. He had to admit, it looked incredible, a testament to advanced engineering that far outstripped anything humans had achieved.
But as he watched, his thoughts shifted. How many worlds had been stripped bare to build this? He pictured the fleets of enslaved races his father had mentioned, entire civilizations broken and forced into labor. The silver towers were forged from resources plundered from conquered planets, assembled by hands that had no choice. Billions of beings, maybe more, had suffered for this view. Families torn apart, cultures erased, lives reduced to tools for Viltrumite glory. The thought disturbed him deeply. Was this the price of perfection? He clenched his jaw, wondering if staying here, made him complicit in it all.
'It's for your family...' he reminded himself.
Raven approached from behind, her bare feet silent on the floor. Her grey skin glowed faintly in the room's light, her body on full display; firm breasts with dark nipples, a toned stomach leading to wide hips and smooth thighs. She pressed against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist, her breasts squishing against his spine as she hung off him lightly, one leg hooking around his calf. Her hands rested on his abs, fingers tracing idle circles. "What's wrong?" she asked, her breath warm on his shoulder.
Mark turned his head slightly, smiling down at her. He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently, his lips lingering for a second. "Nothing's wrong," he replied. "Just thinking."
Harley skipped into the room from the adjoining chamber, completely naked as well, her pale skin marked with faint freckles across her shoulders and chest. Her breasts bounced with each step, though they were so perky they didn't bounce much at all. Her hips swayed playfully, her bare pussy visible between her thighs as she moved. She carried a small bottle of some alien drink she'd found earlier, taking a swig before setting it down. "Hey, big guy, don't think too hard," she said with a grin. "You'll hurt that pretty head of yours."
"Rude," Mark said as he rolled his eyes, though a smirk tugged at his lips.
"Aww, diddums," Harley cooed mockingly, stepping closer. She pressed her body against his side, opposite Raven, her hand sliding up his chest. She kissed his pec lightly, then trailed her lips downward, nipping at his skin. "Poor baby, all stressed out. Let mama make it better." Her voice turned husky as she sank to her knees in front of him. She looked up with a wicked smile, her hands gripping his thighs. "Mmm, look at you, already getting hard again. I love how big you are, how you fill my mouth." She leaned in, her tongue flicking out to tease the tip of his cock, which was starting to stiffen. "Gonna suck you so good, make you forget all that thinking crap." Her lips parted, ready to take him in.
The door chimed suddenly and before anyone could react, it slid open, and Anissa walked in without waiting. She was dressed in her standard Viltrumite uniform, the white fabric hugging her muscular frame tightly. Raven's eyes widened in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing a deep grey. Shadows flared around her body as she teleported away in a swirl of dark energy, vanishing to her private room with a soft pop, leaving Mark and Harley exposed.
Harley jumped to her feet, her hands on her hips, not bothering to cover up. "Hey! What the hell, lady? We're busy in here! Ever heard of knocking? Or, I don't know, waiting for an invite before you barge in on naked time?"
Anissa didn't react to the nudity or the outburst. Her expression remained neutral, her eyes flicking briefly over Harley's body before settling on Mark, who hadn't said a word yet. He stood there calmly, making no move to cover himself. "Conquest would like to speak with you," Anissa said evenly. "You have to show up straight away. He's waiting in the upper levels."
Harley groaned loudly, throwing her hands up. "Oh, great, now it's the one-armed wonder? That guy's a total creep, looks like he eats puppies for breakfast. Tell him to shove it up his metal ass we're in the middle of something here!"
Mark ignored Harley's rant for a moment, nodding at Anissa. "I'll be right there," he said simply. He turned and walked toward his private room to get dressed, his bare ass and back on display as he moved. Anissa's gaze followed him intensely, her eyes tracing the lines of his muscular back, down to his ass, and lingering especially on his cock as it swung slightly with each step. Her face didn't twitch, remaining completely stoic, but her stare was unwavering until he disappeared into the room.
Inside his chamber, Mark grabbed a fresh Viltrumite uniform from the wardrobe, the white fabric with red accents feeling familiar now. He pulled it on quickly, the material stretching over his broad shoulders and chest. Conquest wanting to talk didn't sound good, probably related to his father's punishment or some Viltrumite bullshit. He stepped back out, finding Anissa still waiting, Harley now draped in a sheet from the bed, glaring at her and sticking her tongue out.
