Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Pathetic.” His voice dripped with venom and maybe there was a hint of pity. Nonetheless, that word alone was like a knife to the chest as it perfectly describes how Mark felt in this heart-wrenching moment. No matter how hard he fought, it just wasn’t enough to keep up with them, let alone beat them. He was outclassed in every way. All that training he’s done to hone his powers has been proven futile. Multiple cities were nearly in complete ruins. So many people have lost their lives in a senseless tragedy, so many casualties without justification. And in the end, he couldn’t prevent any of it from happening. He couldn’t protect his comrades, he couldn’t protect those innocent people, he couldn’t even protect himself, and now as he lays here in a pool of his blood, bruised and beaten within an inch of his life, he looks into the eyes of the devil himself.

The Viltrumite known as Thragg towers over Mark’s immobile body, staring down at him with frustration but also disappointment. “All of this could have simply been avoided if you didn’t insist on being so rebellious. I tried giving you the easy option but you seemed to have wanted your chance to shine as the hero. Tch, and look at how far that got you. If you are Earth’s greatest hero then I truly feel sorry for those whose hopes were reduced to you.” At this point, he was beginning to have doubts about Mark being able to be of use to him. His fight against Mark was galling, and the boy severely lacked any technique, strategy, and killer instinct. Despite his doubts, he knew there was potential within him; he just needed the right person to push him to his limits. After all, he wanted his soon-to-be mate at his strongest.

The harsh reality check hits Mark harder than any punch he’s taken today and the worst part is that he knew Thragg was right about everything he said. He wasn’t a hero, no…he was a failure.

“MARK!” A familiar voice pulls him from his wallow. Through his swollen eyes, he sees the love of his life, Eve, charging in full force. He wanted her so badly to just run away.

‘No, Eve! Don't! He'll crush you!’ Mark desperately wanted to scream, but whenever he tried, the metallic liquid coaxed his throat and prevented him from speaking properly. However, he knew once Eve had her eyes set on something, especially something threatening her loved ones, she'd stop at nothing to protect them. Yet, try as she might, her energy blasts were ineffective on Thragg—they barely even tickled the juggernaut. That wasn't enough to keep her from attempting to stop him.

He dodges all of her attacks with unbelievable ease. Against someone like Eve, Thragg saw no reason to bare his fists against her; she was hardly a threat—no, she was like a pesky fly as she zips around just like one. And just like a pesky fly, he had grown rather annoyed at her feeble attempts to take him down.

She charges at him full force; this time, the energy surrounding her hands has gotten bigger, no doubt being able to inflict incredible damage. Unfortunately, she was outclassed by the Viltrumite, and what was even scarier was that the amount of destruction he was able to cause wasn't even the extent of what he was capable of; it didn't even scratch the surface. If he truly wanted to, he could've killed every single being on Earth in mere seconds. What was stopping him?

“ARGGHH-!!” Eve’s attempts to save Mark were utterly useless. As quickly as it started, everything came to a crashing halt. Soon, she finds herself in Thragg’s bone-crushing grip. She knew he could break her neck like a twig yet she still had some will to struggle. Thragg pitied her persistence.

With Eve in his grasp, Thragg acknowledges their relationship and uses it to his advantage.
“This will be your final choice, Mark. Agree to come back to our planet, and I'll leave your precious planet intact, or your lover dies along with this ball of dirt.”
His grip tightens causing her to choke out a scream, “M..M..ark!” The life in her eyes was rapidly fading and Mark could only watch in agony.

“Well.” Thragg presses for an answer. Mark looks at them with pure horror in his swollen eyes. If he refuses, then life on Earth as he knows it will perish, and if he goes to planet Viltrum, God only knows what will happen to him. He might not know what the future has in store for him, but he does know that if he leaves, then Earth will be safe for the time being. Just then the bittersweet thought crosses his mind. Sure, Earth will be safe but what about him? Will he ever come back? What will happen to William, Amber—his mother? More importantly, what will happen to Eve? There are so many possible outcomes with so few answers.

A choice, unfortunately, must be made. He doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt or killed because of him. It’s a tough decision but he knows in the end it was for the best.

“FINE!” Mark mustard up enough strength to speak. “Fine…I-I’ll go! I’ll fucking go back to Viltrum! Just please…”, his throat gurgled as he talked. Even while coughing up blood, he continues to plead, “Let her go…please let her go.”

Thragg scoffs at Mark’s begging; it almost made him sick to his stomach, seeing how pitiful the boy was being. He questions Mark's reliability to Nolan. How can someone as powerful as him birth such a feeble twit? Damn brat doesn't even have his powers fully under control yet. As much as Nolan’s negligence of properly raising Mark infuriated him, he digressed. Knowing once the boy is in his grasp, he will be the perfect Viltrumite.

“M..Mark, no-!” Before Eve has a chance to waver Mark’s decision she is suddenly thrown at a rather large tree, hard enough to crash right through it, leaving her buried under debris.

“Eve—argh!” Mark can barely call out to her as even the slightest movement sends waves of pain courses through his body. Unable to move, let alone fight, he watches in panic as Thragg makes his way back over him.

“No need to worry about her anymore. You can forget about her and your precious planet in its entirety.” Without much care, he tosses Mark over his shoulder before dashing off into the open skies.

“Eve…” Mark didn’t even have enough strength to cry out as silent tears fell from his eyes…knowing that this last time being on Earth.

His last time being home.

Chapter Text

Everything around her was pitch black; she couldn’t tell what was left, right, up, or down, but for some reason, she didn’t feel any fear of the darkness. No, instead she felt a sense of comfort, almost a euphoric feeling of her soul floating in nothingness. There was no feeling of stress and worry; for once in her current existence she was at peace. Something she has yearned for ever since Nolan abandoned Earth—abandoned his family.
Amid the darkness, there's a small circle of light. Curious, she follows it. The closer she got, the circle increased in size, and the light continued to brighten. So much so that it became blinding. In an instant, there’s no more darkness. Instead, multiple lights above her are overshadowed by two figures standing over her. Their mumbles could be heard along with faint beeping sounds from monitors.

She was lethargic, her mind weighing heavy when memories came flooding back. In fragments, she slowly starts to recall what happened to her. She had been at home when chaos ensued; one moment, she was reminiscing about how things used to be, and the next, her house was nearly wrecked by an ungodly being, watching in horror as her son desperately fought him off. Suddenly that’s when everything hit her all at once. Unable to control her body’s reaction, she immediately sits up and vomits over the side of the bed. She notices that she’s in an all too familiar white isolation room, along with two other nurses. That’s when it finally clicked that she was located at the Global Defense Agency. Quickly, they rushed to her aid, ushering her to lay back down and telling her that her injuries were far from healed.

She didn’t care about her injuries. The only thing—the person that she cared about was her son. “Where’s Mark?” Concern and worry overcome her when the two nurses fall silent. In all honesty, they didn’t know what to tell her regarding her son; the only thing they knew was that he was taken, and anything after was kept from them. “WELL!” She yells having grown impatient with them.

Suddenly a new voice catches their attention. “Debbie.” It was none other than Cecil. In a callous tone, he orders the nurses to get out of the room, needing to talk to Debbie alone.

Debbie felt some sense of relief in knowing that Cecil would for sure have some knowledge of what happened to her son. “Cecil, what’s going on? Where’s Mark? Is he all right?” her voice frantic yet firm, fighting to keep her feelings at bay. She needed answers and throwing a fit wouldn’t help.

Cecil closes the door and takes a seat next to Debbie’s bed. He didn’t want to tell her, but as his mother, she has every right to know. Cold and to the point he tells her, “Mark is gone, Debbie.”

“Gone…?” Her voice distraught, “Wh-What, you don’t mean he’s–”

Cecil cuts her off before she finishes her assumption, “No, he’s not dead. When I mean gone, I mean he’s not here on Earth.” he explains, “After losing the fight against Thragg, he was taken by him.”

“And you didn’t stop him?” Debbie felt both anger and disappointment, “You have all these state-of-the-art weapons and machinery–I mean, you even have monsters for crying out loud, and you mean to tell me you couldn’t stop one alien from taking my son away?!” Her outburst causes a surge of pain to pulse throughout her body.

“You need to calm down before you hurt yourself even more.” Cecil sighed as he hated seeing her in such a state. “We tried everything we could to stop him, but not only is their technology far more advanced than what we can ever comprehend, there’s no way for us to stop a full-force, blood-thirsty Viltrumite. Not yet at least.” He tries to find some reassurance. “But luckily we do have his whereabouts thanks to the tracker I had put in his suit.”

There’s a spark of hope in Debbie’s eyes, “Where is he?”

Cecil wasn’t too fond of the answer, seeing that it was going to take a shit load of work to try and get him back. “Planet Viltrum. Unfortunately, shortly after arriving, the tracker was no longer of use.”

She held onto her glimmer of hope, “If you know where he is, you’ll be able to bring him back, right?”

“There’s no guarantee but we’ll try whatever we can to bring him back home,” Cecil assures her as much as possible. The amount of work he knew he was in for caused him a slight headache. “You should get some more rest. You’re pretty banged up from the attack.”

Now that he mentioned it, “How long have I been here?” Debbie observes her injuries. Her body, from what she could see, was covered in sickly looking yellow and purplish bruises; her right eye had been patched up, and both a broken arm and a previously open fracture on her left leg had been stitched up and protected by a cast. She felt like shit at the very least.

“It’s been nearly 2 weeks since you were brought here. Gotta admit you’re one tough lady to be able to take damage from a Viltrumite and survive.” Cecil gives her a half-hearted smirk. Just before he leaves, Debbie’s plea echoes in his ears, “Please…please bring him back. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want my baby back home.”

With a heavy heart he replies, “Like I said, we’ll try our best.” as he exits the room.

Debbie, once she has the room to herself, silently weeps. First, her husband causes mass destruction and self-exiles himself from Earth; now, her son has been kidnapped without little say in his return.

It was all too much for her. Too much as a mother, as a wife, and as a human. She hates every second of what’s been happening around her and to those she cares about. She just wishes life would go back to the way things were before Mark’s powers awakened.

~~~~~~~

“How are you holding up?” Amber had asked Eve.

Amber and William had decided to get Eve out of her treehouse for a bit in an attempt to cheer her up. They had taken her to her favorite cafe. There was some enjoyment on her end, but the duo could tell that what happened two weeks ago was still eating away at her.

Eve smiles a bit, trying to reassure them, “I’m fine.”

“Oh, you don’t have to lie to us. If my boyfriend was suddenly kidnapped by a hot, buff alien, I’d be in bed crying for weeks!” William blurts out earning him an elbow to his side. “Owww~”

“What he means is”, Amber takes damage control, “you don’t have to wallow in pain by yourself. We all lost someone close to us that day. And instead of carrying that guilt and burden alone, you can always come to us for support. We don’t have superpowers or cool gadgets but we do have each other.”

“Yeah. No matter how big the situation is, we'll always have your back. But obviously, we’ll leave the fighting monsters and aliens to you, and I’ll be cheering in the background.” Another elbow to the side. “Owww, ok ok, sorry. Geez~”

Tears stung Eve’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. Despite her major loss, it felt good to have friends to fall back on for emotional support. With the way she’s been feeling, she appreciated their friendship more than ever. “Thanks, guys. I needed something to distract me from what happened.”

“Is it working?” William questions. He knows all too well how it feels to lose somebody that he loves. He recalls the feelings he dealt with when those unfortunate circumstances occurred with Rick. The only difference is that he can come to Rick knowing that he’s safe and sound. Eve unfortunately didn’t have the luxury. However, he still had plenty of hope for his best friend’s return.

“Of course, it’s working. I’m with my closest friends, got my favorite latte, and a chocolate croissant. I couldn't be better.” Eve forced a smile, and she knew that it wasn’t fooling these two.

“I’m not a psychiatrist but I don’t think a sweet treat is enough to make you feel a little better. But I can say a good start is being honest with yourself. I know we’re trying to cheer you up but we’re not forcing you to feel something that you don't.” Amber searches for the right words to comfort Eve. “Look, we all have faith in Mark’s return, and given his abilities and determination, I know it won’t be too long before he comes back. Easier said than done, you should start having more faith in yourself. We’re gonna get through this.” She gently places her hand over Eve’s and smiles, “Together.”

~~~~~~~

As she flew through the pink and orange skies, tears that she had been fighting to keep in all day started to overflow her eyes. She deeply appreciates both Amber and William for trying to make her feel better yet this heavy sense of guilt had a strong hold on her. “If only I wasn’t so weak, I could’ve helped him more. But in the end, I was completely useless…” She continues to replay the memories of Mark lying on the ground, bleeding out, and despite being on the verge of death, he still managed to protect her. Something that she wishes she could’ve done in return. That day plagued her consciousness. She’ll never forget the face of the bastard that stole him away from her.

It was at this moment that she realized that moping around and crying wouldn’t bring him back. She needed to hone her skills—she needed to be stronger. So that way, whenever the opportunity arises to save him, she’d be ready.

“I won’t give up so easily…I won’t give up on us.”

~~~~~~~

He hated waiting, that could be said about him. It’s been 2 weeks since he brought Mark to Planet Viltrum. However, because of Mark’s extensive injuries, the plans he had for him were put on hold until he was fully healed. He had been resting in a medicine chamber for way longer than he should have. The slow healing process was blamed on his human genetics. A full-blooded Viltrumite would’ve healed within a day or so, but never this long.
During his wait time, he had gone over the plans to build the Viltrum Empire with his subordinates. He even traveled to several other planets, inflicting mass genocide upon them just to satisfy his boredom. But now, yet again, he was left alone, contemplating the power that he would soon hold amongst the galaxy.

“Sir.” A voice roused Thragg from his thoughts.

Thragg sighs, not wanting to hear news unless it involves the half-breed. “What is it, General Kregg?”

“The boy has finally awakened.”

Chapter Text

Thragg smirks, pleased to hear of the news he wanted to hear. “And his vitals?”

Kregg clears his throat and answers, “His vitals are fine. They were stable enough for the doctors to estimate his awakening at any moment now.” That was all Thragg needed to know. He wanted to be there first-hand when Mark came to. He began to make his way to where he was being held with Kregg following behind.

Upon entering the holding room, Thragg witnessed Mark inside one of the medical chambers completely engulfed in healing serum. As doctors continue to check his vitality, he walks up to the machine and observes the condition Mark was under. Several wires were hooked up to various parts of his nude body. He was cleared of the previous injuries inflicted upon him. There is much needed work to make sure he would be able to hold his own, whether it be a foreign alien threat or even another Viltrumite. Not only that, Thragg needed the other to be strong enough to carry his offspring, he would take no weakling as a mate.

It wasn’t too long before Mark’s eyes began to flutter open. When he first regained consciousness, he studied the unfamiliar surroundings. Everything was slowly starting to register in his mind and soon enough he was able to recollect key details of what happened to him. From the attack on his home and mother, to his intense fight and the last thing he remembers is Eve being buried under debris as he was being taken away. To make his awakening worse, here he stares face to face at the monster that caused all of this. Seeing him again is enough for Mark’s anger to spike. Off brute strength alone he punches through the chamber, completely shattering the glass causing the serum to splash all over the floor.

Mark’s sudden outburst had the doctors taken aback yet both Kregg and Thragg remain unfazed by his actions. “You…” He never takes his eyes off his captor. “You bastard!”

Kregg is somewhat surprised by Mark’s energy, sensing his untapped power. He takes a step forward in order to intervene but Thragg tells him that his assistance was of no need. Kregg advises, “I suggest you stand down, boy.”

Mark, however, doesn’t take heed to the warning. Blinded by rage, he launches an attack against Thragg but his effort is quickly proven futile. Without moving from where he’s standing, Thragg single handedly catches the other’s fist and nearly crushes it—he had to refrain himself from doing so. Mark tries to use his other fist but that’d been caught as well. As he struggles against Thragg’s grip he feels a sense of embarrassment and defeat. Everything that he’s gone through—all the crime fighting, all the training he put himself through just simply wasn’t enough to beat him. Tears of anger sung in his eyes, he’s never felt more helpless in his life than he does now. ‘I really am weak…’

Thragg pulls the distraught Mark closer so that their faces are nearly inches away from each other. He averts his gaze but Thragg grabs him by the chin and forces his attention. Cold, stern eyes locked in with frustrated, tearful ones.

Thragg scoffs, “I can see in your eyes how badly you want to kill me.” His words were taunting. “You’ll need to get stronger if you want to do that. You should start getting used to your new home. Follow my every word and you might not get killed off so soon.”

“Like hell if I call this place my home. I'd rather be caught dead than be associated with a bunch of bloodthirsty freaks like you!” Mark shouted in vexation.

Though he didn't dare confess out loud, seeing the hatred in Mark’s eyes sparked something inside of Thragg. He couldn't help but smirk, “You still have so much to learn about your people but you have even more to learn about yourself. In due time I'll turn into a Viltrumite worthy enough to stand beside me in our empire. I'll turn you into a much better Viltrumite than your father.”
Thragg's smirk instantly disappears after Mark suddenly spits in his face.

“Fuck you.” Mark’s voice shook, hot angry tears that he'd been fighting back had finally started to overflow. Recalling his now absent father clouds his emotions. The inner child in him wanted so desperately to call out to him for help, he wanted his father to be here to protect him. In reality he knew his father wouldn't return, why would he? His son is a half breed who's leaning more towards the humans. He couldn't bring himself to kill even the most serious of threats and absolutely refused to let his Viltrumite instinct run wild. Mark remembers trying so hard to please him, only to be faced with subtle disappointment.

He wasn't the son of the great Omni-Man…he was just a failed experiment. A failed experiment that Thragg wanted to fix.

Thragg grunts in annoyance as he lets go of Mark. It took everything in him to not react violently to the disgusting action. Without giving a second glance, he turns and orders Kregg to get Mark a fresh pair of clothes and to bring him to the main hall. He leaves while wiping the spit off his face, clearly irritated.

Once he's gone, Kregg sighs as he walks over to Mark. “You are a brave one. If that were anybody else, their blood would have painted these walls. I advise you to not do that again, maybe he won't be so generous next time.” He somewhat pitied the young Viltrumite, knowing the other was starting to come to terms with his new reality. He repressed those feelings and directed, “Come. I'll get you clothed and see you to Thragg. Let's move quickly, he can be rather impatient at times.”

Kregg could see on Mark's face that the last thing he wanted to do was see that bastard's face again. “I am sure Thragg is going to explain his reasoning for bringing you here. Take that as you will. I won't guarantee it'll be anything you want to hear but at least you won't be kept in the dark.” without another word Kregg exits the room as well.

Mark knows Kregg is right. As much as he hated this, he needed answers and the only person who could give it to him was waiting for his arrival. Sucking up what little pride he had left, he reluctantly follows behind.
~~~~~~~

Now fully dressed in Viltrum’s signature all white uniform, Kregg leads Mark to the main hall. The closer they got, the more he felt apprehensive about their meeting. Each step he takes felt like heavy sandbags dragging his feet. He nervously clenches his jaw as he tries to stop his hands from trembling. The eerie white walls seem like it was never ending. But before he knew it, he was standing in front of a large metal door.