"Lead the way," Mark said to Anissa.
She nodded and turned toward the door, but not before Harley piped up again. "Hey, metal-hands's pet, next time knock or I'll introduce you to my baseball bat. And not in a fun way."
Anissa ignored her completely, gesturing for Mark to follow. They exited the suite, the door hissing shut behind them, leaving Harley muttering curses and stamping her feet.
"What's this about?" Mark asked as he fell into step beside her.
"Conquest will explain," Anissa replied curtly, not breaking stride.
Mark didn't press further and instead just followed her down the corridor and onto the balcony where they both shot into the air and soared through above the Viltrumite capital, their bodies cutting through the wind with ease as they left the suite far behind. Mark glanced down at the streets far below them, where thousands of individuals moved about on foot or in vehicles that glided along the pathways. None of those figures possessed the distinctive features of Viltrumites, all of them belonged to the various races that had been subjugated over generations. Some carried loads on their backs while others operated machinery that maintained the structures around them.
Anissa flew beside him, she turned her head toward him after a few moments of silence. "How do you find Viltrum so far?" she askeed, over the rush of air that passed between them.
Mark did not respond right away, his eyes still fixed on the activity below as they continued forward. He considered the question while the cityscape blurred beneath them. "It is beautiful," he said after a while as he kept his gaze downward. "But that beauty exists only on the surface."
Anissa looked at him directly now, her expression showing curiosity as she adjusted her speed to match his more closely. "What do you mean by that?" she inquired.
Mark gestured vaguely toward the ground with one hand, his arm extending out as he spoke. "Everything in this city, from the towers to the bridges that link them together, came into existence through the efforts of other races," he explained. "Those individuals down there, and countless others like them from distant worlds, provided the labor and the resources that made all of this possible. They mined the materials, constructed the foundations, and maintained the systems that keep it operational. The entire foundation rests on their exploitation, which hides beneath the appearance of order and achievement."
Anissa nodded slightly as she listened. "This represents the natural order of things," she stated matter-of-factly as she glanced at the horizon ahead. "Slavery falls within our rights as Viltrumites, for we possess the capability to enforce it and the vision to utilize it effectively. The weaker species contribute to something greater than themselves, and in return, they receive structure and purpose under our guidance."
"It is wrong," Mark said sternly as he shook his head in disagreement.
"According to whom?" Anissa replied, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze mid-flight. "The weak, who lack the means to change their circumstances?"
Mark exhaled slowly, his frustration building as they passed over a central hub where more of the subjugated races gathered in groups. "Using your strength to threaten weaker races into servitude does not make someone strong," he told her. "True strength comes from building alliances where everyone benefits, from protecting those who cannot defend themselves, and from creating systems that uplift rather than oppress. Forcing others to serve only demonstrates fear of what might happen if they stood as equals, and it weakens the society in the long run by breeding resentment and instability."
Anissa brought her flight to a sudden halt in midair, her body hovering motionless as she extended an arm to signal for him to stop as well. Mark pulled up short beside her, his momentum carrying him a short distance before he adjusted and faced her directly. "You speak as a hypocrite," she declared as she crossed her arms.
Mark raised an eyebrow, but he remained silent as she continued. "I researched Earth extensively during my time there," she explained. "From the earliest records of human civilization, no period existed where people did not engage in some form of slavery. Ancient empires built their monuments with captive labor, medieval societies traded individuals as commodities, and colonial powers exploited entire populations across continents. Even in the present day, certain regions on Earth continue the practice, though they disguise it under terms like bonded labor or human trafficking, which mask the reality but do not eliminate it."
"This pattern does not confine itself to your world," Anissa went on. "It reflects the fundamental way of the universe, where the strong establish dominance and the weak fulfill roles of service. You understand this truth from your own history, and yet you label Viltrumites as monsters for the sole reason that we execute it on a vastly larger scale, encompassing planets and species beyond what humans ever managed."
Mark crossed his arms over his ches. "It is wrong, Anissa," he asserted. "Slavery denies individuals the basic right to control their own lives, which every sentient being deserves regardless of their physical power or origin. When one group forces another into labor without consent, it creates a cycle of suffering that harms everyone involved, as the oppressors become dependent on the very system that erodes their moral foundation and invites eventual rebellion. On Earth, societies that abolished slavery advanced further in innovation and cooperation, for free people contribute ideas and efforts willingly, leading to progress that benefits all."
Anissa did not speak for a moment, her gaze shifting away from him toward the city below as she processed his words. The silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the sound of vehicles and the faint sounds of activity from the streets far beneath. She finally turned back to him. "We need to proceed before we arrive late," she said, her tone shifting back to neutrality as she resumed her flight. Mark uncrossed his arms and followed her lead, his mind still turning over the exchange as they accelerated through the air again.
The spires that dominated the skyline grew denser as Mark and Anissa ascended higher through the atmosphere, their trajectories aligning toward a colossal structure that loomed in the distance above the city. They approached a massive ship which extended nearly three times the expanse of Gotham in its entirety, its hull curving outward in sections that accommodated docking bays along the sides. Smaller vessels nestled within those bays, each one matching the dimensions of the transport that had carried Mark to Viltrum, and that particular ship had rivaled the height of a skyscraper on Earth.
Anissa slowed her pace slightly as they drew nearer, her arm extending to point toward the vessel ahead of them. "This ship is called the Conqueror," she informed Mark. "It belongs to the Warlord Conquest, who commands it as his primary domain."
Mark widened his eyes in astonishment at the sheer magnitude of the ship, his body hovering momentarily as he absorbed the view that unfolded before him. He had anticipated that a figure like Thragg, with his position of authority among the Viltrumites, would possess a vessel of this scale, yet the reality surpassed what he had imagined in his mind.
"How does someone below the Grand Regent have a ship of this size...' Mark said in awe.
Anissa glanced at him while they resumed their approach. "All warlords maintain their own ships of this caliber," she explained, her hand gesturing toward the docking areas where the smaller crafts attached securely. "The enforcers who serve under them, in contrast, utilize vessels similar to the one on which we traveled to reach this planet."
Mark tilted his head in curiosity as they closed the distance to the entry point, his thoughts racing to comprehend the implications of such engineering. "Why do they reach such immense proportions?" he asked, his words directed at her while he scanned the exterior details that became clearer with proximity.
Anissa responded without hesitation, her flight path guiding them toward a massive hangar that opened on the ship's flank. "They function as mobile operating bases," she detailed. "Each one requires full equipping with resources that ensure self-sustainability over extended periods, allowing them to operate independently in remote sectors of space. They must possess the capacity to conquer territories through offensive capabilities, defend against counterattacks from hostile forces, and maintain supply lines that connect back to Viltrum or other planets under our control."
Mark nodded in acknowledgment at her explanation. The interior lighting activated around them upon entry, illuminating corridors that stretched far into the depths of the ship. Anissa then turned her head toward him again, her speed adjusting to a more leisurely pace within the confines of the vessel. "Whatever conflicts humanity has endured throughout its history pale in comparison to the galactic war that engulfs us at this moment," she remarked, her gaze meeting his for emphasis as they proceeded deeper.
Mark reflected on her statement internally, and it aligned with the broader context he had begun to understand since his arrival on Viltrum. The scale of interstellar battles demanded infrastructure on this level, where entire fleets could mobilize from a single command center like the one they occupied now. He shuddered to think what the front lines must look like.
They ventured further into the ship, with Mark still marveling at the intricacies that revealed themselves around every turn. One of the mounted weapons on the outer hull, which he glimpsed through a viewport as they passed, matched the size of an entire smaller ship that docked nearby, the proportions of everything challenged his sense of perspective engineering in ways he had not encountered before.
Slave races from various worlds greeted them at the entrance bay, their forms bowing in unison as Mark and Anissa touched down on the floor. The individuals represented a multitude of species, some with multiple limbs that facilitated their tasks while others manipulated controls with appendages suited to their physiologies, and they offered gestures of deference before resuming their duties.