He looks to Kregg with almost pleading eyes, “Aren't you going in as well?”

“You're the only one he requested.” Kregg tries to give him some pep talk. “No need to fret, boy. The less fear you show the better your chances are of surviving this meeting.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” Mark sarcastically replies back.

Kregg presses a red button next to the door. Mark watched the metal door slide open and on the extravagant golden throne waited Thragg. Mark could feel himself growing more nervous as Kregg urges him to enter. He couldn't turn back even if he wanted to.
The door closes behind him and silence immediately fills their surroundings.

The prey has come face to face with his predator once again.

Chapter Text

Despite being told to not show any fear, Mark was borderline shitting bricks. The atmosphere felt uneasy yet non threatening. He could describe the feeling, it's almost like he was being reported to the principal’s office.
Everything was happening so fast, at least in his perspective—one moment he's back at home doing his normal hero duties, the next he's standing before one of the most powerful Viltrumites.

“Show some respect. Kneel.” Thragg demanded.

“Tch. Yeah, no. I'm not kneeling for an asshole like–!” A swift hard punch to the stomach was enough to make Mark double over in pain and drop to his knees. He forces down the vomit that climbed up his throat. “Fuck…”

Thragg floats back to his throne. He sighs and squeezes the bridge of his nose as if he is trying to stop a headache from coming. “I've grown tired of your rebellious nature.”

“Wh…what? Not used to someone not kissing the very ground you walk on? Newsflash, you won't be getting that from me, buddy.” Mark rebuttals.

“Such a disrespectful child…” A small smirk tugs on Thragg's lips. “Breaking you in should be fun.”

Mark took great offense to the words spoken to him. “I'm not your or anybody else’s fucking plaything. The moment I find a way outta this place, I’m leaving ASAP.” There was no way in hell he was staying trapped on this god forsaken planet.

“Oh? So you have a little escape plan I assume?” Thragg questions, slightly entertained by his rebellious talk.

“I…uh…” Mark realizes that he in fact does not have a plan. To be fair it's not like he knew he would be kidnapped. “Not yet but when I do come up with one, you’ll never see my face again.”

“Do you really think you can escape that easily?” Thragg questions him but his tone was taunting, planting small seeds of doubt into the young Viltrumite.

Mark had finally gotten back onto his feet, he still felt winded from the blow he’d taken but he simply refused to stay on his knees for someone he deemed as an enemy. “Yeah I do.” He looks to Thragg, his eyes dare challenge him, “And who’s going to stop me?”

“Me.” Who knew such a simple word could hold so much weight to it.
Mark couldn't exactly explain what he was feeling at this moment but Thragg's dominant aura made his skin develop goosebumps.

Mark was no match for him and running away now would basically be a suicide mission. As much as he hates it, he knows backing down is his best option right now.
With everything that's been going on, the one question lingers, “What do you want with me? I mean, there's so many beings that are way stronger than you could've gone after. Why me?”

“You're going to bare my children.” The answer was clear and direct.

“... I'm sorry, what?” It takes a few seconds to process what was just said. Did he hear him correctly? Bare his children? Like, actual children? It sounded so silly that even Mark had to chuckle at that. “Okay…this has to be some kinda joke, right?”

“What is there to joke about?” Thragg was dead serious about his statement.

Now Mark is even more nervous than before. “I…I can't do that. I-I don't want to.”

Thragg was in no mood for refusals. “And I'm sure your family and friends don't want to die either.”

“I won't let you hurt them.” Mark knew he was far weaker than the other but he'd be damned if he allowed him to cause any more harm to those he cares about.

“If you want to keep your precious ball of dirt intact, I suggest you drop this rebellious act of yours. This is your fate, Grayson. The quicker you understand that the better things will be for you.” Thragg knew exactly how to get under the other's skin.

Mark expressed both worry and confusion, he questioned him again, “Why me?” The thought of having children by a monster like him is unfathomable. “Why? There's plenty of women you can have babies with but you chose me. I'm a fucking guy, for crying out loud, it wouldn't even be possible.”

Thragg expected his reaction to be as such. “You foolish brat. There's so much you don't know about your people nor yourself. Did Nolan teach you nothing?”

“Stop bringing him up and what don't I know about myself? Since you have an answer for everything.” Mark is irritated but there isn't much he could do right now except listen.

“You're an Omega, Mark. Not just your average Omega, you're one of the very few that's left in our race.”

“Omega?” Mark was almost too afraid to discover what that is, however, he remained silent, allowing himself to be fed this information.

Thragg explains further, observing Mark's puzzled expression.

“Thousands of years ago planet Viltrum consisted of three classes: Alpha, Beta and Omega. Alphas rule superior due to their dominant and aggressive nature. Betas are more on the neutral scale, keeping a balance between us. And then there's the Omegas…”
Thragg trails off, recalling the dark history of their near extinction. “During that time, after our emperor, Agrall, was killed by Thaedus, the Viltrumites engaged in a civil war by killing off the weak on our planet. Unfortunately, due to an Omega’s nature of being submissive and nurturing, they became the main targets, while a few had managed to escape, the vast majority were brutally slaughtered, children included.”

Mark felt both disgusted and saddened upon learning of the Omega’s history. He felt even worse knowing that he fell under their category; not because he was an Omega but because he had no idea if he would face the same fate as them once Thragg was done with him.
“So is this why you brought me here? To use me for your sick desires and then kill me off when you're done?”

Thragg answers Mark's question with another question. “Have you ever experienced your heat cycle?”

Heat cycle? Mark vaguely remembers his father bringing up something similar to his mother when he was younger. When he first started hitting puberty, during certain times he would feel his body heating up out of nowhere and he remembers the feeling being uncomfortable. Luckily before it had gotten worse his mother would make him take repressive pills, given to by Cecil, in order to keep those sensations at bay. Now that he thought about it, since he doesn’t have access to those pills anymore, what would happen to him when he starts feeling that way again?

“I’ve experienced something similar to it before but it wasn’t anything to be alarmed about.” Mark answers truthfully. He tenses up when Thragg approaches him. “I guess personal space is foreign to you—!”

Before he can even finish that sentence Thragg wraps a hand around Mark’s waist, pressing his body against his own. He gently yet firmly takes hold of the young Vilrumite’s chin and closes the distance between them.

Mark is utterly dumbfounded, he tries to push him away but Thragg was an immovable force. As much as he wanted to reject what’s happening, that familiar warmth started to present itself. Being held in such an intimate manner nearly melts him. How?...Why wasn’t he appalled? He should be disgusted but for some reason he didn’t feel like he was in danger, he felt safe in Thragg’s embrace. But he knows he shouldn’t. This man had nearly beaten him within an inch of his life and now here he stands with his lips pressed against the enemy. This taboo act sparks something inside him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

As strange as it might seem, Mark didn’t want the unexpected kiss to end. Thragg pulls away from the kiss but still keeps the dazed Mark in his grasp. “I’ve chosen you because you still haven’t tapped into your full potential. The power you hold is far greater than mine. With us together we can rebuild the Viltrum Empire and surpass even the strongest creatures in the galaxy. You will be my mate and that’s final. Do you understand?”

Mark feels his face flush clearly still stunned by what just occurred. He doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from Thragg’s. The need to submit was egging him on but he wouldn’t allow himself to…not yet. “Yes~”

“Good.” Thragg returns to his throne, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Needing time to think to himself, he excuses Mark. “Go. Kregg will be waiting for you. Your training will begin soon.”

Mark slowly begins to make his exit but stops upon hearing Thragg’s warning,

“Don’t fail me, Grayson. If you do, you and your planet will cease to exist.”

Chapter Text

“I’m surprised you came out unscathed. Our leader must be in a good mood today.” This is the first statement that comes out of Kregg’s mouth.

Mark, not wanting to seem off, answers, “I guess so…” What had happened is still fresh in his mind and would most likely be there for a while. Nonetheless, he brushes their meeting off momentarily. The thought of fleeing crosses his mind, but then he quickly reminds himself that he's surrounded by beings far stronger than him; catching and killing him would be child’s play to them, and right now, he isn’t willing to take that risk. Deciding to stay put Mark informs Kregg about his upcoming training session.

“Yes, I’m aware. I’ll guide you to our training grounds.” Kregg's eyes Mark up and down, studying his physic and power level before concluding. “My poor boy. It seems that you’re severely lacking in both strength and combat prowess, let alone any knowledge of the battlefield.”

“I don’t think I’m that weak. I’ve faced plenty of tough aliens and monsters back on Earth. Not to sound like a narc but I think I can hold my own when it comes down to it.” Mark tries to defend himself from accusations of being weak. Besides, how can he tell just by a simple look alone?

“If that were the case, which it isn’t, you wouldn’t be here right now. No, if you were able to hold your own, you could’ve defeated Thragg and still been home living a somewhat peaceful life. Unfortunately due to your father’s negligence of properly training you himself, that isn’t the case for you, now is it?” Kregg's words were like an arrow to the back.

A sense of doubt in his abilities was starting to overcome him. As much as he wants to retaliate, he clenches his jaw and stays silent. There was nothing for him to say, the general’s right. He was weak and it has been proven time and time again. He hated to admit it but maybe some training with the Viltrumites could enhance his abilities.

“Come on. The sooner we can begin your training, the better.” Kregg directs him.

Mark continues to remain silent as he follows Kregg to their next destination. While walking, he goes over what happened in his meeting with Thragg. There was a lot of information to take in; about both himself and Viltrum. Finding out that he’s an Omega and learning of their harsh past made him feel uneasy, and there were still lingering questions he wanted to ask.

“About the Omegas…” Kregg’s ears perk up as Mark begins to speak about his newfound knowledge of them.

“I understand wanting to be a power-dominant race, but why kill them off? Wouldn’t that have the complete opposite effect of what they were trying to accomplish? Couldn't they just–”

Kregg cuts him off, “... Let's drop this topic. I would rather keep the past in the past.” His voice was melancholic.

“Oh…sorry.” Mark noticed the other’s hands clenched into fists. Did he trigger him by mistake? Not wanting to cause more discomfort Mark drops the conversation about their past. However, he was still curious about his own Omega traits. “Um…in the meeting, Thragg brought up something about having a heat but he didn’t go into too much detail about it. I was wondering if you could elaborate?”

There was a brief silence between them. Kregg calmly sighs and unclenches his clench. He saw no harm in informing the boy even further. “A heat is almost similar to what women back on Earth experience but with some differences. I’m sure as you’ve gotten older, your heats have become more progressively obvious, have they not?”

“I don’t think so…back when I was on Earth, my mother would give me pills to reduce them. So I never really noticed anything different besides being warm and having minor cramps during certain times of the month.” Mark answers.

Kregg had more of an understanding of Mark’s situation. “Then it’s safe to assume that you never really experience a full-blown heat cycle, poor thing. I’m sure your mother meant well, but keeping you in the dark about your anatomy will do you more harm than good.” he silently blames Nolan as well; there was so much that the fool didn’t teach his son. Could it be that he never wanted his son to know that he was an Omega, to begin with? Or was he too ashamed of coming to terms that he produced an Omega child? Either way, it was still no excuse to not properly prepare the boy, for goodness sake.

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know about your heating cycle so pay close attention,” Kregg instructs.

Mark walks up closer, now standing side by side next to Kregg as he explains.

“Every 3 months, both Alphas and Omegas will experience their heating cycles at the same time. During this time Omegas are more fertile and ready to mate. The majority of the time, they would already be settled with their Alphas, and during the next several days, the two will engage in vigorous sexual activities, one making sure the other is impregnated and marked as theirs. In case you don’t know, male Omegas can also become pregnant during this time.”

Mark nearly choked on the last statement as the information started clicking, “ Wait, so that means I have the potential of becoming pregnant, too?” That sentence alone left a bad taste in his mouth. He couldn’t phantom seeing himself pregnant, it was just too weird for him to fully grasp.

“As shocking as that may sound. It was more common than you think at some point. Many males on our planet have reproduced offspring.” Kregg almost wanted to laugh seeing Mark’s uncomfortably expression but he was here to educate him about his body’s natural functions. “There’s several ways of knowing when you’re in heat. You will start having strong sexual urges, and your sense of smell will heighten to an almost uncomfortable degree. There will also be some physical discomforts, whether it’s bloating or pelvic pain. As you stated before, you have experienced sudden warmth in your body during certain times, but now that you don’t have those pills to keep it at bay, you will feel like you’re burning from the inside out. Another thing you should know is that during this time you will release your scent. Think of it as your natural perfume. It’s usually a sweet smell and it will attract other Alphas to you and vice versa. Though that fact isn’t always a good thing.”

“Why not?” Mark was almost too scared to find out the answer.

“Some Omegas will go into heat but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they want to mate with anyone. But given Alpha's intense need to mate, they will resort to taking advantage of them when they are most vulnerable. Leaving many Omegas with unwanted markings and pregnancies. Some would even go as far as committing suicide after the traumatizing ordeal.”
Kregg can tell that Mark was increasingly becoming more uncomfortable. “Though I will say, not all Alphas are like that, whether they’re in heat or not, most of them would never engage in such a distasteful act. Being an Alpha myself, it’s an utter disgrace to be under the same umbrella as those scum.”

Mark found some comfort in knowing that Kregg wasn’t with the bullshit that some Alphas pull.

“Usually that part is kept out of the history books. I’m telling you this because as we speak you’re the only Omega on planet Viltrum right now. Sure, Alphas and Betas will mate but the fact that there hasn't been any other detected Omegas around for many years is sure to cause a stir once your scent starts to present itself. I would say the best options for you are to either fight them off or you could hide away for a few days, or you could just stick by Thragg’s side. He’s already set in stone that you will be his mate anyway, so you might as well use that privilege to your advantage.”

Mark can feel his face flare up from Kregg’s last statement. He didn’t want to rely on Thragg for protection, let alone mate with him. He wanted to be able to rely on himself for protection and not his captor. Knowing now that some Alphas would go as far as to rape others, he figured getting some training done to bulk up would do him some justice.
~~~~~~~
(Training grounds)

To say Mark was in awe would be an understatement of what he was witnessing. Sure, back on Earth, he thought the G.D.A. had some pretty advanced technology, but this place blew all of that out of the window.

The high-tech facility is designed to push the limits of physical and mental performance. Picture a large, open space with advanced technology integrated seamlessly into the environment. The ground featured floating platforms, holographic obstacles, and interactive surfaces that adapted to different training scenarios.

Around the perimeter, augmented reality systems project virtual enemies or challenges that appear as lifelike simulations, helping trainees practice combat, strategy, or problem-solving in a dynamic environment. Sensors embedded in the floor and walls monitor performance, providing real-time data on speed, accuracy, and endurance.

The atmosphere could shift with the use of environmental controls, simulating extreme conditions like harsh weather, hypergravity, or rugged terrain. Drones zip overhead, recording performance or adding an element of surprise to exercises. Meanwhile, AI-assisted trainers or robotic coaches offer personalized feedback, adjusting training sessions based on individual progress.

The whole space feels like a blend of athleticism and advanced technology, where physical and mental limits are tested and enhanced in ways that would have seemed impossible just a few years ago.
Out of everything, what catches Mark’s attention is a combat arena where a pair of fighters are engaged in a practice battle. It has clear glass walls, to keep the fight contained. The floor was solid, and there were no obstacles to hold them back–it was purely hand-to-hand combat. The arena was well-lit, with a focus on the fighters, and there were even seatings for spectators to watch the action.

Mark makes his way over to the arena and joins in with the other trainees who are already spectating the sparring match as well.

The male, taller and slightly heavier, relies on strength and power, launching forceful strikes and powerful kicks. The female, smaller and quicker, uses agility and precision to her advantage, anticipating his moves with keen reflexes.

As the match progresses, she counters his attacks with deft footwork and well-timed strikes, steadily gaining the upper hand. In the final moments, she lands a perfectly executed roundhouse kick, scoring the decisive point. The crowd applauds her for the victory.

However, the male wasn't too thrilled about being bested by someone he deemed inferior to him. His face flushed with frustration as he shakily rose to his feet after being decisively defeated in a sparring match. His opponent, a calm and focused young lady, stood firm, breathing steadily, her gaze unyielding. His fists clenched tightly, and a storm brewed in his eyes as he took an aggressive step forward, his pride stung by the loss.

Before he could act, the sharp voice of the female referee cut through the tension like a blade. She takes one step forward, her commanding presence halting him in his tracks for a brief moment. Her piercing stare left no room for challenge.

"Enough," she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. The atmosphere grew heavier as the man ignored the female referee's command, his rage boiling over. His fists tightened, and he lunged toward his former opponent, intent on unleashing his fury. The referee, her expression hardening, stepped between them with the precision and authority of someone who had seen this before.

"Stand down," she warned, her voice low and firm, but he was deaf to reason, blinded by his bruised pride. When he threw a wild punch, she moved faster than anyone could anticipate. Her body twisted fluidly, deflecting his attack with a practiced block before countering with a devastating strike.

It was over in seconds. He staggered, his eyes wide with shock, staring down at the now bloody spear that penetrated through his chest cavity before collapsing to the floor, lifeless. The other trainees continued to remain silent as the referee straightened, tossing her now bloodied braided ponytail behind her back once more. Her steady breathing is the only sound in the arena. She turned to the others, her voice calm but resolute: "Disrespect and disobedience have no place here. Let this serve as a lesson."

Not too long after nurses rushes in to remove the deceased Viltrumite. The woman didn't give him a second glance as she instructed the girl to take her leave and resume her training in a different area.

“Let's resume the sparring matches, shall we? Who wants to follow up next?” The referee calls up, waiting for the next two participants to enter the arena.

“I want next. That little show got me pumped up!” A voice breaks the silence, and within the small crowd stands another female Viltrumite. Her hair was short and shaggy, her defined muscles protruding through her uniform; she had both the aura and confidence to make others around her feel inadequate.

“Thula~” the female acknowledges the referee with a hint of playfulness in her voice.

Thula, on the other hand, remains cold, only acknowledging the other with a side glance.

As moments went on the female had grown bored rather quickly due to the lack of action. Whether it was practice or not, she was ready for a good fight, and since there were no willing participants, she started scanning for an opponent on her own.

“Who’s she?” Mark asks Kregg, making sure he whispers not wanting to draw attention to himself.
Kregg answers, “That's Anissa. One of the strongest female Viltrumites here.”

“If she's one of the strongest, then what's she doing here with the other trainees?”

“Though she nearly surpasses the majority of those here, she still likes to keep up with her training while honing and improving her skills,” Kregg explains.

Just when Mark is about to respond, Anissa's voice booms, catching his attention. “You.”

Mark suddenly but understandably becomes nervous, stammering over his own words he replies to her while pointing at himself, “M-me?”

“Yes, you. You must be Thragg’s new puppy. Never seen a cutie like yourself around here before. How about a little sparring to get us more acquainted with each other?”

If Mark didn't know any better he would assume that she was flirting with him. He was still nervous about accepting the challenge. “Ah, I'm–I’m good actually. I just–”

“Aww, come on. If it makes you feel better I promise not to break that pretty little face of yours.” Anissa sends him a playful wink.

“You might as well get it over with.” Kregg chimes in. “You can't avoid this training forever. This is just a sparring session; soon, you'll be facing far greater goes. Now will be the perfect time to see where you stand in terms of combat. Plus, you might not see it; Thragg is watching from afar, and disappointing is the last thing you want to do.”

Kregg can tell that Mark is still iffy on the match, so he reassures him. “If things get too ugly I'll step in and stop it myself.”

After a few more seconds of consideration, Mark finally caves in. “Fine.” He reluctantly made his way to the arena where Anissa awaited him.

He stood in the middle of the arena face to face with his opponent, shifting his weight from foot to foot, he tried his best to keep his hands from fidgeting. He didn't understand why he was so nervous. It's not like he hasn't had his fair share of fights before, so why did she feel so different compared to those he'd faced prior?

His heart pounded like a drum, each beat echoing louder in his chest as he glanced at his opponent—a seasoned fighter, calm and steady. The air felt thick, his breaths shallow, and the faint hum of onlookers' chatter only made him more aware of his trembling hands. He swallowed hard, forcing a nod when Thula called for the match to commence, his legs feeling like they might give way under the weight of anticipation.

What did he get himself into?

Chapter Text

Thula glances at both fighters, ensuring they are in position and ready. After a brief pause to confirm readiness, they raise their hand and firmly declare, "Ready... Fight!"

The sparring match begins with both fighters circling each other, their movements fluid and deliberate. Mark knows he has to rely on his strength and agility. Anissa was more experienced. She has a composed demeanor, her stance betraying her years of training.

Mark lunges first, aiming for a quick jab, but she sidesteps effortlessly, countering with a sharp kick that he barely blocks. They exchange a flurry of strikes and dodges, the sound of their movements echoing through the training space. Mark can feel his frustration grow as he struggles to break through her defenses.

Then, in a moment of unexpected boldness, he feints to Anissa's left and sweeps her legs out from under her. She hits the ground but rolls with the impact, her eyes flashing with approval at his ingenuity. For a brief moment, he has the upper hand, pinning her wrists as he tries to secure his position.

However, she smirks, unbothered. With a swift twist of her hips and a well-placed knee, she shifts her weight, throwing him off balance. In an instant, she reversed their positions, pinning him to the ground with one knee pressed against his chest.

“Not bad,” she teases, her tone playful but tinged with authority. Before he can respond, she leans closer and ruffles his hair with mock affection, making him scowl in embarrassed frustration.

“You’ve got potential, but you’re a few years too early to beat me.” She gives him a playful wink. However, her playful demeanor faded into seriousness. She leaned in slightly, her voice low but firm, cutting through the charged atmosphere.

"There's no secret that you're an Omega, your scent is a dead giveaway. You're rare, so you have a lot of eyes on you, unfortunately…” Growing up on planet Viltrum, she knows firsthand how vicious the Alphas can get during their heating cycles.

“If you want to protect yourself from other Alphas—or any other possible threats," she said, her tone carrying both warning and challenge, "you’ll need more than brute strength and speed. You need discipline, strategy, and training. Otherwise..." She released him, standing gracefully and extending a hand to help him up. "...you won’t stand a chance."

Her words hung in the air, a mixture of advice and an unspoken promise: this was only a fraction of what true strength looked like.

Mark takes her hand and stands up as well, feeling both winded and slightly embarrassed about how quickly their match had come to an end. ‘Just great. The last thing I needed was more attention. The quicker I can find a way off this planet, the better,’ he thought to himself, but then another thought crossed his mind, ‘but if there are fighters like her around here, that's gonna make things more difficult for me. Ugh, this sucks!’

Anissa makes eye contact with Kregg as she exits the arena. “I'll be taking him off your hands for a while. Might as well get him started on the basics.”

Kregg simply nods his head in approval. Mark, on the other hand, wasn't too fond of being away from Kregg. Granted, he barely knew the guy for not even a full 48 hours, yet he still felt the most comfortable around him.

Mark is only pulled from his absorption when Anissa casually tosses her arm around his shoulders. He felt somewhat jealous of her muscles–despite them being nearly the same height, he still felt small compared to her.

“Aww, don't look so glum. I'll have you trained up and you'll be kicking alien ass in no time!” Anissa cheers him on, trying to draw out some sort of confidence from him. But given his situation, she figured it would take a while for him to feel that way.

“You can fly, right?” Anissa asked as she slowly began to levitate.

“Of course, I can fly.” Mark begins to levitate as well.

“Good, then I hope you can keep up.” Within a split second, she flies into the air and dashes off in the east direction.

He knows that he has to follow suit, so he wastes no time flying after her.

Thula has had enough of the antics for the day and decides to dismiss those who were planning to spare. As she exited the arena herself, Kregg made his way over to her.
“So that's one Thragg was eager to get his hands on? Hmph, I was expecting a little more if I'm being completely honest.”

“It'll take some time to get him to tap into his full power. But I can say Thragg picked him for good reasons. Earlier today I sensed his powers. Though it was faint, soon he could either become a massive threat or an ally. Only time will tell.” Kregg explains to her.

Thula was still skeptical, but she didn't say anything more about it as she watched his flying aura disappear the further he went.
~~~~~~

The two Viltrumites soared through the sky, their figures cutting through the air with effortless speed. Anissa led the way, her streamlined form embodying confidence and control. She barely glanced back, trusting the other to keep up, though her sharp senses noted every movement he made.

Mark followed closely, his flight unsteady but improving with each passing moment. His breaths came fast as he struggled to match her pace. Flying still felt new to him, a mix of exhilaration and fear coursing through his veins. The wind whipped against his face, and he had to focus hard to keep himself steady, fighting the instincts of his human side that screamed against the unnaturalness of defying gravity.

Below them, the landscape shifted from rolling green fields to jagged, barren terrain. A range of rocky mountains rose ahead, their peaks cutting into the horizon like jagged teeth. The sun hung low in the sky, casting dramatic shadows across the rugged landscape.

Anissa angled downward, her movements graceful and deliberate as she descended toward a flat, isolated plateau near one of the taller peaks. Massive boulders surrounded the area, and the surface was pockmarked with cracks and scars, evidence of nature’s fury—or perhaps the remnants of past battles.

Mark followed her lead, descending in a less refined arc. He landed with a stumble, his boots kicking up dust as he caught himself. Anissa touched down smoothly, her expression unreadable as she surveyed their surroundings.

“This should be a suitable place to begin your special training,” she said, her voice firm and resolute. She turned to him, her piercing gaze locking onto his. Her demeanor wasn't playful anymore. “Now, pay attention. Blink, and you might miss something.”

The male swallowed hard, glancing around at the desolate landscape before straightening his posture. The air was thin, the silence oppressive. It was the perfect setting for the harsh lesson he was about to receive.

Anissa gets into a fighting stance. Her powerful presence is impossible to ignore. She has a sharp, angular face, piercing eyes that seem to analyze every detail, and a perfectly toned physique that reflects the strength and discipline of her species. Her uniform, practical and sleek, displays the Viltrumite insignia, a symbol of her unrelenting determination and heritage.

Mark's posture is tense and uncertain. His mixed heritage is evident in his softer features and slightly smaller frame, but his determination shines through. He shifts nervously, his fists clenched and his breathing uneven as he awaits instruction.

She demonstrates a quick sequence of strikes, her movements blindingly fast but deliberate, her punches creating shockwaves in the air. Mark flinches but nods, trying to mimic her. His first attempts are clumsy, his punches lacking precision and force.

"Pathetic," she remarks, her tone sharp and unforgiving. "Focus. A Viltrumite doesn’t hesitate." She launches a sudden attack, her knuckles aimed just shy of his face, forcing him to react instinctively. He stumbles but manages to dodge—barely.

As the session progresses, his nervousness begins to fade. With each failed attempt, he listens intently to her critiques, adjusts his stance, and refines his movements. His human determination drives him to keep going, while his Viltrumite physiology allows him to adapt quickly.

Soon, his punches carry more weight, his footwork grows steadier, and his reaction time sharpens. Though still far from matching her, he starts to anticipate her moves, countering with budding confidence.

Anissa’s expression softens—slightly. "Better," she says, nodding. "But don’t think for a second you’re ready for the real thing. Again!"

Mark grins, a mix of exhilaration and exhaustion on his face. He’s no longer nervous. He knows he has a long way to go, but for the first time in a while, he feels a spark of pride. His training has only just begun.
~~~~~~

A rugged training ground stretches under a blood-red sky. Mark was drenched in sweat, his once-pristine uniform now scuffed and torn, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, chest heaving from exertion. His dark hair sticks to his forehead and his fists tremble as he struggles to steady himself.

Nearby, Anissa stands tall, her toned frame unmarred by the session’s intensity, though her breathing is measured and heavy. Her sharp gaze softens as she steps closer, placing a firm yet comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You pushed through," she says, her voice carrying strength and reassurance. "That’s what matters. It’s not about being perfect today—it’s about getting stronger tomorrow."

Mark straightens slightly, her words igniting a flicker of resolve in his exhausted eyes. However, he didn't realize how hard he pushed himself until his vision suddenly wavered, and before he knew it, his world had faded to black.

Anissa laughs, this was nothing new to her as she reminisces about her first time engaging in an intense training session with Thula. She walked over to Mark and effortlessly tossed his limp body over her shoulder before taking off into darkening skies, flying steadily toward the base.
~~~~~~

Mid-flight, she encounters Thragg, his powerful form hovering in the air, his piercing gaze immediately locking onto them.

“How did his training go?” he asks, his tone making it clear he expects nothing less than results.

Anissa adjusts the unconscious Mark in her arms, her face neutral. “He has potential,” she replies, keeping her words measured. “Pushed himself to his limit today.”

Thragg nods, his sharp eyes scanning the young Viltrumite’s unconscious form. He commands, “Hand him over. I’ll take him from here.”

Without hesitation, Anissa floats forward and transfers Mark into Thragg’s arms. Thragg holds the young Viltrumite securely, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle. Anissa tilts her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes as a smirk spreads across her lips.

“Well, well,” she teases, crossing her arms. “The mighty Thragg, looking every bit of a doting Alpha. I’ve never seen you this concerned—not even for your last mate.”

Thragg’s expression tightens, and a faint blush creeps across his cheeks, betraying his usual composure. “Watch your tongue, Anissa,” he says, though there’s no real heat in his words.

She chuckles, clearly enjoying his rare moment of fluster. “Relax, Thragg. It’s just... interesting, that’s all. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Thragg exhales sharply, shifting the trainee slightly in his arms as if to mask his discomfort. “Focus on his training,” he says curtly. “No distractions. We can’t afford them.”

“Don’t worry,” Anissa replies, her tone still playful. “He’ll be ready. I’ll make sure of it. But you might want to work on that blush of yours—it’s not very intimidating.”

Thragg glares at her briefly but says nothing, choosing instead to turn and rocket off toward his headquarters with his soon-to-be mate.

Anissa watches him go, a quiet laugh escaping her before she resumes her flight back to the base, the light-hearted exchange leaving a smirk on her face.

“Looks like things around are about to get more lively than ever.”

Chapter Text

Mark's eyes fluttered open to the soft hum of an unseen mechanism. The bed beneath him felt like a cloud, its surface adjusting subtly to his movements. As he sat up, he blinked in confusion, taking in the sleek, metallic walls that glowed with gentle, ambient light.

The air was crisp, carrying a faint, soothing fragrance, and the ceiling shimmered with what looked like an artificial sunrise. It hit him: this wasn’t any place he’d been before.

He was in a luxurious, high-tech haven—like one of those rooms he would see in sci-fi movies.

Before Mark can come to full terms with his surroundings, the door slides open with a quiet hiss, and in walks an android with an air of elegance. Her sleek pink hair shimmered under the light, framing a face of near-human perfection. Her violet eyes glowed faintly as they swept across the room, locking onto Mark.

"Good, you're conscious," she said, her voice smooth but tinged with a programmed warmth. She moved closer, kneeling gracefully beside him. Her delicate-looking hands hovered over his chest and forehead without hesitation.

Mark blinked up at her, groggy but aware. “What’s… going on?”

"You overexerted yourself during your training session with Anissa," she explained, her hands beginning to emit a faint, soft glow. “You collapsed shortly afterward. Thragg assigned me to ensure your recovery."

Her fingers brushed lightly against his temples, cool but not unpleasant. A subtle hum filled the air as her touch began to analyze his body. Warmth spread through his sore muscles, soothing the aches and calming his pounding head.

As her hands moved lower, the glow from her palms intensified, and she hesitated for a fraction of a second—an almost imperceptible flicker in her otherwise smooth, programmed demeanor.

“Hmm,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Your physiology is quite unique.”

Mark’s eyes snapped open, and he stiffened. “It’s fine. I’m fine,” he said quickly, sitting up and swatting her hands away.

She blinked, her violet eyes narrowing slightly as she continued. “My analysis suggests—”

“I know what it suggests,” Mark cut her off, his face turning red. “And I don’t need you saying it out loud.”

The android paused, processing his reaction. “You are already aware, then?”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Mark muttered, avoiding her gaze. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Just… keep it to yourself, all right?”

She regarded him for a moment, her expression neutral but curious. “I am programmed to respect privacy where requested, but I must note that such information could be relevant to your medical treatment or training regimen.”

“It’s not relevant,” Mark said firmly, crossing his arms. “Trust me. Let’s just pretend you didn’t notice anything.”

She straightened, her movements as precise as ever. “Very well. Your condition has stabilized, and I will ensure no mention of this matter is made. However, I must inform you that Thragg has ordered your training with Anissa to resume immediately once you’ve recovered.”

Mark groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Of course he has. Because being put through a blender once wasn’t enough.”

The android nodded. “Your resilience is commendable. I suggest utilizing this brief respite to rest and prepare. Should you require further assistance, you may call for me.”

She turned and exited the room, leaving Mark alone to bury his face in his hands. “This day
just keeps getting better and better…” he muttered under his breath.

The door slid shut with a quiet hiss, leaving Mark alone in the room once more. He rests his head on the pillow, his muscles feeling better than what he felt not too long ago. Letting out a heavy sigh, he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to push down the embarrassment that still burned in his chest.

But as the silence settled in, so did the weight of his thoughts.

His gaze drifted to the ceiling, but he wasn’t really seeing it. His mind was far away—back on Earth, where life had been simpler, even with all the chaos he used to deal with. He thought of his mother first. Her warm smile, her steady presence, the way she always had his back even when everything else fell apart. He could practically hear her voice telling him to get some rest and stop worrying so much.

Then there was William. Mark cracked a small smile, remembering how his best friend always knew how to make him laugh, no matter how bad things got. William would probably have a hundred sarcastic comments about all this Viltrumite madness. He missed that. He missed having someone to talk to without feeling like he had to be on guard all the time.

Amber crossed his mind next. He hadn’t spoken to her in what felt like forever. She deserved better than how things had ended between them, but at least she was safe and happy now, living a normal life far from the chaos he brought into her world.

And then there was Eve. Mark’s chest tightened as memories of her flooded back—her laugh, her strength, the way she could light up a room just by being in it. They had been through so much together, and he’d always thought they’d figure it out in the end. But now, she was half a galaxy away, and he was here, stuck in this never-ending nightmare. Did she still think about him? Did she miss him as much as he missed her?

Mark let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really screwed things up, didn’t I?” he muttered to himself. He still mentally beats himself up for not being strong enough to protect Eve, his mother, or himself. But he found some solace in knowing with his lack of presence, there would be fewer threats brought to them.

He sat there for a while, letting the memories play out in his mind. They were bittersweet—comforting, yet painful. Earth felt like a lifetime ago, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back to it.

But he couldn’t afford to dwell on that. Not now. Not when Thragg was breathing down his neck, pushing him to his limits. He had to stay strong and keep moving forward, no matter how much he wanted to just go home.

For now, all he could do was hold onto those memories and hope that someday, somehow, he’d find his way back to the people he loved.