Inside the ship mirrored the grandeur of its exterior, with vast chambers that interconnected through passageways engineered specifically for Viltrumite use. The corridors extended wide enough to accommodate dozens of beings side by side in flight, and their ceilings soared high overhead, providing ample clearance for aerial movement without restriction. Tens of thousands of slave workers populated the lower levels, each one engaged in maintenance or logistical roles, as they transported supplies or monitored systems that kept the vessel functional.
Mark and Anissa lifted off the ground once more, propelling themselves through the expansive hallways. They flew for several minutes, navigating turns that led upward through the ship's structure, until they reached the upper tier, where the environment shifted noticeably. No figures occupied the spaces here, the corridors empty save for the occasional automated drone that patrolled the area.
Mark glanced around in puzzlement as they continued forward, his curiosity prompting him to voice the observation. "Why does this level remain unoccupied?" he inquired, his eyes scanning the vacant halls that extended ahead of them.
Anissa responded while she maintained their course, her posture relaxed in the familiar setting. "Only Viltrumites or their designated guests receive permission to access this tier," she clarified, her hand indicating the sealed doors that lined the walls. "The others lack the prestige that would allow them to enter our presence, and we reserve these spaces for matters of strategy and command."
Mark withheld any verbal response to her explanation, though internally he harbored discomfort.
They proceeded through the upper corridors, their flight uninterrupted until they approached a set of grand doors that parted automatically at their arrivbal. Beyond the threshold lay a massive arena, its expanse rivaling the size of several stadiums combined, where over two dozen Viltrumites gathered in clusters around the perimeter. Among them stood his father, who conversed with a few others near one side, and Lucan positioned himself nearby, his attention shifting toward them as they entered.
At the very center of the arena, elevated on a throne, sat Conquest. His imposing form occupied the seat, his gaze fixed on Mark as he and Anissa descended to the floor below. The throne overlooked the entire gathering, providing a vantage point from which Conquest could address or observe all who assembled, the other Viltrumites turned their heads in unison toward the arrivals.
Mark landed softly beside Anissa, his feet touching the ground as he took in the assembly that surrounded them. Nolan met his son's eyes from across the room, a nod of recognition passing between them, while Lucan offered a brief acknowledgment as well, though it was only so he could scowl at him.
Conquest shifted slightly on his throne, his voice booming out to fill the chamber as he directed his words toward Mark. "You have arrived," he stated.
Conquest propelled himself off the throne with a sudden burst of motion, his body descending through the air until he landed directly in front of Mark, the impact echoing faintly across the arena floor. Mark held his position without any sign of retreat, his stance steady as he met the warlord's gaze head-on.
Conquest leaned in closer, his nostrils flaring while he inhaled deeply. "You carry the scent of a mongrel," he declared, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Mark from head to toe.
"Let me tell you something boy... I consider you weak in every aspect that matters, you do not deserve the Viltrumite blood that courses through your veins, which your father passed to you despite his own failings. If the Grand Regent had not intervened with his decree, I would have ended your existencel already, just as your weak father should have done when you were born."
Mark listened in silence, his expression unchanging as Conquest halted in front of him once more. "The Grand Regent has proclaimed you as one of us, however, and I will not challenge the judgment of the greatest among our species, whom we all follow without question. It has now been determined that you will command a mission to assault an enemy outpost alongside the Saiyans, and this order comes directly from the Grand Regent himself, who sees potential where others might not."
Conquest paused for a moment, his gaze intensifying as he stepped even nearer to Mark. "As an enforcer under my authority, though, I refuse to allow someone who appears and reeks of frailty to embody our race in any capacity, especially in battles that define our dominance."
Mark responded by crossing his arms over his chest, his demeanor showing no trace of intimidation or concern, while he maintained eye contact with the warlord.
This display of composure irritated Conquest further, his features twisting as he jabbed a finger toward Mark's face. "I do not want to witness any of your human abilities during this trial," he warned, his voice rising in volume. "As a hybrid you may have abilities beyond a Full Blooded Viltrumite, but from what I've heard your education in your Viltrumite abilities is severely lacking."
Conquest narrowed his eyes. "Thragg is the greatest amongst us he could kill us all without even needing his hybrid abilities, the fact that you could be considered the same as him is offensive... making up for weakness with your abilities makes you weak and I won't have it!"