It doesn't take long before he finds himself falling into a dreamless slumber.
~~~~~~~

Mark stirred awake to the faint hiss of the door sliding open as the android entered the room once more. She nearly blinds him as she turns on the room's light, her violet eyes meeting him as she approaches his bedside.

"Mark," she said gently, her tone calm but professional. "I apologize for disturbing your rest, but I need to check on your condition again. It’s part of my duty to ensure you’re prepared for your next session."

Mark blinked the sleep from his eyes and sat up slowly. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke, his voice low and tinged with regret. "About earlier. I’m sorry if I came off as rude. It’s just…what you mentioned is a really sensitive topic for me. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I didn't even ask for your name."

The android replies, "My assigned name is Giolla."

Giolla paused, lowering the scanner slightly. She studied him with an expression of quiet understanding. "There is no need to apologize, Mark," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "Your feelings are valid, and I understand that discussing personal matters can be difficult. I am here to assist, not to judge."

Mark nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thanks. I guess it’s just hard to talk about it, especially when it feels like something I should be hiding."

"Your unique physiology is a part of who you are," Giolla replied, her tone unwaveringly kind. "It does not define your worth or your abilities. If you ever wish to discuss it, I will listen. And if not, I will respect your privacy."

Mark managed a small smile. "That means a lot, Giolla. Thanks for understanding."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment, returning her attention to the scanner. After a brief moment, she stepped back. "Your recovery is progressing well. Thragg has instructed that your training will resume shortly. I recommend you take a few moments to prepare yourself mentally and physically."

Mark sighed but nodded. “All right. I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?"

Giolla allowed a faint smile to grace her otherwise composed features. "Perhaps not, but you are resilient, Mark. You’ve proven that already."

With that, she stepped back toward the door. "If you need anything before your session, you may call for me. Otherwise, I will see you during your next check-in."

"Thanks again, Giolla," Mark said softly, watching as she left, leaving him alone to prepare for what lay ahead.

Chapter Text

Mark has been training diligently with Anissa for the past couple of weeks, and his progress has been evident with each passing session. The time they’ve spent working together hasn’t just been about honing skills—it’s also fostered a budding friendship. Through mutual respect and lighthearted moments between intense training, they’ve grown closer, creating a dynamic that’s as supportive as it is productive.

But today was different. During their training, Mark couldn’t help but notice that Anissa seemed a little off. Her usually sharp focus was slightly dulled, and her responses lacked its usual energy. Though she carried on with the session, there were fleeting moments when her gaze drifted, as if she were lost in thought. It wasn’t like her to be so distracted, and Mark began to wonder if something was weighing on her mind.

As they moved through the drills, Mark finally paused mid-session, holding up a hand to stop. “Anissa,” he said, his voice steady but concerned, “what’s going on with you today? You seem... off.”

Anissa blinked, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. “What are you talking about? I’m fine,” she replied, her tone firm but not harsh as she adjusted her stance, ready to continue.

Mark didn’t budge, putting his hands on his hips—Anissa’s actions were rubbing off on him. “You sure? Because it seems like there’s something on your mind. You’ve been distracted all session.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, but quickly shrugged it off. “I’m telling you, I’m fine,” she said again, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. Her tone was dismissive, yet her eyes briefly flickered with something unreadable. "Let’s just get back to it, okay?"

Mark studied her for a moment longer, uncertain whether to push further, but ultimately nodded. “Alright,” he said quietly, stepping back into position, though her deflection lingered in his mind.

As they resumed, the tension was still present, and Mark could tell Anissa wasn’t being fully honest with him. The way she avoided his gaze and quickly changed the subject only reinforced his suspicions. Still, he decided not to press her further.

As they resumed sparring, her usual precision was missing. Her movements felt half a beat too slow, her guard not as tight as it usually was. Mark hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should ease up, but then she lunged toward him with a quick jab. He reacted instinctively, countering with a swift strike.

The sound of impact was sharp and unmistakable. Anissa stumbled back, her hand flying to her nose as she winced. Mark froze, wide-eyed. “Shit—Anissa! Are you okay?”

She turned away, hunching slightly as she assessed the damage. Blood began to drip between her fingers, and she let out a frustrated groan. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was strained.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Mark said, ripping off a piece of uniform and giving it to her, guilt written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not your fault,” Anissa cut him off, still holding her nose. Her tone was sharper than she intended, but her frustration wasn’t directed at him—it was at herself.

Mark watched her carefully, his concern growing. “Anissa, seriously. You’re not yourself today. What’s going on?”

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. “It’s nothing. I just wasn’t paying attention.”

Mark crossed his arms, his expression firm but concerned. “If it were nothing, I wouldn’t have just clocked you. Talk to me, Ani—”

“I said I’m fine!” she snapped, her frustration finally getting the better of her. “Can you just drop it already? You're be really fucking annoying!”

The words hung in the air, and the look on Mark’s face made her regret them instantly. His expression shifted from concern to something quieter—hurt, maybe, or just taken aback.

Her guilt and frustration simmered just beneath the surface. Mark’s persistent concern, though well-meaning, felt like too much at the moment.

Anissa sighed, running a hand through her hair as she looked away. “I didn’t mean to... I’m sorry,” she muttered, her voice softer now. “I just... I can’t do this right now.”

Mark opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand, stopping him. “Let’s just call it a day…” For a moment, he could see her eyes getting glossy.

“Anissa—” he started, but she was already heading for the skies.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said over her shoulder, though her tone lacked its usual conviction.

Mark watched her leave. He stood there for a moment, feeling a mix of concern and confusion. Whatever was bothering her, it was clearly more than what she wanted to share.
~~~~~~

Mark made his way back to the base, his thoughts tangled in the events of the training session. Anissa’s frustration and abrupt departure weighed heavily on him. Reaching one of the smaller training areas, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Thula was there, adjusting some of the equipment. She glanced up as Mark entered, her brows raising in mild surprise.

“Back already?” she asked, giving her attention to Mark. “What, did Anissa wipe the floor with you that quickly?”

Mark sighed as he made his way over to her. “Anissa called it quits early. She seemed distracted—like her head wasn’t in it. I asked if she was okay, and she snapped at me. Then she left.”

Thula’s expression shifted, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. She crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the wall. “Ah. That makes sense.”

Mark frowned, stepping closer. “Wait—you know what’s going on?”

Thula nodded, her tone calm but matter-of-fact. “Yeah, I do. Anissa gets like whenever the Alpha's ruts are approaching.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asked, his concern deepening.

Thula hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Look, it’s not my story to tell, but it’s... personal. Let’s just say around this time it brings up some tough memories for her. It happens like clockwork, and she tends to shut people out when it gets to her.”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, the pieces starting to fit together. “That explains a lot. I just—I didn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t,” Thula said gently. “She doesn’t talk about it, and she hates feeling like she’s being pitied. That’s why she keeps it to herself. But trust me, she’ll bounce back. She always does.”

Mark sighed, a mix of relief and frustration settling in. “I just want to help, but I guess there’s nothing I can do right now.”

“Not directly, no,” Thula agreed. “But giving her space and letting her know you’re there when she’s ready? That helps more than you think.”

Mark nodded slowly, his worry easing just a little. “Thanks, Thula. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

She offered him a small smile. “No problem. Just don’t take it personally. Anissa’s tougher than most, but even she has her moments. She’ll be back to herself soon enough.”

Mark nodded again, as he prepared to train on his own. Even as he tried to focus, his thoughts remained on Anissa, silently hoping she’d find her way through whatever was troubling her.
~~~~~

Later that evening, Thula stood outside Anissa’s quarters, her hand hovering just above the door for a moment before she knocked softly. She knew what this time meant to her, the memories it brought, the weight she carried. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen her retreat like this, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Even if that's the case, some comfort was needed on her end.

The door slid open, and Anissa’s face appeared, her features tired and a noticeable bruise on her nose.

“What happened?” Thula asked, gesturing her nose.

Anissa answers truthfully, almost nonchalantly, “Kid’s got in a pretty hard punch today.”

Thula chuckles, causing Anissa to feel more annoyed.

“Thula,” she said, not really in the mood to be bothered “What are you doing here?”

Thula smiled gently, her voice calm and soothing. “Calm down, sport. Just checking on you. Thought you might need some company.”

Anissa hesitated, crossing her arms. “I’m fine,” she said quietly, though the words lacked conviction.

Thula gave her a soft, knowing look. “You can't fool me. We've been through this before.”

After a moment, Anissa stepped aside, letting her in. The room was neat, almost too neat, as though keeping busy was her way of staying distracted. Thula glanced around before settling herself on the edge of Anissa's bed.

“Sit with me,” she said gently, patting the spot beside her.

Anissa sighed but complied, sinking onto the bed with a posture that spoke of weariness.

Thula turned to her, her tone low and motherly. “You’ve been carrying this for a long time, haven’t you?”

Anissa stared at her hands, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s nothing new, Thula. I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Thula said softly, her gaze steady and warm. “I know what this time of year does to you. It’s okay to feel it. It’s okay to let someone else help shoulder it.”

Anissa’s jaw tightened as she tried to keep her composure. “I don’t like dragging people into my mess.”

“Anissa,” Thula said, her voice firm but full of care, “you’re not dragging me into anything. I’m here because I care about you.”

Anissa’s shoulders sagged, and for a moment, she looked vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. “It’s just... hard, you know? Every year, it feels like it gets harder to keep it all buried.”

“I know,” Thula said, placing a comforting hand on Anissa’s shoulder. “But you don’t have to bury it. You’re allowed to feel it. And you’re allowed to lean on the people who care about you.”

Anissa looked at her, the faintest shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

Thula gave her a warm, motherly smile. “You’d still be strong, but you don’t have to be strong alone. And I’m not going anywhere, so don’t you forget that.”

Anissa managed a small smile, a little lighter now than before. “Thanks, Thula.”

“Anytime, kiddo,” Thula said as she gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Now, promise me you’ll try to get some rest tonight. You need it.”

Anissa nodded, her smile lingering as Thula stood and made her way to the door. As the door closed softly behind her, the room didn’t feel as heavy, and Anissa felt a little less alone.
~~~~~

The night was cool and quiet, the stars scattered across the sky like distant lanterns. Despite the stillness, Anissa couldn’t settle. She tossed and turned in her bed before finally giving up. Still dressed in looser clothes, she didn't bother putting on her uniform. She stepped outside and took to the skies, the cool wind against her skin providing a much-needed reprieve from her restless mind.

She flew aimlessly, no set destination, just needing to feel less confined. The world below was silent, asleep, and for a while, it felt like she was the only soul awake. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted another figure cutting through the sky—a familiar one.

Mark.

At first, she thought about veering off, avoiding him altogether. But it was too late. He had already seen her and was angling his flight path toward her.

“Anissa!” he called, his voice carrying easily in the quiet night as he slowed to fly alongside her.

“Mark,” she said, her tone neutral as she kept her gaze forward. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, studying her carefully. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“Yeah, me neither,” he said casually, as though they were having a normal conversation on the ground. “Figured some air might help clear my head. Guess you had the same idea.”

Anissa gave a noncommittal shrug, her flight path steady as they soared together.

After a moment, Mark spoke again, his tone softer now. “Anissa, about earlier... I didn’t mean to push you. I just—”

“I know,” she interrupted, glancing at him briefly. “You were trying to help.”

He nodded, relieved she wasn’t angry with him. “Yeah. And I still want to. But I get it—you’re not ready to talk. That’s okay. I just... I don’t want you to think you have to handle everything on your own.”

Anissa sighed, her flight slowing slightly, his words settled on her. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “It’s just hard for me to—” She paused, searching for the right words. “To let people in.”

“I get that,” Mark said, his tone understanding. “But you don’t have to spill everything all at once. I mean, I'll be stuck on this planet for a while. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Anissa looked at him, her expression softening. “Thanks, Mark. That means a lot.”

They flew in silence for a while after that, the tension between them easing into something more comfortable. The night felt a little less heavy, the stars a little brighter, and for the first time that day, Anissa felt a little more relaxed.

Anissa sat on the edge of the cliff, the vast expanse of the starry sky stretching out before her. Her shoulders were tense, her hands gripping the rock beneath her tightly as though bracing herself for what she was about to say. Mark sat beside her, quiet and attentive, his presence grounding her.

“There’s a reason why I’m the way I am, Mark,” she began, her voice low and steady but trembling faintly at the edges. “Why I keep people at arm’s length. Why I don’t trust easily.”

He didn’t respond, giving her the space she needed to continue.

“When I was younger, I was stationed with a group of Alphas. It was supposed to be a night patrol, but... things changed when they went into heat.” Her voice caught slightly, but she pushed through. “I didn’t know it would happen, at least not at that time. One moment, they were my comrades—my equals—and the next... they turned into predators.”

Mark’s expression hardened, a mix of anger and sorrow flashing in his eyes, but he stayed silent, letting her speak.

“They came after me,” she said, her gaze distant as though she were reliving the memory. “I remember flying through the night, the cold air biting at my skin, my heart pounding in my chest. I thought I could outrun them, that I could stay ahead long enough for them to come to their senses. But they were faster. Stronger. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Her breathing quickened as she recounted the memory, the pain, and the fear still raw despite the years that had passed. “When they caught me, I fought back as hard as I could. But it didn’t matter. There were three of them. They overpowered me, and...” She trailed off, her voice breaking, her hands shaking as she gripped the stone beneath her.

She closed her eyes, as though blocking out the memory. “Afterward, I was left there, broken and humiliated. I thought no one would come for me. That no one cared.” She paused, a faint tremor in her voice. “But Thula found me. She was the only one who saw me—not as a victim, but as someone worth saving. She took me under her wing, and... she gave me a purpose when I thought I had none.”

Mark reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before gently resting on hers. “You’re not alone anymore, Anissa. What they did to you was monstrous, but it doesn’t define you. You’re still here, stronger than ever. And you don’t have to carry this alone.”

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and gratitude. “I’ve never told anyone about that night. Not even Thula, but she's a smart woman and quickly put the pieces together. But she never forced me to tell her what happened.”

Mark nodded, his voice steady and sincere. “You trusted me with this, and I won’t take that for granted. I’m here for you, Anissa—whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

Mark hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice cautious. “If you don't mind me asking, what happened to them? Are they still around?”

Anissa lets out a bitter laugh, a hint of dark satisfaction in her tone. “Oh, don't worry about them,” she said, her gaze full of content as she stared into the distance. “After I trained with Thula—after I became stronger, I found them.”

Mark's eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

“And I killed them,” she said simply, her voice devoid of any remorse. “Every single one of them.”

Mark nodded slowly, understanding the weight behind her words, “I see,” he said quietly.

Anissa smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. “They thought they'd gotten away with it. Thought I'd stay the weak, frightened girl they'd left behind. But I showed them just how wrong they were.”

There was a long silence before Mark spoke again, his tone calm and judgment-free, “You did what you had to do.”

She glanced at him and smiled, “And I'd do it again.” she stayed quiet briefly before letting him know, “This is exactly why I push you so hard in your training. You're an Omega and when the heat cycles start happening, no matter what, I want you to be able to protect yourself from assholes like them.”

Mark reassures her, “Trust me, with your training, I think I can even win against Superman himself.”

Anissa cocks her head in confusion, “Superman? Who's that?”

It briefly slips his mind that she wasn't aware of Earth’s entertainment. It was almost bittersweet knowing that she grew up surrounded by nothing but bloodshed and destruction while he grew up in a more tamed environment. He had heroes who he could look up to but in the same breath she always had to look over her shoulders. He doesn't dwell on the thought for too long, he brushes that away and simply chuckles, “If I ever get the chance, I'll show him to you one day.”

“Sounds like a plan. I always wondered what Earth is like.” Anissa stands up, swiping off dust particles from her clothes. Mark stands up as well and for one more moment, he stares at her silently.

“What—” Before Anissa could finish speaking, Mark moved closer, his expression softening as he reached out and wrapped his arms around Anissa in a gentle embrace. She stiffened at first, the gesture unfamiliar and unexpected, but she didn’t pull away.

For a moment, she just stands there, frozen, unsure of how to respond. Slowly, hesitantly, she raised her arms and returned the hug, her movements uncertain.

As the warmth of the embrace settled over her, the walls she had carefully built began to crack. Her breathing hitched, and before she could stop herself, the tears came.

She buried her face in Mark’s shoulder, her body shaking as years of pain and grief poured out of her. Mark held her tightly, saying nothing, simply letting her release everything she’d been holding in for so long.

For the first time in a long time, she felt a big sense of relief. The weight of her past hadn’t vanished completely, but sharing it with Mark made it feel so much lighter. She turned her gaze back to the horizon, the wind brushing against her face, and allowed herself to take a deep breath.

For the first time in years, she felt like healing might be possible.

From a distant ridge—unbeknownst to the duo—Thragg stood silently, his piercing eyes fixed on Mark and Anissa. He had heard every word of their conversation, the weight of Anissa’s pain evident even from afar. As he watched the quiet embrace between them, his gaze softened slightly—a rare crack in his usual stoic demeanor.

For a moment, he considered them, but he made no move to intervene. Instead, he turned away, the faint sound of his departure blending with the night as he returned to his headquarters, leaving them to their solace.

Chapter Text

Mark had been feeling well over the past couple of days, so he didn’t think twice about attending his usual training sessions with Anissa. However, during today’s session, he felt something was wrong with him. A growing warmth spread through his body, and the subtle cramps he'd ignored earlier began to intensify, making it harder to focus. Despite this he continued to push himself, hoping to shake the discomfort, but Anissa suddenly stopped mid-session.

“Mark,” she said, keeping her attention locked on him, “your scent is getting stronger.”

Slightly annoyed by her calling it out, he brushed it off, insisting he could keep going. However, Anissa knew better than to let him continue. She places her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow, clearly noticing that he was going through the pre-stages of his heat. “You’re done for the day. I’m not about to let you drop out of the sky. Plus it's better to get you somewhere safe so you don't attract unwanted attention.”

Before he could argue, she grabbed hold of him and took off, guiding him back to his headquarters. As they flew, the teasing edge in her voice cut through his swirling thoughts.

“You know,” she said, sniffing the air a couple more times, “for someone who’s trying to tough it out, you smell ridiculously sweet right now.”