Mark uncrossed his arms briefly, his head tilting slightly as he formulated his reply. "Why should I listen to you?" he aske calmly, which elicited gasps of surprise and murmurs of anger from several Viltrumites who stood around the arena.
Anissa moved forward quickly from her position beside Mark, her hand extending as if to restrain him. "You must cease this immediately," she urged, her eyes darting between Mark and Conquest while she positioned herself partially in between them.
Conquest raised his organic hand toward her. "Hold your tongue, woman," he snapped, his attention remaining fixed on Mark as he dismissed her intervention without a glance.
Conquest then lowered his hand, his lips curling into a sneer while he addressed Mark again. "I hope you disregard my instructions entirely," he said. "I hope you resist with all the fire you can muster, so that I gain the opportunity to shatter your spine in front of everyone here." He elaborated further, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper that still carried across the chamber. "Once you cross the line far enough that even the Grand Regent withdraws his protection, I will eradicate you completely, along with the women who accompany you, though not before I make use of them and see if I can spawn some Hybrids of my own."
Mark felt a surge of rage building within him at the threat, his fists clenching at his sides as he advanced a step closer to Conquest, their faces now inches apart. The warlord's words had struck a nerve, Mark's breathing quickened while he stared into Conquest's eyes.
Conquest responded with a grin spreading across his face, his teeth bared in anticipation. "Go ahead, boy," he taunted, his body tensing as if ready for the clash. "Provide me with the justification I need, and let us settle this now."
Mark raised his fist instinctively, his muscles coiling for the strike, but he halted himself at the last moment, his mind racing with reminders of his purpose here. He recalled that he had come to this place for the sake of his family, and he refused to allow provocation to derail that goal. He lowered his arm slowly, his anger subsiding as he stepped back, though tension lingered in his posture.
Conquest shook his head in evident disappointment, his grin fading as he turned away from Mark. "Take your place," he ordered Anissa, who complied by moving to a designated spot along the arena's edge.
Conquest then ascended back to his throne, his form settling into the seat as he overlooked the assembly. He lifted his hand high, signaling the commencement of the event, and four Viltrumites whom Mark had never encountered before descended onto the central platform.
"Fight until you reach your limits," Conquest announced from his elevated position. "No other rules apply, and the outcome will determine your readiness for the mission ahead."
The four Viltrumites spread out in a diamond formation around Mark on the platform, their bodies hovering just above the ground while they sized him up with glances that passed between them. The first one, a male with a scar across his cheek, shot forward in a blur, his fist aimed at Mark's jaw, Mark twisted his torso to dodge it, countering with a punch that grazed the attacker's shoulder. Before Mark could follow through, the second Viltrumite, a female with short hair, dove in from above, her knee driving toward his back, which forced him to fly upward and spin away, but the third, another male, intercepted him midair with a tackle that slammed them both into the arena wall.
Mark shoved the third Viltrumite off him, his hands gripping the opponent's uniform as he hurled him downward, yet the fourth Viltrumite, who moved with seamless flight control, looped around from below and caught his comrade, using the momentum to propel both of them back up toward Mark in a synchronized assault. They collided with Mark simultaneously, one punching his ribs while the other kicked at his legs, and Mark grunted as he felt bones crack under the impacts, blood spraying from his mouth when a follow-up elbow connected with his chin. He retaliated by grabbing the fourth Viltrumite's arm and yanking it hard, dislocating the joint with a wet pop, but the injured one twisted in midair, using his flight to reorient upside down relative to Mark and deliver a headbutt that split Mark's forehead open, warm blood trickling into his eyes.
The group pressed their advantage, the first Viltrumite flying in sideways to clip Mark's side with a spinning kick, which sent him tumbling through the air, the second capitalized by rocketing upward to meet him, her fists raining down in rapid succession on his chest and face. Mark blocked some blows, but others landed solidly, bruising his organs and tearing skin where knuckles met flesh, and he coughed up more blood as he finally managed to catch her wrist, twisting it until he heard the snap of breaking bones. She screamed and pulled back, yet her allies swarmed in from all directions, the third flipping horizontally to grab Mark's leg and yank him downward while the first ascended vertically to punch him from above.