Mark groaned, half from the discomfort, half from her comment, but there was no denying the faint flush creeping across his face.

Mark rolls his eyes, crossing his arms stubbornly. “I’m not a baby, Anissa. I can fly on my own.”

Anissa chuckled, the sound light and teasing. “Sure you can, tough guy,” she said, effortlessly holding onto him. “Just don’t want to risk you crashing into a building, okay?”

As they flew, Mark glanced at Anissa, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Do you ever, uh, go through heat cycles?” he asked casually yet in an awkward manner.

Anissa raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. “Not really,” she replied. “I’m a Beta so we don’t have heat cycles like Alphas or Omegas.” She shrugged lightly. “I mean, I do experience some discomfort every once and a while, but it’s nothing serious. Definitely not like what you’re going through right now.”

Mark rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Must be nice.”

Anissa smirked, not missing a beat. “Sucks to be you, kid,” she shot back playfully, the teasing lilt in her tone making him groan in exasperation.
~~~~~~
Mark had been trying to rest for a few hours, lying on his bed with the room dimly lit, the quiet hum of the air conditioner doing little to cool the unbearable heat building inside him. He shifted restlessly under the thin sheet, his skin damp with sweat and his breaths coming in uneven huffs.

Giolla would check on him as often as she could. Her footsteps were soft as she entered to offer water or adjust the fan in the room. Each time she came in, her concerned gaze lingered on him. During one visit, she sat on the edge of his bed, her voice calm but firm.

“Mark, I know this is tough, especially being that Thragg is away on a mission right now. But I assure you that he will be back soon, and when he gets here, he’ll be able to help you through this,” she said, her tone trying to reassure him.

Mark groaned, turning to his side. “How long is ‘soon,’ Giolla? Because I feel like I’m going to combust at any minute.”

Her expression softened. “Not much longer. Just hang in there, okay? I know it’s hard, but you’ll get through this.”

Though she was no longer present, her words lingered, but they did little to quell the growing discomfort. The warmth in his body escalated, spreading like wildfire from his core to his limbs. It wasn’t the kind of heat that could be fixed with a cold shower or a glass of water—it felt deeper, more primal, gnawing at him from the inside out.

His muscles ached, his skin tingled with oversensitivity, and the cramps that had started as mild discomfort now felt sharp and relentless, like his body was demanding something he couldn’t name.

He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself, but every movement seemed to amplify the sensation. His usual patience was gone, replaced by a simmering agitation he was trying to control. He groaned, rolling onto his side as if that might somehow bring relief, but the unbearable warmth only seemed to intensify, leaving him trapped in his own skin, counting the time until Thragg’s return.

Mark sighed, running a hand through his damp hair as he lay sprawled on his bed, the persistent heat coursing through his body leaving him restless. He knew it wouldn’t truly fix anything, but maybe, just maybe, it would offer him a brief moment of relief.

His hand hesitated at first, trembling slightly as he tried to push away the lingering embarrassment. But the warmth gnawing at him refused to relent, urging him forward. Closing his eyes, he exhaled shakily, letting his fingers drift over his overly sensitive skin.

It wasn’t often that he engaged in self-pleasure so his touch was tentative at first, a mix of awkwardness and need. Once he found his rhythm, it didn't take much for the warmth pooling in his core to intensify, his body reacting to the smallest sensation. He bit his lip, trying to stay quiet, though his breathing grew heavier with every movement.

For a fleeting moment, the tension in his muscles eased, and the sharp edge of the cramps dulled as he chased that brief reprieve. It wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t what his body truly craved—but it was enough to take the edge off.

When it was over, Mark collapsed back against the bed, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. The unbearable warmth still lingered, a reminder that this was only a temporary solution, but at least for now, he felt just a little lighter.
~~~~~~
After a while, Mark couldn’t take it anymore. The heat in his body was overwhelming, an unrelenting force that refused to let him rest. Every breath felt heavier, his skin slick with sweat as the ache deepened with each passing second. He knew what he was about to do was reckless, even dangerous, but his body begged for relief, leaving him with no other choice.

Getting out of bed, Mark moved quietly, careful not to alert Giolla or anyone else in the base. His footsteps were soft as he made his way to the exit, the cool night air hitting his flushed skin as he stepped outside. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he took off into the sky, the rush of wind against his overheated body bringing momentary solace.

He flew toward a spot he’d discovered not too long ago—a secluded river hidden away in a dense patch of forest, far from the base. It had become his secret refuge, a place where he could unwind after intense training sessions with Anissa. The water was always cool and calm, the gentle sounds of the current offering a peace he rarely found elsewhere.

When he arrived, the moonlight danced across the surface of the river, its soft glow reflecting off the rippling water. Mark landed silently at the edge, already pulling off his sweat-soaked shirt. The cool breeze kissed his heated skin as he slipped out of his remaining clothes, stepping into the river with a sigh of relief.

The cold water rushed over him as he went deeper, soothing his overheated body and dulling the relentless pull inside him, if only slightly. He sank down until the water reached his shoulders, leaning his head back as he let the current wash over him. For the first time in hours, his body felt manageable—like he could breathe again.

He knew this wasn’t a solution, just a temporary reprieve, but for now, it was enough. As he floated in the quiet embrace of the river, the tension in his body began to ease, the cool water lapping at his skin like a gentle balm. For a moment, the world around him seemed calm, the soft ripples of the water and the gentle hum of the forest lulling him into a small sense of peace.

But unbeknownst to him, his actions had unintentionally sent ripples much farther than the river’s edge.

The sweet, intoxicating scent that clung to him had carried through the air, stronger now that he was outdoors and vulnerable. It was a scent impossible to ignore, one that spoke of unfulfilled need and submission. And it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Not too far from the secluded river, a pair of Alphas who had been grappling with their own heat cycles caught the scent. Their instincts sharpened immediately, the overpowering need to dominate and claim stirring within them as they followed the tantalizing trail. The sweetness in the air only heightened their drive, their rational thoughts beginning to blur under the influence of the primal pull.

The closer they got, the harder it was to resist, the scent urging them forward with an almost magnetic force. Their bodies tensed, muscles coiling like springs, as the need to make someone submit burned hotter in their veins.

Mark remained blissfully unaware as he floated in the water, his mind finally quiet for the first time in hours. He had no idea that his desperate attempt to find relief had unwittingly drawn predators to his hidden sanctuary.
~~~~~~~

Back at the base, Giolla still lingered on Mark’s condition. She had been doing her best to monitor him, but the intensity of his heat was something beyond her expertise, especially since this was her first time dealing with an Omega. Just when she's about to go and check on him, she hears the familiar hum of a ship docking outside.

Thragg had returned.

The towering Viltrumite strode into the main hall moments later, his expression calm but with a faint air of boredom. His mission had been disappointingly uneventful—the opposing planet had submitted almost immediately, robbing him of the challenge he had hoped for.

Giolla greeted him with a respectful bow. “Welcome back, my lord,” she said formally. “I trust your mission went smoothly?”

Thragg waved a dismissive hand. “Too smoothly. They were wise enough not to resist.” His piercing gaze shifted to her, his tone sharpening. “How is Mark?”

Giolla straightened, quickly reporting, “He’s in the midst of his first heat. I’ve been monitoring him, but it’s progressing steadily. He’s been uncomfortable, but I assured him you’d return soon to assist.”

As she spoke, her keen eyes caught something subtle—Thragg’s body temperature was noticeably higher than usual. His posture was as composed as ever, but there was an unmistakable tension in the way his hands curled at his sides, his jaw tightening slightly. He was doing an impressive job of keeping it together, but the signs of his own growing heat were there.

Giolla didn’t comment, knowing better than to draw attention to it, but she filed the observation away. Thragg wasn’t just returning as Mark’s leader; he was returning as his intended mate. Whatever was to come next, it was clear that Thragg’s control was about to be put to the test.

Giolla straightened after her report, gesturing for Thragg to follow her. “I’ll take you to Mark’s quarters,” she said calmly, leading the way through the corridors. Thragg moved silently behind her, his presence making the air feel heavier with every step. His expression was neutral, but his body betrayed a growing tension—one that was impossible to ignore.

As they reached Mark’s door, Thragg’s senses were assaulted by a wave of the unmistakable sweetness of Mark’s scent. It hit him immediately, far stronger than it had been when he’d left. The aroma, intoxicating and thick with need, was almost enough to make him falter. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, a burning desire pulsing deep inside him.

Giolla knocked lightly and pushed the door open. The control he had over himself slipped for a moment, his muscles tightening as the scent overwhelmed him. It was so sweet, so potent, that it threatened to drive him to the brink. His nails dug into his palms as he forced himself to take a slow, steady breath. No. He would not let this overcome him—not yet.

Unfortunately for them both, the room was empty, the bed unmade, the sheets slightly damp, but there was no sign of Mark.

Giolla froze, her eyes scanning the room before turning to Thragg. “He is not here.”

Thragg’s expression darkened as his eyes narrowed. He stepped into the room, the scent of Mark still lingering in the air, sharp and sweet, stirring his instincts even further. His jaw clenched, the heat rising within him threatening to overtake his control again.

“Where is he?” Thragg’s voice was low and steady, but the quiet anger beneath it sent a chill down Giolla’s artificial spine.

“I... I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice faltering. “He must have snuck out. I wasn’t aware—”

“Not aware?” Thragg cut her off, his tone sharper now. His fists clenched as he turned to face her, his towering presence making Giolla feel even smaller. “You were tasked with monitoring him, and yet you let him wander off in this condition?”

Giolla lowered her head, shame and frustration mingling in her hard drive. “I apologize, my lord. I had no reason to believe he would leave without notice.”

Thragg’s irritation flared, his composure beginning to crack under the pressure of both Mark’s absence and the growing heat that gnawed at him. “Then I’ll find him myself.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his steps heavy with purpose. He had kept a close eye on Mark and knew where he had likely gone—the secluded river he had often visited.

Giolla watched him go, her mind racing. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of Thragg’s anger simmering just beneath the surface, and she knew it would be only a matter of time before he found Mark—and whatever awaited them once they came face-to-face.

Thragg's mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. His frustration at Giolla’s failure to keep Mark contained, his frustration with that brat making such an idiotic decision to leave unknowingly, and the overwhelming heat that pushed against his resolve all fought for dominance. But even through the seething anger, there was only one thought that consumed him—Mark.

His instincts were almost impossible to ignore now, and as badly as he wanted to break Giolla into a million pieces for failing him, he could barely focus on anything but the scent of Mark that still clung to the air. The young Viltrumite had been so close to him—so vulnerable, so perfectly in sync with the heat that had been building in both of them. Thragg’s desire to claim him, to make him submit, felt like a raw, primal need.

But it wasn’t just the desire to dominate that drove him forward; it was the urgency. The fact that Mark had slipped away, alone, in this condition. It pushed every protective instinct Thragg had to the forefront.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his body tense with restrained aggression. As much as the heat threatened to push him into an uncontrollable frenzy, Thragg forced himself to maintain the control he had honed over countless years. He needed to find Mark, and he needed to do it now—before his instincts completely overtook him and before any harm came Mark's way.
~~~~~~~

Mark sat in the slightly murky water, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing. He had managed to give himself some relief, but it wasn’t enough. The heat still simmered beneath his skin, unrelenting and demanding more than he could provide on his own.

Frustration welled up inside him; his hands splashed the water as he thought bitterly about Thragg. ‘Where is he?’ Mark’s body ached for the relief only Thragg could provide, and the fact that he wasn’t here made the young Viltrumite’s annoyance flare alongside his heat.

Letting out a shaky sigh, Mark made his way out of the water, his movements sluggish. His muscles felt heavier than before, his body betraying him with its exhaustion and uncooperative responses. Dressing himself quickly, he muttered under his breath about needing a proper shower back at the headquarters. The cool night air did little to alleviate his discomfort anymore. as

As he prepared to take off, something caught his attention.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he sensed a presence—or rather, two. He turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing as he spotted two Viltrumites emerging from the shadows of the trees surrounding the river. Their gazes locked on him, and sinister smiles stretched across their faces, sending a shiver down Mark’s spine.

This wasn’t a coincidence. They hadn’t stumbled across this hidden spot by chance. They had followed him, drawn in by the potent scent of his heat, and it was clear from the wild hunger in their eyes that they had something far more sinister in mind.

The sinister smiles on their faces grew wider, their voices low and taunting. "You shouldn’t have wandered off by yourself~" one of them growled, his tone dripping with dark amusement.

Mark’s mind raced, panic and anger clashing within him. His body—his traitorous, heat-ridden body—refused to respond the way he needed it to. He gritted his teeth, trying to push back the fear that threatened to consume him. He had to find a way out of this. Even in this state, he had to fight—it wasn't something he was looking forward to doing. But with every second that passed, the odds felt increasingly stacked against him.

"An Omega, all alone out here," one of them taunted, his voice full of mockery. "And not just any Omega—you, a rarity."

As they moved in closer their gaze raked over Mark’s trembling form. "We’ve never had the pleasure of breaking in an Omega before," he said, his tone dark and filled with amusement. "You smell so... needy. You’re practically begging for it."

Mark’s body stiffened as the words sank in, a cold dread washing over him. He glares at them, trying to muster every ounce of defiance he could. "Stay the hell away from me," he growled, though his voice was weaker than he intended.

The first Alpha chuckled, inhaling the air deeply, his expression twisting into something feral. "Oh, you don’t mean that. I can smell it on you. Your body wants this—wants to be dominated." He smirked cruelly. "And we’d be more than happy to oblige~”

Mark’s heart raced as he tried to suppress the panic clawing at his chest. His instincts screamed at him to escape, and with a burst of adrenaline, he pushed against the ground and launched himself into the air. But he had barely gained any height before one of them moved faster than he could have anticipated, catching his ankle and nearly crushing it in their vice-like grip.

"Not so fast, little Omega," the Alpha sneered before yanking him back down.

The impact was brutal. Mark’s body slammed into the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him. Pain shot through his limbs as he struggled to recover, but the heat coursing through his body made every movement sluggish and uncoordinated.

He tried his best to escape but his strength, usually formidable, had been sapped by the relentless demands of his heat. His muscles felt like they were on fire, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.

"Look at you," one of them said mockingly, laughing at Mark's feeble attempts to escape. "So desperate, yet so weak. You really thought you could get away from us in your pitiful state?"

The other grabbed Mark’s wrists, pinning them to the ground as he leaned down, his face inches from Mark’s. "Why bother resisting? You’ll feel so much better if you just give in."

Mark’s vision blurred as he struggled against their hold, his body trembling with equal parts fear and frustration. He couldn’t let this happen. He had to find a way out. But as their grip tightened and their taunts grew more menacing, his hope began to waver.

As the two Viltrumites begin tearing away at his clothes and their hands roaming over his burning body, something in Mark’s mind completely snaps. The overwhelming sense of violation that had been building in him turned into a surge of fury. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be controlled by them. His body had endured enough, and he was no longer willing to submit to their advances.

In a sudden burst of strength, Mark’s body pulsed with power, an energy he hadn’t fully realized he was capable of. The heat that had weakened him was now turning into something else—something more violent. His eyes, wide with a raw intensity, locked onto the two Alphas.

The Viltrumites hesitated, their confidence faltering for the first time. They had believed they had cornered an easy target, but now they found themselves confronted by a force they hadn’t anticipated. Mark’s body surged with power, and it was clear that he was no longer the prey.

His breathing was sharp, and his chest rose and fell with a dangerous energy. Something dark, primal, and untamed was awakening within him. His hands clenched into fists as raw rage burned in his gaze. The Alphas, now unsure and taken aback, took a cautious step back. Fear began to replace their earlier arrogance as Mark’s newfound strength became undeniable.

Without hesitation—as if he's on autopilot, Mark launches himself into the fight that the other two have so desperately wanted. His movements were faster and more decisive. The first Viltrumite lunged towards him, but Mark was ready. He dodges the attack, and with a swift motion, he takes hold of their arm, twisting it into an excruciating angle until he hears a loud crack. In disbelief, the alpha stares at his bloodied, broken bone protruding through his arm. Before they could yell out in pain, Mark lands a devastating kick to their face, sending them crashing and breaking through a tree.

The second alpha wasn't far behind, using his bigger frame to charge at him with brute force. Mark was quicker. He ducked under the attack and retaliated with a powerful punch causing the other to stumble backwards. His strikes were sharp and relentless, coming in like wildfire. Each attack is fueled by unfiltered rage.

The two Alphas were completely caught off guard by Mark's newfound power; they even struggled to regroup. They have always been the hunters but now they found themselves being on the defensive. Unlike some of their victims in the past, Mark was fighting back and actually overwhelming them. His attacks were both stronger and faster than what either of them expected. Every move he made carried the weight of his resolve, and it was clear that he wasn't going to let them have their way.

Mark's eyes locked onto theirs with a raw intensity. He was no longer the prey. He was the one in control. His body aches due to the heat and the amount of strain this unhoned power is putting him through. Yet, the fire in his chest pushed him forward, refusing to let the alphas gain the upper hand.

The two try to rally, but Mark's relentless strikes and rapid movements make it impossible for them to catch their footing, let alone use an attack to retaliate. They both had found themselves in a battle they weren't prepared for.
~~~~~

Thragg’s gaze darkened as he soared through the sky, the familiar landscape rushing past him. His instincts, already on edge from Mark’s absence, flared to life with a furious intensity. His heart beat faster, his grip tightening around the air as he flew, every muscle in his body tensing.

The surge of anger coursed through him, and his mind filled with a singular thought: ‘No one touches Mark.’

The moment he had sensed the presence of the two Alphas, his protective instincts kicked into overdrive. The thought of anyone else being near Mark, especially in his vulnerable state, was enough to send a rush of fury through his veins. His body temperature rose as the anger boiled inside him. If anyone dared to lay a finger on Mark, they would regret it.

Thragg's eyes narrowed— a fierce determination settled in his chest. The closer he got, the more he could feel the intensity of Mark’s scent mingling with the presence of the two Alphas. It was like a warning bell ringing in his mind, fueling his desire to reach Mark before it was too late.

Mark was his—his responsibility—and anyone who thought they could take advantage of him would answer for it.

As Thragg neared the area, his anger intensified. His thoughts were consumed by the idea of what might be happening to Mark, and the thought alone pushed him to move faster. The air seemed to crackle with the energy surrounding him, and he couldn’t shake the burning need to protect Mark from whatever threat was out there.

Thragg landed with a heavy thud, his body tense, his senses on high alert. He had finally reached the spot, but what he saw upon landing made his heart tighten with a mixture of disbelief and rage. Mark stood in the center of the scene, with his clothes ripped and covered in dark, red liquid—blood. His breathing was erratic, shallow gasps filling the air, and his eyes were wide, haunted by what had just occurred. His body trembled uncontrollably, his form visibly shaking from the raw adrenaline still coursing through him.

The two enemies lay sprawled on the ground, barely recognizable after the brutal conflict, their bodies twisted and battered. The sight was a shock to Thragg—he had never imagined that Mark, in his vulnerable state, would unleash such ferocity. Yet, as he stood over the fallen Alphas, there was no doubt that Mark had fought with a strength and intensity that matched his bloodline.

Mark's eyes met Thragg's, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. The anger and the fear in Mark’s gaze were palpable. His body shook with the aftermath of the struggle, but his presence was still strong, unyielding. Thragg could feel the gravity of the moment, the weight of what had just transpired.

Mark didn’t move, his stance frozen in place and his breath hitching as the tears continued to fall down his face. His voice, barely above a whisper, cut through the air: “Thragg…”

The single word broke through the heavy silence, trembling with vulnerability and exhaustion. Mark’s eyes searched for something in Thragg—reassurance, maybe, or an acknowledgment of what he had just endured. His body had done what it had to, but the emotional toll of the confrontation was clear in every shake of his form, every tear that fell from his eyes.

Thragg stood there for a moment, taking in the sight before him, his emotions swirling. His anger had cooled slightly, replaced by something deeper—a mixture of pride, concern, and protectiveness. He took a step forward, his presence dominating the space, his eyes never leaving Mark's.

"Mark..." Thragg’s voice was low, steady.

Thragg’s scent hit Mark like a wave, flooding him with emotions he could no longer control. Without a second thought, his body moved on instinct, and he ran into Thragg’s arms.
Thragg caught him, pulling him close, his grip firm but gentle. The relief that washed over Mark was immediate. He was safe—despite some minor bruises, he hadn’t been harmed in the battle.

Mark’s body trembled, the residual energy from the fight coursing through him, making his mind feel hazy and disconnected. He could still feel the heat, the ache, the pressure building within him, pushing him into a state of desperation. His tear-filled eyes looked up at Thragg, the intensity of the moment consuming him.

“Please…,” Mark whispered, his voice weak but full of urgency. His breath hitched as he clung to Thragg, unable to fully express what he needed, but knowing deep down that Thragg was the only one who could provide it.

“Take me~”

Chapter Text

The space between them had disappeared in an instant. Mark barely had time to take his next breath before Thragg's hands were on him, strong and firm, yet careful in a way that sent shivers down his spine. There was no resistance—only the undeniable force pulling them together, something primal yet deeply intimate.

Yet, even in the heat of the moment, a flicker of doubt gnawed at Mark’s mind. He had always been conscious of his body, the way it wasn’t quite like others. Would Thragg see him differently? Would he think less of him? The thought made Mark hesitate, his hands faltering slightly against Thragg’s skin.

But Thragg noticed. Of course, he did. His sharp gaze softened for a fleeting moment, his fingers trailing along Mark’s cheek before dipping lower until his hand disappeared behind Mark's pants.

His hand wrapped gently around Mark's erection. The swift and firm jerking nearly made the teen buckle under the sensation. It feels completely different having someone else touch him in such an intimate way. It felt strange and foreign, but it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, the amount of pleasure he felt with even something so simple pushed him over the edge. It doesn't take long for him to release himself, painting Thragg's hand white with his seed.

Thragg wasn’t done yet. His fingers travel lower until he feels a small opening—it isn't his anus, but right under Mark's sack is a small but fully functional vagina. Mark instinctively goes to stop him but has no strength to push his hand away. “Thragg, please…that place is—”

“Mine.” Thragg pushes his thick fingers into Mark’s forbidden region. The older Viltrumite's cock pulsed as the feeling of wet warmth surrounded his fingers and along with the sounds of Mark choking on his own moans.

“You are mine,” Thragg murmured, his voice steady, leaving no room for second guesses. His grip firmed just enough to ground Mark to remind him that there was no hesitation on his end. “Every part of you.”

Mark swallows the lump in his throat, his heart stuttering. The weight of Thragg’s words settled deep within him, silencing the doubts that had threatened to creep in. There was no hesitation, no disgust, no uncertainty—only hunger, only want. Only him.

Thragg let out a low breath as Mark pressed closer, his warmth intoxicating, his scent filling every inch of space around them. His free hand found Mark’s waist, keeping him in place as he continued to deliciously drive his fingers into Mark over and over. The cream that coaxed his fingers lets him know just how much pleasure Mark is feeling, even if he couldn't convey them himself.

“Th-Thragg, please…I'm going to—!” Before Mark could get his words out, bodily fluids gushed out, leaving Thragg's hand completely drenched.

“You’re trembling,” Thragg murmured, his voice unusually soft and caring.

Mark avoided Thragg's gaze for but a mere moment, his lips parting as he struggled to steady himself. “I'm just…overwhelmed,” he admitted through his shaky breath, the feeling of lust now unbearable.

Thragg studies Mark’s body and expression before cupping the side of his face, his thumb brushing against his cheek with a tenderness that completely broke his stoic character. “Then let me take care of you.”

In a swift motion, Thragg rips off the rest of Mark's tattered uniform.

Their gaze locked, the unspoken tension between them growing heavier, charging something neither of them couldn't deny any longer. Mark nodded, exhaling slowly, surrendering to the warmth of Thragg's embrace. After hours of fighting this heat, he let himself feel—everything.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

~~~~~

The night stretched on, filled with nothing but the sound of ragged breaths and the quiet hum of desperation. Neither Mark nor Thragg held back, giving into instincts they had fought for too long. Every touch was searing, every movement fueled by an unspoken need that neither could deny any longer.

Time blurred as they lost themselves in each other. Mark clung to Thragg, feeling the strength beneath his hands, the heat of their bodies pressed together. Thragg was relentless—his touch possessive but reverent, as if Mark was something to be claimed and treasured.

At some point, amid the feverish kissing and heated touches, Thragg’s lips pressed against the curve of Mark’s neck, lingering for just a second too long. Mark barely had time to register the sudden shift before Thragg’s teeth sank into his skin—not harshly, but firm enough to make him shudder. A deep growl rumbled from Thragg’s chest, vibrating through both of them as he held Mark close, anchoring him in the moment.

The sharp sting faded into something deeper. It wasn’t just the act itself; it was what it meant. A silent declaration, an unspoken promise. Thragg’s lips brushed over the mark a second later, his breath warm against Mark’s flushed skin.

Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to.

The hours slipped by in a haze of fevered whispers and shared gasps, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm. Each thrust sent electric sparks coursing Mark’s body, he had never felt anything like this before—this overwhelming force that made him tremble, that left him breathless and wanting more, even when he thought he had nothing left to give.

“Ngh! Thragg, it's…it's too much!” Mark cries out. His deflowered body hadn't known the true extent of pleasure until now. The way Thragg's cock was splitting him open and practically digging him out.

Thragg was tireless, his resolve unshaken, yet even he seemed to be unraveling under the weight of it all. His grip would tighten, his voice dropping into a growl of satisfaction whenever Mark surrendered to the fire between them, making sure every orifice had been filled with him.

They didn’t stop—not when exhaustion tried to creep in, not when the first traces of dawn began to creep over the horizon. They moved together, over and over, until there was nothing left but raw emotion and the lingering heat of the night that had bound them completely.

And when it was finally over, when the storm had finally settled, Mark lay against Thragg’s chest, utterly spent. His body ached in the best way possible, his skin still tingling from every touch, every lingering trace of what they had done. Thragg’s arm was heavy around him, secure, possessive, unwilling to let go even as sleep threatened to claim them both.

Mark sighed, pressing his forehead against Thragg’s shoulder. “That was…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Thragg smirked against his hair, his voice deep and satisfied. “Only the beginning.”

Mark let out a breathless laugh, already knowing that neither of them would be content with just one night. He felt the warmth of Thragg’s body beneath him, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling him into a peaceful haze. For the first time in what felt like forever, Mark allowed himself to relax, to simply exist in this moment.

His eyelids grew heavy as exhaustion finally won over him. With one last content sigh, he nestled closer, his body molding perfectly against Thragg’s. The last thing he felt before sleep pulled him under was the steady rhythm of Thragg’s heartbeat, strong and unyielding beneath his cheek.

Safe. Claimed. Wanted.

And for now, that was enough.

~~~~~~

A soft warmth wrapped around Mark, cocooning him in layers of comfort he hadn’t expected. His mind was slow to wake, still caught in the lingering haze of exhaustion. The weight of heavy blankets pressed against his bare skin, and the air smelled faintly of something unfamiliar yet oddly calming—clean, rich, and distinctly foreign to him.

Mark’s eyes slowly blinked open, and his vision adjusted to the dim lighting of the room. The first thing he noticed was the sheer grandeur of his surroundings. The ceiling stretched high above him, adorned with intricate patterns carved into the stone. Heavy drapes hung over tall windows, casting soft shadows that danced along the polished floors. The bed beneath him was massive, far more luxurious than anything he had ever slept in. The pillows were plush, the sheets smooth against his skin, and the entire room radiated a sense of power and wealth.

Confusion gripped him as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his body still sluggish from sleep. His muscles ached in places he wasn’t used to, a dull but persistent reminder of something… something important. He reached up instinctively to rub at his neck, wincing slightly as his fingers brushed against a tender spot. The sensation sent a jolt through him, and suddenly—

Memories crashed into him like a tidal wave.

The heat. The desperation. The raw, unrestrained intensity. Thragg…

Mark’s breath hitched as his face flushed deep red. Last night. It all came back to him in vivid detail—the way his body had given in to instinct, how Thragg’s touch had ignited something inside him that he hadn’t known was there. The sensation of strong hands gripping him, claiming him. The way he had responded, how he had—

His hands shot up to cover his face as he groaned in embarrassment, his body now fully awake and betraying him with the lingering aftershocks of what had happened. Holy shit. He wasn’t a virgin anymore.

The thought sent a fresh wave of heat to his face, and he groaned again, flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. He had always assumed that if he ever did that, it would be with someone he had chosen, someone he had loved, someone who—

His stomach twisted.

Not that he hadn’t chosen it. He did. He had wanted it—more than he was willing to admit. But that didn’t change the fact that it was with Thragg.

Thragg.

The man who had been his enemy. The man he had fought against, despised, feared. And yet, Mark couldn’t lie to himself. He couldn’t deny the way his body had responded last night
the way something inside him had craved Thragg in a way he still didn’t understand.

Mark swallowed hard, his fingers absentmindedly tracing over the spot on his neck where he still felt that dull ache. His mind raced, trying to process everything. Was this just his body reacting to instinct? Was this him? The way he had submitted so easily, the way he had wanted it—was that just biology? Or was there something more?

His chest felt tight.

He didn’t know what scared him more—the fact that he had been with a man, or the fact that he hadn’t hated it.

Rolling onto his side, he exhaled shakily, his fingers gripping the blankets as if grounding himself. The situation wasn’t dire, not at this moment. He was safe, and the worst was over. But that didn’t make it easier to process. What did this mean for him? For his future? For whatever relationship he now had with Thragg?

The uncertainty gnawed at him.

He didn’t have all the answers, and he doubted he would anytime soon. But one thing was clear—nothing would ever be the same again.

Mark closed his eyes and exhaled. He was overthinking again. The situation right now wasn’t dire—there was no immediate threat, no battle to fight—yet his mind refused to quiet down. Stressing over it wasn’t going to solve anything, and he knew it.

He just needed to breathe. To let himself feel without overanalyzing every little detail.

But as his body shifted beneath the sheets, he became acutely aware of another problem. Though the unbearable intensity of his heat had subsided, a lingering warmth still pulsed beneath his skin. It wasn’t enough to completely take over his mind like before, but it was enough to make his body restless, sensitive to every little shift, every little memory of last night.

Mark hesitated, his fingers twitching against the sheets. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. He shouldn’t still want—but he did.

His body ached for something, for more. Even if it wasn’t as desperate as before, the need still simmered beneath the surface, waiting. His hand trailed absentmindedly over his stomach, his breathing growing uneven as his thoughts wandered. He remembered how it felt—Thragg’s hands on his skin, the roughness of his touch, the way he had looked at him like he was something to be claimed.

Mark bit his lip, his fingers ghosting lower, tracing the lines of his body as if trying to recreate the sensation. His breath hitched slightly, his skin prickling under his own touch. He knew it wouldn’t be the same—not even close—but maybe, maybe, it would help take the edge off.

His eyelids fluttered shut as he gave in, his mind drifting into memory and instinct, letting himself get lost in the warmth that still refused to fade.

Mark was lost in the moment, his breathing unsteady, his body shivering under his own touch. His mind was clouded, filled with lingering sensations from last night, lost in the warmth still simmering beneath his skin. But just as he let out a soft sigh, something in the air shifted. A presence.

His eyes snapped open.

And there, standing at the foot of the bed, was an unfamiliar face staring directly at him.

Mark froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid as his brain struggled to process what he was seeing. It wasn’t Thragg. It wasn’t Giolla. No, this was a completely unfamiliar android, her icy blue eyes watching him in eerie, unnerving silence.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Mark could feel the very essence of his soul attempting to flee his body in pure mortification. Then, in a frantic burst of motion, he scrambled to grab the sheets, yanking them up to cover himself like they were his last line of defense against this nightmare.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" he yelped, his voice cracking slightly.

The android blinked. Then, in a smooth, perfectly composed voice, she spoke. “Good morning, Mark.”

Mark let out a choked noise, gripping the blanket like his life depended on it. “Good morning, my ass! What the hell?!” His voice cracked embarrassingly. “Who—who are you?! What are you doing here?! How long have you been standing there?!”

The android tilted her head slightly, as if she didn’t quite understand why he was panicking. “I am Seressa, one of Thragg’s personal androids, assigned to assist you during your stay.”

Mark stared at her, his mind struggling to reboot. "Assigned—to take care of—?! Oh my god," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Does Thragg just have androids programmed to walk in on people at the WORST possible moments?!"

The android, unfazed by his distress, simply continued. "I have also brought you fresh clothing." She held up a neatly folded set of clothes—something much looser and more breathable than the standard Viltrumite uniform. "These will provide greater comfort while you recover. Per Thragg's request.”

Mark peeked over his blanket shield, eyeing the clothes suspiciously. "That’s great and all, but maybe next time you could—I don’t know—knock?!"

"I did," she said matter-of-factly. "You did not respond.”

Mark opened his mouth, then shut it. Okay, fair. But still!

"You could’ve at least WAITED for a response!" he shot back.

The android simply blinked again, then placed the clothes on a nearby chair. "I will step outside while you dress." She turned to leave, then briefly glanced back at him. "Once you are done, please step out and I will guide you and get you acquainted with your new surroundings.”

Mark let out a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper.“Oh my god. I want to die.”

The android blinked again. “That is not advised.”

Mark flopped back onto the pillows, groaning dramatically. He had survived countless life-or-death battles, but this? This might actually kill him.

~~~~~

Mark adjusted the soft fabric of his new clothes, still feeling somewhat out of place amidst the grandeur around him. As Seressa led him down the ornate hallways, his curiosity got the better of him. “Do you know when Thragg will be back?” he asked hesitantly.

Seressa paused for a moment, her mechanical eyes blinking as though processing the question. “I cannot say for certain, but it will be some time. Lord Thragg is handling matters of great importance.”

Mark sighed, trying to mask the hint of disappointment in his expression. He was unsure why he felt so uneasy with Thragg gone. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of this place or perhaps the lingering vulnerability that came with his new role.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, the story shifts to Thragg, who was far from his estate, engaged in a critical meeting.

The room was imposing, its atmosphere thick with authority. Seated across from Thragg was Conquest, one of the oldest and most feared Viltrumites. His presence alone was enough to command respect, with scars adorning his face and a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“The future of Viltrum,” Conquest began, his voice gravelly yet sharp, “rests on how well we can secure alliances and strengthen our bloodlines. The boy, Mark, is a significant piece in all of this. An Omega, strong and pliable—he’ll serve our cause well.”

Thragg’s jaw tightened at Conquest’s words, though he kept his composure. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Mark is adjusting,” he said, his tone measured. “It will take time for him to fully integrate. He is not yet ready.”

Conquest smirked, leaning forward with an air of condescension. “Time is a luxury we can ill afford, Thragg. If you’ve already mated him, then you’ve secured your claim. But don’t think for a second that he’s yours alone. His bloodline is valuable—his purpose must serve Viltrum, not your personal whims. He’ll fall in line soon enough. They all do.”

Thragg said nothing, though his teeth ground together. Deep inside, an anger was beginning to brew—an anger he couldn’t fully explain. The thought of Mark being reduced to nothing more than a weapon for Conquest’s gain left a sour taste in his mouth.

Thragg’s fingers curled into a fist beneath the table, the subtle motion betraying the anger simmering just beneath his calm exterior. He said nothing, allowing Conquest to continue his tirade about the importance of Mark’s role in their plans.

But as the older Viltrumite spoke, Thragg’s mind wandered. Thragg found himself questioning the path laid before them. While he had always seen himself as the ultimate leader of Viltrum, unwavering in his duty, Mark’s presence had introduced something foreign to him. For the first time in his long life, doubt began to creep in. Mark was more than just a tool to him, more than a means to an end. The thought of anyone else laying claim to him, of using him for their own gain, ignited a fire in Thragg’s chest—a deep-seated anger he hadn’t anticipated.