Mark crashed to the platform floor, the impact cratering the surface beneath him, he rolled aside just as the fourth stomped down where his head had been, the boot cracking the material further. He sprang up, launching a punch at the nearest foe, but they scattered in perfect unison, two flying left while two went right, then converging again from inverted positions, one attacking from what Mark perceived as below while another came from the side, their flight allowing them to treat the arena as a sphere rather than a flat plane. Punches and kicks connected with his body in a flurry, ribs fracturing, skin splitting across his knuckles when he struck back, and blood from all parties spattered the ground as Mark's superior speed let him land a devastating hook that caved in the second Viltrumite's cheekbone, bone fragments protruding through the torn flesh.
From the sidelines, Anissa leaned toward Nolan, her arms crossed while she watched the battle unfold in the center. "Do you think he can win?" she asked.
Nolan kept his eyes on the fight, his expression stoic as he replied. "He's got the raw power and the speed over each of them, but being human limits him. Until he adapts to fighting freely in three dimensions, like we do, he'll stay on the defensive, and they'll wear him down with their experience."
The battle intensified as Mark flew upward to escape a pincer attack, yet the Viltrumites anticipated it, the first and third flipping their orientations to pursue him headfirst from what seemed like downward trajectories, their fists extended like spears. Mark met the first with a knee to the gut that folded him in half, but the third grazed Mark's side, their nails raking deep gashes that exposed muscle and sinew. The fourth joined from a sideways loop, grabbing Mark's arm and wrenching it while the second, despite her broken wrist, flew in to kick at his exposed back, her boot heel cracking vertebrae.
Mark roared in pain, blood flowing from multiple wounds, and he headbutted the fourth backward, the impact shattering the Viltrumite's nose in a spray of crimson, cartilage crunching audibly. He then spun in place, using his greater strength to fling the third away, but they regrouped instantly, their flight letting them stabilize in any direction without losing momentum, and they charged again, two coming from above while two approached horizontally, fists and feet blurring in coordinated strikes. Mark blocked a punch, countered with an elbow that split the first Viltrumite's lip wide open, teeth scattering across the platform, yet a kick from behind buckled his knee.
Anissa shifted her weight. "If he doesn't adjust soon, they might overwhelm him completely."
Nolan nodded slightly, his fists clenched at his sides as he watched his son endure another barrage. "He will. Mark may be young, but he has been constantly fighting since he gained his Viltrumite abilities, most of those enemies have been stronger than himself, he won't be broken by this."
Mark's mind raced amid the fight, analyzing their patterns as he dodged a dive from the second Viltrumite, who oriented herself upside down to strike at his legs, he noted how they used flight not just for speed but for creating artificial leverage points in open space, just like Anissa and his father did. He feigned a retreat, luring the first closer, then exploded upward with a punch that shattered the Viltrumite's jaw, bone fragments embedding in his own knuckles, blood mixing as the foe spiraled away. The others closed in, but Mark anticipated their coordination this time, dropping suddenly to what felt like below while twisting his body to face the third, whom he grabbed by the throat and slammed into the fourth, their heads colliding with a crack that split skulls open, gray matter leaking from the wounds.
The second Viltrumite recovered and flew at him sideways, her good arm swinging in a haymaker, yet Mark inverted his own orientation midair, treating her approach as if it came from above, and he countered with a knee that punctured her abdomen. He pressed the advantage now, his plan solidifying to isolate them by disrupting their formation, and he rocketed toward the first, who had regained his footing, delivering a series of rapid punches that pulped the Viltrumite's face, eyes bursting under the pressure, blood and vitreous fluid spraying outward.
Anissa raised an eyebrow as she saw Mark's shift in momentum. "When they don't have the advantage they almost look like children to him," she commented, her arms unfolding while she pointed subtly at the arena.
Nolan allowed a faint smirk, his pride evident as he responded. "Told you. He's overcoming that limitation step by step."
The third Viltrumite charged in a desperate loop, flipping to attack, but Mark met him with superior speed, dodging the initial strike and countering with a fist at his chest, ribs shattering inward, blood gushing from the cavity. The fourth, arm still dislocated, attempted a final assault from a horizontal dive, yet Mark grabbed him by the legs, swung him around in a full circle to build speed, and smashed him into the platform, spine snapping in multiple places with audible pops, vertebrae protruding through the skin amid a pool of blood.