Still, he said nothing, his expression unreadable as Conquest droned on. But internally, the idea of Mark being reduced to nothing more than a pawn was unacceptable. Thragg’s instincts, both as an Alpha and as someone who had begun to care deeply for Mark, screamed at him to protect what was his.

As the meeting continued, Thragg’s resolve hardened. He would play along for now, but Conquest and anyone else who dared to overstep would learn the hard way that Mark was not theirs to control.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since that night with Thragg.

A lot had changed—Mark could feel it. The way others looked at him whenever he went to the base, the way the air felt heavier around him. His body had adjusted, but his mind was still catching up. There was so much to process, so much left unsaid, and with everything happening, he just wanted one thing to feel normal.

That’s why he sought out Anissa. Training with her has become some sort of an outlet for him, a way to clear his head. Maybe today would be the same.

But the moment he arrived, his hopes sank.

Anissa wasn’t preparing for a sparring session—she was preparing for a mission. And she wasn’t alone. Thula and Kregg were with her, both of them finishing their preparations.

Mark furrowed his brows, disappointment settling in. “You’re leaving?”

Anissa glanced at him before fastening a piece of armor. “Yeah. It’s an important mission. We’ll be gone for a while.”

Mark shifted on his feet, suddenly feeling foolish for assuming things would stay the same. “So… what happens with my training?”

Anissa smirked, as if she had been waiting for the question. “Thragg will be taking over from now on.”

Mark blinked. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Thragg was… a lot. More than he knew how to deal with yet.

Anissa must have noticed his hesitation because she took a step closer, her smirk turning more teasing as she tilted her head toward his neck. “Judging by that mark, I’d say you two are already getting real familiar with each other.”

Mark’s face ignited instantly. He slapped a hand over the spot, groaning. “Oh my god, Anissa!”

She laughed, clearly enjoying his suffering.

Despite himself, Mark cracked a smile, shaking his head. The moment felt light, but there was something… bittersweet about it. Like an unspoken understanding between them that things were changing—for all of them.

Anissa’s amusement softened. “You’ll be fine, Mark.” She placed a firm hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Just keep your head on straight, alright?”

Mark exhaled, nodding.

They shared a brief hug before she pulled away and turned to join Thula and Kregg.

As the trio took off, the mood shifted.

Thula, ever perceptive, cast a glance at Anissa. “You’ve got something on your mind.”

Anissa didn’t answer right away. There was a flicker of hesitation—something rare for her. “…It’s nothing.”

But Thula and Kregg weren’t convinced.

They all knew the truth.

They had always known.

Mark had been chosen and is now being groomed, and molded to fit Thragg and Conquest’s plans. To be a weapon, a pawn in the grand scheme of Viltrum’s future. In the beginning, it made sense. It was the way of their people.

But now?

Now Anissa wasn’t so sure.

After spending time with him—seeing who he was beyond the role assigned to him—she wasn’t so thrilled about the future that was being set in motion.

And the worst part?

Thula and Kregg felt it too.

But neither of them acknowledged it. Instead, Kregg tightened his jaw, adjusting himself. “Focus on the mission. That’s what matters right now.”

Thula gave a small nod, though her expression remained troubled.

Anissa took one last glance over her shoulder. Mark was still standing there, watching them go.

Then, with a sigh, she turned forward, pushing the doubt to the back of her mind.

For now.

~~~~~

Mark couldn’t shake the disappointment that lingered, but dwelling on it wouldn’t change anything. With a sigh, he pushed the feeling aside and made his way back to Thragg’s estate.

It still felt strange to call it that—his estate. He had been reluctant at first, unwilling to accept the change. But if he was being honest with himself… he didn’t entirely hate it. It was far more comfortable than his previous quarters at the base. Warmer. More lived-in. He wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

As he landed at the entrance, he wasn’t surprised to find Seressa waiting for him. She was as poised as ever, arms crossed, her sharp gaze already sizing him up.

“Welcome back,” she greeted smoothly before getting straight to the point. “Your training with Thragg will begin shortly.”

Mark exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, figures.”

He wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. Training with Anissa had been intense, but with Thragg? It would be something else entirely. The man wasn’t just a warrior—he was the strongest Viltrumite alive. Mark had no doubt that Thragg’s version of ‘training’ would be nothing short of brutal.

Seressa’s lips twitched slightly, catching his reluctance. “I’d advise you to prepare yourself. Thragg isn’t known for patience.”

Mark sighed. “Yeah, I got that.”

He stepped past her, heading inside.

Whatever Thragg had planned, he’d just have to deal with it.

~~~~~~

Mark had barely stepped into the training grounds when he felt it—a crushing, oppressive presence that made his muscles tense instinctively. Thragg was already there, standing in the center of the vast, open space. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression was unreadable, but the sheer power radiating from him sent an unspoken message.

Mark swallowed hard. He had fought Thragg before—well, tried to fight him—and it hadn’t ended well. He had felt firsthand just how insignificant he was in comparison. That memory alone made his pulse quicken, but he forced himself to keep his stance steady as he approached.

Seressa had warned him that training would be intense, but he had assumed it would be manageable. After all, Thragg was supposed to be his mate now, wasn’t he? Maybe there would be some level of restraint.

That assumption was shattered the moment Thragg finally spoke.

"You look hesitant," Thragg said, tilting his head slightly. "That is a weakness. You are a Viltrumite—hesitation is an insult to our nature."

Mark frowned. "I'm not hesitating, I'm just—"

His words were cut off when Thragg moved.

No warning. No subtle shift in stance. One second he was standing still, and the next, his fist was already colliding with Mark’s gut.

Mark barely had time to register the impact before he was sent flying, the air in his lungs completely knocked out of him. He crashed into the far wall of the training arena, the stone cracking behind him from the force. His vision blurred as pain radiated through his body.

"Lesson one," Thragg said, voice cold and sharp. "Never waste time on words in a fight. They will only get you killed."

Mark groaned, forcing himself to stand despite the ache in his ribs. "Are you—" he coughed. "Are you seriously trying to kill me?"

"If I were trying to kill you, you would already be dead."

Mark grit his teeth. That shouldn’t have irritated him as much as it did.

"Again," Thragg ordered.

Mark barely had time to adjust before Thragg attacked again, this time faster. Mark saw the movement at the last second and dodged, narrowly avoiding another devastating hit. He countered with a punch of his own, aiming straight for Thragg’s jaw.

He barely even touched him.

Thragg caught his wrist effortlessly, twisting his arm behind his back in a painful hold before slamming him face-first into the ground.

"Too slow."

Mark grit his teeth, frustration flaring. He was already breathing heavier, but he refused to stay down. He twisted his body, breaking free from Thragg’s grip, and immediately launched himself at him again.

Their fight intensified.

Mark was fast, strong, but Thragg was brutal. He countered every attack, knocked aside every hit, and when he struck, it was like being hit by a meteor. Mark could barely keep up, and it didn’t take long before exhaustion started setting in.

He hated this. He hated how small Thragg made him feel, how weak he still was despite all the training he had done before. And what was worse, he could tell Thragg wasn’t even trying yet.

"You fight like a child," Thragg taunted, his voice calm even as he deflected another one of Mark’s desperate swings. "Strength without strategy is nothing. You rely too much on raw power without thinking three steps ahead. That is why you lose."

Mark clenched his jaw. He knew Thragg was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

"You’re saying I should fight like you?" he spat. "Cold and calculated?"

"I'm saying you should fight like a Viltrumite," Thragg corrected.

Mark barely had time to register those words before Thragg vanished from his line of sight. His instincts screamed at him to move, but it was too late—he felt a crushing force slam into his back, sending him to the ground once more.

Before he could get up, Thragg was on him, his boot pressed against Mark’s back, holding him down effortlessly.

"And lesson two," Thragg continued, "Dominance is the foundation of our kind. The strong lead, and the weak submit."

Mark snarled, pushing up against the pressure. "I’m not submitting to you."

Thragg let out a low, almost amused hum. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, Thragg removed the pressure, stepping back and allowing Mark to stand.

Mark barely had time to process the shift before Thragg’s next words made his blood run cold.

"Then prove it."

Mark tensed. He knew what Thragg meant.

"Fight me again. No holding back. Show me that you are worthy of standing beside me—not beneath me."

Mark wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath still uneven. His whole body ached, and the logical part of his mind told him he had no chance of winning this fight.

But he didn’t care.

He refused to let Thragg see him as weak.

With renewed determination, he lunged at Thragg once more.

The battle continued, more vicious and relentless than before. Mark wasn’t just fighting for the sake of training anymore—he was fighting for his pride. He was fighting to prove that he wasn’t just some pawn, some weakling that Thragg could belittle.

He wasn’t there yet. He knew that.

But one day, he would be strong enough to stand as Thragg’s equal.

No, he wanted to become stronger than Thragg himself.

~~~~~

The story shifts back to Earth, where Eve was in the midst of her own grueling training. While Mark was dealing with Thragg's intense and brutal lessons, Eve was facing her own challenges—ones that were just as unforgiving.

She had been meeting with Cecil for the past several weeks, and he had made it clear from the start that he wouldn’t go easy on her. He wasn’t interested in coddling or showing mercy; if Eve was going to stand a chance in the battles to come, she needed to be at her absolute best.

Her days consisted of non-stop physical training, combat simulations, and intense mental exercises designed to test her limits. At first, Eve struggled to keep up, her powers not always cooperating as she tried to master new abilities. She had always been strong, but this kind of relentless regimen pushed her body and mind to places they’d never been before.

Today was no different. She was running drills in a high-tech combat arena, where Cecil had programmed various alien threats to attack her. She dodged, blocked, and countered, but each wave of attacks was harder than the last. The atmosphere inside the arena felt suffocating, the heat from the simulated blasters creating a stifling environment. Her body ached, and sweat streamed down her face, but there was no time to stop. If she hesitated, even for a moment, she’d be overwhelmed.

"Focus, Eve." Cecil’s voice echoed through her earpiece, sharp and commanding. "You have to be faster. Think ahead. Don’t just react—anticipate."

Eve gritted her teeth. The feeling of exhaustion tugged at her, but she couldn’t afford to slow down. The stakes were too high. Mark was out there on his own, dealing with things she could hardly comprehend. She couldn’t afford to be weak anymore—not for him, and certainly not for herself.

She moved swiftly, knocking one enemy simulation down, dodging another, her breath heavy but controlled. Each movement was calculated, each strike more precise than the last. But despite her growing confidence, she knew she had a long way to go. She could feel herself teetering on the edge of exhaustion, her mind starting to crack under the constant pressure.

The final wave of simulations came at her fast, a group of aggressive combatants closing in on all sides. Eve barely managed to block a few strikes before one of them landed a solid hit to her ribs. She gasped, stumbling back but refusing to fall. She could feel the burning pain from the blow, but she wouldn’t let it control her. This was her chance to prove she could handle the intensity, to prove she wasn’t just the support—she could be a warrior too.

"Eve." Cecil’s voice broke through her thoughts again, softer this time, though still commanding. "You’re letting the pain distract you. Don’t lose focus. You’ve got this."

And with that, something clicked.

Eve’s body moved almost on its own, a fluidity of motion that came from months of training. She landed hit after hit, countering each move from her opponents with precision. The simulations faltered, and one by one, they fell, until the last one disappeared with a static sound.

She stood in the center of the arena, chest heaving, but victorious.

"You did well," Cecil said after a long pause. "But it’s only the beginning. You have more to learn, more to push through. I’ll push you harder next time."

Eve let out a breath of relief, her body sore and bruised, but she had made it through. The pain was worth it, and she knew she’d only grow stronger. As the doors to the training room opened, she leaned against the wall for support, trying to steady her breathing.

Her thoughts immediately shifted to Mark. What was he going through now? Was he okay? Despite everything, she couldn’t shake the lingering worry about him, about what Thragg could possibly have planned for him.

She had her own battles to fight, and she wouldn't let herself fall behind. Not while he was out there, facing the unknown.

Eve’s thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. She turned to see Rex, his cocky grin plastered across his face as usual. Despite the weariness in her muscles, she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of relief at the sight of him.

"You look like you've just been put through the wringer," Rex teased, his eyes scanning her with a mixture of amusement and concern. "You sure you're okay?"

Eve wiped the sweat from her brow, offering him a tired but sincere smile. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just... a lot on my mind."

Rex raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing there was more to it than just physical exhaustion. "Let me guess—you're thinking about Mark, right?"

Eve stiffened slightly, her eyes narrowing as she gave him a cautious look. "What makes you say that?"

Rex shrugged nonchalantly, his usual confidence masking his more thoughtful side. "It's obvious. Ever since he left, you’ve been distracted, and I know you’ve been worried about him. You can’t hide it, Eve."

Eve sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I can’t help it. I just... I don’t know what’s happening with him anymore. He’s with Thragg, and I have no idea what’s really going on. The last time I saw him—” memories of that unfaithful day consumed her thoughts.

Rex watched her carefully for a moment before walking closer. "I get it," he said quietly, his tone softening. "I know you care about him. You always have. But you can’t lose yourself in worrying about him, Eve. You’ve got your own fight to focus on now, just like he’s got his. And you’re both strong enough to handle it. You just need to trust each other."

Eve felt a tightness in her chest at his words. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Mark, it was that the unknown scared her. They were both facing challenges that were beyond anything they’d ever experienced before, and the fear of losing him or not being able to help him weighed heavily on her.

"I know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But what if... what if he’s going through something I can’t even imagine? And I’m just here, training, pretending everything’s okay?"

Rex's gaze softened, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. "You’re not pretending, Eve. You’re doing everything you can. And sometimes, the best thing you can do is make sure you’re ready for whatever comes next. For both of you."

For a moment, there was silence between them. Eve glanced at him, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes. It wasn’t often Rex showed vulnerability, but in that moment, she could see that he understood her fear, even if he didn’t say it outright.

"Thanks, Rex," she muttered, feeling a small sense of comfort despite everything. "I needed to hear that."

He grinned again, that usual mischievous twinkle in his eyes returning. "Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sentimental on me. Just keep training, and we’ll figure things out. We always do."

Eve chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah, but you love me for it," he teased, raising an eyebrow.

Eve couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips was genuine. "Sure, sure. Just don’t make me regret it."

Rex’s smirk faded, his expression becoming more serious as he met her gaze. "Listen, if you need to talk, I’m here. Whatever’s going on with Mark, we’ll figure it out together. And if it comes down to it, I’ve got your back."

Eve nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude for the friends she had around her. Even though her worries about Mark weren’t going to disappear anytime soon, maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone in carrying that weight.

"Thanks, Rex. Really," she said softly. "It means more than you know."

~~~~~

(Cecil and Donald's Secret Project)

For weeks, Cecil and Donald had been working on something neither of them could afford to let slip. It was a project so secretive and dangerous, one that would leave no room for failure. Their minds, both sharp but coming from different backgrounds, were focused on a single goal: creating a weapon that could stand up to the might of Mark Grayson, should he ever fall into the wrong hands.

This wasn’t a plan that would be approved by anyone they knew. Certainly not by Debbie, who was already heartbroken over Mark’s growing distance from her. Certainly not by Nolan, who would never condone such an extreme measure. And most definitely not by Mark himself, who had no idea that his own blood would be used against him.

Cecil stared at the large, glass tank in front of him. Inside, a form floated suspended in a viscous solution, muscles twitching lightly as the clone’s body continued to grow. The clone was a hybrid, a combination of the best genetic traits from Mark, Nolan, and an additional factor: the growth properties of a Thraxan. The Thraxan genes were experimental, meant to accelerate the clone’s physical growth and strength at an exponentially faster rate, even allowing the clone to potentially surpass the physical limits of both Mark and Nolan in certain aspects.

"It's getting close," Cecil muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing as he observed the subject in the tank. "Once the final adjustments are made, we'll have a weapon that could rival anything the Viltrumites throw at us."

Donald stood beside him, looking less than thrilled with the path they were taking but understanding the necessity of it. "You sure about this, Cecil? What if we’re wrong?"

Cecil’s voice was firm. "We don’t have a choice. If Mark ever turns on us, or if the Viltrumites get to him first, we need something we can control. This clone will be that something."

Donald let out a sigh, clearly uncomfortable. "And if we don’t need it? What happens to the clone then?"

Cecil glanced at Donald, his expression a mix of determination and cold pragmatism. "We destroy it, of course. But for now, we finish the job. It’s a contingency plan, nothing more. But we need to be prepared for the worst."

Donald gave a reluctant nod, although there was a hint of unease in his eyes. "I get it. It’s just... using Mark’s DNA, Nolan’s... it feels wrong. You’re playing with fire."

"Sometimes the best way to protect the people you care about is to take risks, even if it means doing things no one would ever approve of," Cecil responded, his voice laced with both resolve and a hint of regret. "This clone is our backup. Mark is powerful, but so is Nolan. We just have to make sure that if something goes wrong, we’re the ones who have the upper hand."

As they continued to oversee the growth process, a faint hum of machinery echoed around the lab. The clone, still developing and evolving inside the tank, was growing at an accelerated rate. Cecil and Donald monitored the vitals, adjusting variables to ensure the growth was happening as planned. They knew there were risks involved—after all, genetic experiments like this had a history of failure—but the need for this weapon was pressing.

The clone’s strength was undeniable. The experiments had been designed to push the limits of biology, ensuring the subject could stand up against even the most formidable forces. They were calculating the clone’s combat abilities, adjusting its intellect to a level where it could understand its directives and respond accordingly.