The first Viltrumite with the mangled face, rose unsteadily and flew at Mark inverted, but Mark, now fully attuned to the multidirectional combat, intercepted him with a chokehold that crushed the windpipe, cartilage collapsing as the foe gurgled blood. Mark finished him with a punch to the temple that caved the skull inward, and then he turned to the second, who clutched her eviscerated gut, delivering a kick that snapped her neck.
The arena fell silent as the last two lay broken, their forms twitching in pools of their own viscera, Mark stood amid the carnage, his body battered with fractures and lacerations that wept blood, yet he remained upright. Conquest observed from his throne, his expression unreadable as he processed the outcome, while the other Viltrumites murmured in surprise at the turnaround.
Mark wiped blood from his eyes, his breathing ragged as he surveyed the defeated foes. He looked up at Conquest from the center of the arena, his lips curling into a smirk while he wiped more blood from his brow with the back of his hand. This gesture did not sit well with Conquest at all, his features tightening as he gripped the armrests of his throne. He pointed sharply at one of the Viltrumites who stood nearby. "Remove those failures to the healing pods immediately," he ordered, gesturing toward the broken forms of the defeated fighters that littered the platform. "Do it before I decide to end them myself and spare the empire their dishonour."
Conquest then shifted his attention back to Mark, his posture straightening as he delivered the directives he had received from Thragg earlier. "You will assume command of Enforcers Anissa and Lucan for this operation," he stated. "We have allocated a ship to you, one equipped for the demands of the mission ahead, your detailed orders await you aboard it in the command logs." He paused briefly, his eyes narrowing further as he leaned forward. "Now depart from my presence at once, I have no desire to look upon you any longer."
Mark did not linger in the arena, his body lifting off the ground as he flew toward the exit, Anissa along with Nolan trailed closely behind him through the wide corridors of the ship. Nolan caught up to fly alongside his son, his hand clapping Mark on the shoulder once they reached a quieter section. "You handled yourself well in there, Mark," he said. "Winning that fight shows what you're capable of, but listen to me when I say that Conquest isn't a Viltrumite you want to provoke lightly."
Mark glanced at his father, his expression unchanging as they continued forward. "Even among our kind, he inspires fear, and it stems from his nature that thrives on combat and inflicting suffering," he explained, his gaze meeting Mark's directly. "He's like a rabid animal unleashed, one who seeks out pain not just in enemies but in anyone who crosses him."
Mark shrugged off the advice, his focus shifting ahead as they approached the docking area. "I don't care about that," he replied. "One day, I'll end Conquest myself and that'll be that m."
Anissa, who flew on Mark's other side, turned her head toward him at those words. "You should not voice such thoughts so freely," she cautioned as she scanned the surroundings for any listeners. "Words like that could reach the wrong ears, and they might lead to consequences."
Mark ignored their concerns entirely, his mind already moving to the next matter at hand while they proceeded through the ship's upper levels. He slowed his flight slighty. "I need access to a communication terminal," he stated. "I want to inform my wives about my whereabouts before we depart."
Nolan nodded in response, his arm gesturing toward the path ahead where the docking bays connected. "Your ship will have one equipped in the command center," he informed Mark. "Anissa will guide you there directly."
He then placed a hand on Mark's arm to emphasize the point that followed. "This mission holds significant weight, son," Nolan added. "Your performance will shape how the empire perceives you from here on, and it could influence your standing among us."
Mark acknowledged the statement with a simple nod, though internally he held no regard for the empire's opinions or hierarchies. He turned to face his father fully now, extending his hand in farewell. "Goodbye for now, I'll see you when I get back," he said as they clasped hands. Nolan released his son's hand and watched as Mark veered off with Anissa, who led the way toward the designated docking bay.
Mark flew beside her in silence for a moment before curiosity prompted his question. "Tell me about this ship," he inquired, his eyes scanning the massive structure that came into view through the viewports. "Will it just carry the three of us, or does it include more personnel?"
Anissa shook her head as they approached the entrance. "The vessel operates with a standard crew complement of one thousand individuals who manage navigation, maintenance, and systems," she explained, her hand indicating the bays where smaller crafts attached. "It also houses five thousand soldiers prepared for deployment at any command, all trained in ground assaults and support roles." She continued without pause, outlining additional capabilities. "The ship features advanced weapon arrays for orbital strikes, shielding that withstands prolonged engagements, and fabrication units that produce supplies on demand during extended operations."
Mark absorbed the information with nods, though the concept of soldiers drawn from enslaved races churned discomfort within him as they entered the docking area. They landed in the bay where the command crew awaited them, a group of diverse species who bowed deeply at their arrival, their postures reverent as if in the presence of deities. One of them, a tall figure with scaled skin, stepped forward hesitantly. "We welcome you aboard, mighty ones," he proclaimed, his voice trembling slightly while the others echoed similar sentiments. "Your command honors us, and we stand ready to serve in whatever capacity you require, for your will guides our every action."
Mark offered a polite smile in return, his hand raising in acknowledgment. "Thank you for the welcome," he replied with a smile as he addressed the group. This response left them momentarily speechless, their eyes widening in confusion while they exchanged glances among themselves.
Anissa intervened abruptly, her eyebrow arching as she waved them off. "Your prattling irritates me," she stated flatly, her command leaving no room for delay. "Disperse now and return to your stations immediately."
The crew complied without hesitation, scattering to their posts as they hurried away from the bay. Mark turned to her once they departed. "You didn't need to treat them so harshly," he commented, his disapproval evident in his voice.
Anissa met his gaze, her eyebrow lifting higher in response. "Would you view it as rude if you swatted at a bee that buzzed too close to your face?" she asked, while she gestured dismissively toward the empty space where the crew had stood.
Mark sighed and shook his head, choosing not to pursue the argument further. "Just lead me to the communications center," he requested.
Anissa guided him through the ship's corridors to the designated room, where she activated the terminal with a few precise inputs on the console. The screen flickered to life, and Harley's image appeared moments later, her face lighting up with a grin. "Hey, Marky! Where ya been hidin'?" she exclaimed as she leaned into the camera. "I've been bouncin' off the walls here, and lemme tell ya, I'm feelin' a bit frisky if ya know what I mean." She then cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted over her shoulder. "Girls! Get over here, it's Marky on the line!"
Raven and Kara joined her on the screen shortly after, their expressions shifting from curiosity to concern as they crowded into the frame. "Is everything alright, Mark?" Raven asked. "You look like you've been in a fight, and we haven't heard from you in hours."
Kara nodded beside her, her arms folding as she leaned forward. "Yeah, where are you right now?" she added.
Mark explained the situation briefly. "I've been assigned a mission to lead an attack on an enemy installation," he told them, his hand gesturing vaguely to the ship around him. "It means I'll be away for a while, but I'll return as soon as it's done."
The women exchanged glances, their reluctance clear on the screen. "That sounds dangerous," Kara said, her brow furrowing. "Maybe one of us should tag along."
Mark shook his head firmly. "No, I need you all to stay and protect the children," he insisted. "That's the priority above everything else, and I trust you to handle it while I'm gone."
They hesitated for a moment, but eventually nodded in agreement, though their expressions lingered with unease. "Fine, but you better come back in one piece," Harley quipped, her finger pointing at the screen. "I ain't raisin' these kids without ya, so don't go playin' too hard."
Mark smiled at them, his affection evident. "I love you all and I'll see you soon," he said before the connection terminated. He took a deep breath after that and spent a moment composing himself, he didn't like the idea of leaving his family here, but he had little choice at the moment. He turned away from the terminal and flew directly to the command deck, where the captain awaited with the bridge crew.
"Set our course and get us moving."
(AN: Mark is on his first assignment and will be having his first interactions with the Saiyans. Always exciting. Especially since there are some sexy Saiyans that are definitely going to be in this story, though whether they make it as a permanent addition is up in the air. Though I'd say it's unlikely, I'm not too big of a fan of large harems anymore. If it weren't for the fact that the plot doesn't call for it I'd probably kill one of them... anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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Comments
Sin Vergil
I like how Anissa learned about Earth's history and took it as justification rather than what it should be, a warning. That the end of all societies built on enslavement and exploitation of "lesser beings" was and is inevitable and horrific collapse.