The cloning process was highly advanced, but so were the risks. What if this creation, despite being a tool for control, became something uncontrollable? The uncertainty gnawed at the edges of their thoughts, but they brushed it aside, focusing on the immediate necessity of their plan.

~~~~~

Each day that passed, Mark's training under Thragg became more punishing, more relentless. There was no such thing as "easy" under Thragg’s command. Every session left him battered, breathless, and questioning just how far he could be pushed before he broke. But breaking wasn’t an option—not under Thragg, not under the Viltrumite way.

The mornings began the same: no words, no pleasantries, just the deafening roar of Thragg’s voice commanding him to stand before him in the training arena. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and blood, the ground beneath them littered with faint stains from the previous sessions. Mark had lost count of how many times he had fallen to his knees, gasping for air, his vision darkening at the edges from sheer exhaustion.

Yet, Thragg never let up.

“Stand.” His voice was void of emotion, his towering form imposing as he loomed over Mark’s beaten body. “Your enemies won’t give you a moment to catch your breath. Weakness in battle is death, and if you die, you do so as a failure. Are you a failure, Mark?”

Mark gritted his teeth, forcing himself to rise. His muscles screamed in protest, but he refused to stay down. “No.”

The moment he was on his feet, Thragg was already moving. A devastating fist slammed into his gut, sending him hurtling backward. The force was enough to make Mark nearly vomit, his ribs shuddering under the pressure. He barely had time to recover before Thragg was on him again, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him forward only to drive a brutal knee into his sternum.

Mark coughed violently, a trail of blood escaping from his lips. His body felt like it was shattering from the inside out, but the pain no longer shocked him like it had in the beginning. It had become a part of him.

He knew Thragg was holding back. That was the worst part.

“You hesitate,” Thragg observed coldly, watching Mark struggle to remain standing. “You’re still afraid to strike with full intent. That hesitation will be the difference between victory and destruction. You want to be stronger? Prove it.”

Mark’s breath was ragged, his heart pounding against his ribs. He clenched his fists. This wasn’t just training anymore—it was survival. Thragg wasn’t preparing him for simple combat. He was forging him into something else.

A weapon.

The moment Mark moved, he poured everything into his attack. His body blurred as he rocketed toward Thragg, fists drawn back, fury driving his momentum. He aimed for Thragg’s jaw, only for his attack to be effortlessly dodged. In the blink of an eye, Thragg’s hand was wrapped around his throat, lifting him clean off the ground.

Mark’s vision flickered. The pressure against his windpipe was crushing.

“Is this all your instincts have to offer?” Thragg’s voice was almost bored. He tightened his grip just enough to make Mark’s head pulse with unbearable pressure. “If I were your enemy, you’d be dead already.”

With that, he threw Mark across the arena, sending him crashing into the hard ground below. Mark groaned, his body barely able to move.

“Again.”

Mark’s hands dug into the dirt. He could barely breathe, barely think. But there was no choice but to keep going.

The next time he got up, he wasn’t sure if it was out of determination or sheer stubbornness. Perhaps a mix of both. Thragg’s expression remained unreadable as Mark staggered back into his stance. There was no praise, no acknowledgment of his perseverance. Only expectation.

And so the brutal cycle continued, day after day. The pain, the blood, the endless struggle against Thragg’s merciless training regimen. But something inside Mark was changing.

The hesitation was fading.

The pain was becoming fuel.

And deep inside, something more dangerous was beginning to awaken.

Something even Thragg had been waiting for.

The air was thick with tension, the only sounds echoing through the training grounds being Mark’s ragged breathing and the low hum of energy radiating from his beaten body. Every inch of him ached, bruises already forming beneath his skin, but he refused to fall—refused to yield. He wiped the blood trickling from his mouth, eyes narrowing at the towering figure before him.

Thragg, unfazed as always, merely regarded him with a cold, calculating stare. Then, in a tone laced with mockery, he spoke:

"Perhaps I was mistaken in making you my mate."

Mark’s heart clenched. His body stiffened, but before he could respond, Thragg pressed further, his voice cruel and unwavering.

"You’re weak, hesitant—just like your father. I should have known the son of Nolan would struggle to live up to his potential."

That name. That comparison.

Something snapped.

A searing pain burned through Mark’s neck, the mark Thragg had given him igniting like wildfire. His pulse skyrocketed, his breath hitching as something primal clawed its way to the surface. His fingers trembled—not from fear, but from something far more dangerous.

Rage.

Pure, unfiltered, uncontrollable rage.

His vision blurred, red seeping into the edges of his sight. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out every rational thought. The air around him grew heavier, charged with something almost suffocating. Then, his eyes—once filled with lingering doubt—flickered to a deep, unnatural crimson.

Thragg smirked, pleased.

"There it is," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but it sent a shiver down Mark’s spine. "Show me what you truly are, Mark. Stop holding back."

Mark’s breathing was erratic, his body vibrating with a foreign sensation that both terrified and exhilarated him. His muscles coiled, the bloodlust surging through him unlike anything he had ever felt before.

And then—he moved.

Faster than before, faster than even he could register.

Thragg barely had time to react before a fist crashed into his face, the force of it sending shockwaves through the ground beneath them. A lesser being would have been obliterated on the spot. Even Thragg—Thragg—staggered back, the impact leaving a forming bruise along his cheekbone.

But Mark wasn’t done.

He launched forward, a snarl ripping from his throat, his movements no longer calculated or restrained—they were primal. A savage punch to the gut, an elbow to the jaw, a knee driving into Thragg’s ribs. Each strike more vicious than the last, fueled by something beyond mere instinct.

Thragg’s body absorbed the blows, but the shock in his eyes was unmistakable.

Mark wasn’t just angry. He wasn’t just fighting.

He was becoming.

Becoming something dangerous. Something uncontrollable.

And for the first time since their training began—Thragg felt it.

A sliver of fear.

But beneath that fear, there was something else—something far more twisted.

Excitement.

Because Mark was finally giving in.

And Thragg wouldn't stop until he dragged him down even further.

The fight raged on, Mark's movements a blur of raw power, each strike crashing with an intensity that shook the very air around them. His fists connected with Thragg's chest, his legs delivering brutal kicks that forced even the mighty Viltrumite to stumble back. His blood roared with adrenaline, his mind nothing more than a haze of anger and red-hot fury. The mark on his neck pulsed in time with his heartbeat, each throb of it driving him further into this state of madness, of lust for destruction. His breath was erratic, his body barely containing the overwhelming surge of power within him.

But it wasn't sustainable.

Mark could feel it.

Each blow he landed took more from him than he could give, his body betraying him with each movement. His vision, once clear with rage, began to cloud. His limbs, once swift and strong, began to feel heavy. The raw power of the heat, the bloodlust that surged through him, was too much.

The energy crackling around him began to fade as his strength faltered. His legs wobbled beneath him, threatening to give way. His vision swam with dark spots, and his breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps. He could still see Thragg—still feel the primal need to destroy—but his body was no longer responding the way it should.

Mark’s teeth gritted, a low growl escaping him. He pushed through the exhaustion, his arms pulling him forward with the remnants of his willpower.

One last strike.

His fists clenched tighter, his muscles straining, a roar bubbling in his chest as he gathered the final bit of energy for a blow that would shatter Thragg's resolve once and for all. He pulled his arm back, his eyes wild and filled with dark satisfaction as he aimed for Thragg's face.

But his body couldn’t follow through.

Just as his fist shot forward, his vision went completely black. A sharp pain shot through his temples, the force of it stunning him. His legs buckled, his body no longer responding to his commands as he collapsed forward, crashing into the ground with a sickening thud. The world around him spun, the chaotic energy in his body draining away, leaving only an aching emptiness in its wake. His body trembled, sweat drenching his skin, and the mark on his neck flared one last time before it dimmed to nothing.

For a moment, there was nothing but darkness.

Mark's consciousness wavered on the edge of oblivion, his body unable to hold onto the surge of power it had consumed. In that brief moment, he felt completely... small.

A sharp gasp of air filled his lungs, and he blinked his eyes open, only to be met with the sight of Thragg standing above him. The towering Viltrumite looked down at him, a strange mixture of amusement and cold satisfaction in his gaze. His breath was steady, barely even a sign of the fight they had just endured.

“You’re not ready,” Thragg’s voice was low, like a predator enjoying the hunt, his words sinking deep into Mark’s fragile mind.

Mark's chest heaved as he tried to push himself up, his hands shaking, but his body was too weak to support him. He struggled, and yet, Thragg didn’t offer a hand or any sympathy.

The intense flood of power had left him in a vulnerable state, a state that Mark wasn’t used to. All he had known for years was strength, invincibility—now, in this moment, he could feel the full weight of his own fragility. The uncertainty of his limits.

“Pathetic.” Thragg’s tone shifted, his earlier satisfaction turning to disdain as he looked down at Mark, still struggling to rise.

But Mark refused to be weak. Even as his body trembled beneath him, the fire within him refused to die. He gritted his teeth, pushing past the weakness, trying to summon whatever power he could still hold onto. "I won't... stop." His voice cracked with frustration, but there was fire behind it. "I’ll… I’ll get stronger."

Thragg said nothing, his gaze unwavering, but for the first time, there was something in his eyes that almost resembled... respect.

But Mark knew that respect was fleeting. It wasn’t enough to change the harsh reality that he was still too fragile.

“You’ll need to learn to push past your limits, boy,” Thragg muttered, taking a step back and watching him carefully. Mark’s body shook with the aftereffects of his failed attempt, but his mind, his will, were still burning with that same unyielding desire.

He could feel the anger again—the need to fight, to prove something to himself. No. He wouldn't let this defeat him. He would rise.

But the question lingered at the back of his mind: How much further could he push before his body finally gave in completely?

Mark lay there, broken and exhausted, his body trembling from the intensity of the fight. The world around him seemed to spin as he struggled to process what had just happened. Thragg’s cold dismissal, the brutal training, the overwhelming surge of power that had both driven him and nearly destroyed him—it all seemed like too much. His body, which had always been his strongest asset, now felt like a prison. The mark on his neck still burned, though the fire inside him was beginning to die down.

How much longer could he take this? The question echoed in his mind like a drumbeat, loud and persistent. Every fiber of his being screamed for a break, a respite. But deep down, he knew there was no rest. There was no escape from this path.

The feeling of isolation started to seep in, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him. His father, Nolan—what would he think if he saw him now? And yet, despite being against their brutal, murderous nature, Mark couldn’t deny the pull that the Viltrumite way of life had on him. The power, the purpose, the sense of belonging—it was intoxicating, even if it came at a cost.

But was it worth it?

As the silence stretched on, Mark’s mind grew darker. His bloodlust, the surge of violence that had taken over him, was something that felt… uncontrollable. Even now, he could feel the remnants of it simmering beneath the surface, waiting to break free once more. It terrified him, yet there was a part of him that relished it. The power, the destruction—it was addictive.

~~~~~

On a distant planet, far removed from Earth and the Viltrumite Empire’s direct grasp, Nolan sat in tense silence, staring out at the barren landscape. His mind, usually sharp and focused, was clouded with unease. Something was off. He couldn't quite place it, but there was a sense of foreboding in the air. As a seasoned Viltrumite, his instincts were honed to a razor's edge, and they were screaming at him now.

It was subtle at first, like a whisper on the edge of his consciousness. Then, it became stronger—an intense, primal energy. His eyes narrowed, and he stood, his gaze fixed on the vastness of space before him. It was Mark. Nolan’s blood ran cold as he realized that the feeling he was experiencing was coming from his son.

His own emotions stirred within him—concern, anger, and a deep, gnawing fear. Mark’s power… it was unlike anything Nolan had ever felt before. It was raw, untamed, and brimming with bloodlust. The boy had always had potential, but now? Now, he was something entirely different. It was as if a switch had been flipped within him, and Nolan had no idea how far it would go.

"Mark..." Nolan muttered under his breath, a sense of dread settling over him.

~~~~~

(Back at on Planet Viltrum)

In a dark corner of the Viltrumite base, Conquest stood still, his eyes closed as he focused. The same sensation Nolan had felt—he had it too. And it was growing stronger, almost pulsing through the air. He could sense Mark's bloodlust from across the galaxy, as if the boy’s rage was a beacon drawing the attention of all who could feel it.

Conquest smiled, a dangerous gleam in his eye. This was exactly what he had hoped for. This surge of power, this uncontrollable anger—it was the very thing that would make Mark a formidable asset, or perhaps, a weapon. His mind began to race with the possibilities. If Mark could be manipulated just right, then he could be used for the Viltrumite cause in ways no one could have predicted. But that wasn’t going to be easy. Mark’s emotions were a double-edged sword.

~~~~~

(Anissa, Thula, and Kregg)

Far from the chaotic storm of Mark’s inner turmoil, Anissa, Thula, and Kregg were also sensing something. The energy Mark was putting off wasn’t something easily ignored. They had all felt it, a strange and powerful pulse that seemed to vibrate in the very air. The three Viltrumites exchanged uneasy glances, none of them speaking the thoughts they were all too aware of.

Anissa was the first to speak, her voice low, laced with uncertainty. "Mark's... changing."

Thula’s gaze darkened. She had felt it, too—something in Mark was shifting, evolving into something even more dangerous than they had anticipated. His power was growing rapidly, but it wasn’t just that. It was the bloodlust that now surrounded him like a dark cloud, suffocating in its intensity.

"I didn’t think it would happen this quickly," Kregg added, his tone wary. "This could get out of control."

Anissa’s gaze turned toward the distant horizon, her mind spinning. She had spent time with Mark, gotten to know him, and despite the mission, part of her had begun to care. But now, sensing him slip further into the abyss of his own rage left a bad feeling in her gut.

~~~~~

Back with Mark, he could still feel the mark on his neck burning, the remnants of Thragg’s influence lurking just beneath his skin. The bloodlust, though momentarily quelled, threatened to rise again, and he could almost taste the violence on the tip of his tongue.

What was he becoming?

The question lingered in the air, unanswered. Would he be the one in control of this power? Or would it consume him?

For Mark, the future seemed darker than ever.

Chapter Text

Mark had barely moved from the bed since his last training session. His body was still recovering, his muscles sore, his mind clouded. The memory of what had happened haunted him—the way he lost control, the way his vision had bled red, the way his power had surged beyond his ability to handle. He had blacked out before he could even understand what he had become.

And Thragg had left him there. Like he was nothing.

But now, instead of dragging him into another grueling session, Thragg had allowed him a rare reprieve. No training, no orders—just rest.
Mark wanted to be angry. He wanted to resist, to hold on to that last piece of defiance that told him not to trust the man who had put him through hell. But exhaustion was a cruel master, and right now, all he could do was accept the quiet.

The sun had long since set when Mark finally dragged himself out of bed. He wandered the halls of Thragg’s estate, his feet carrying him aimlessly. The air was warm, the distant hum of Viltrumite technology filling the silence. It was strange how quickly he had gotten used to this place, how parts of it felt almost... comfortable. No—he corrects himself—it felt familiar.

He wasn’t sure how long he walked before he found himself outside, the cool night air brushing against his skin. And there—standing at the edge of a high balcony, gazing out the starry distance—was Thragg.

Mark wasn't sure if he should approach him or leave without saying a word.

Something about seeing Thragg like this, alone, his usual commanding presence softened by the night, made him feel... unsettled.

Before he could stop himself, he stepped forward.

“You should be resting,” Thragg said without turning around.

Mark scoffed, leaning against the railing beside him. “Can’t sleep.”

Thragg finally glanced at him. “Your body is still adjusting. You pushed yourself too far.”

Mark exhaled sharply, gripping the railing. “I didn’t push myself. You pushed me.” His voice was bitter, but there was no real anger in it. Just exhaustion.

Thragg didn’t deny it. Instead, he let the silence linger between them before finally speaking again.

“You lost control.”

Mark tensed, his fingers digging into the white stone. “…I know.”

He hated how Thragg said it. Like it was expected. Like it was inevitable.

“You felt it, didn’t you?” Thragg continued, his voice quieter this time. “The strength. The power. The clarity.”

Mark swallowed hard. He had felt it. In those brief, terrifying moments before he blacked out, there had been something intoxicating about it. Something that made him feel unstoppable.

And that scared him more than anything.

Thragg studied him for a moment before shifting his gaze back to the horizon. “You fear it. But you shouldn’t.”

Mark frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t—”

“You do,” Thragg interrupted. “You think it makes you a monster.”

Mark remained silent.

“But you are not a monster, Mark.” Thragg’s tone was... gentle. “You are evolving. Becoming what you were always meant to be.”

Mark wanted to argue. Wanted to deny it. But the way Thragg spoke—so sure, so calm—it was disarming.

“You resist because of what your father taught you,” Thragg continued. “Because of the weakness Earth instilled in you. But in the end, none of that will matter. Your body, your blood, your instincts—they will always lead you back to who you truly are.”

Mark turned away, his chest tightening.

It was terrifying how easy it was to listen.

How easy it was to believe him.

The night air felt heavier now, the space between them shrinking in ways Mark wasn’t sure how to process. Something was unnerving about being this close to Thragg when he wasn’t fighting him.

Because now, in this quiet moment, Thragg didn’t feel like an enemy.

He felt like something else entirely.

Mark wasn’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was Thragg. But before he knew it, they were standing closer, their bodies just inches apart.

His breath was unsteady, his mind clouded. He should step back. He should say something. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Thragg’s hand brushed against his arm, light but deliberate. “You don’t need to fight it,” he murmured.

Mark’s pulse quickened.

He wanted to argue. He wanted to push Thragg away. But the moment those hands—strong, steady, commanding—found his waist, Mark felt himself being pulled in. Before he could think, before he could stop himself, their lips met.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn't hesitant. It was a force of nature, as if all the tension, all the building emotions, had been leading to this.

Mark barely had time to register it before he felt Thragg peeling away his clothes, discarding them with little effort. A shiver ran down his spine—not just from the cool air, but from the weight of what was happening.

There was no reluctance in Thragg’s movements, no uncertainty. He knew what he was doing, and Mark—breathless, overwhelmed—couldn’t bring himself to stop it.

And just like that, the line between enemy and something far more dangerous blurred into nothing.

The night stretched on, their bodies tangled in something far more intimate than battle.

But even in the haze of it all, one thought lingered at the back of Mark’s mind.

He was slipping.

And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop.

This moment—this fragile, twisted thing—was just another step in Thragg’s plan. Another thread in the web he was weaving around Mark, pulling him deeper, making him depend on him.

And Mark, exhausted and vulnerable, didn’t even realize it.

Not yet.

~~~~~~~

Mark had assumed today would be another brutal training session—more relentless sparring, more broken bones and bruises. But Thragg had different plans.

No, today wasn’t about training.

It was about something far more significant.

“We’re leaving,” Thragg announced as Mark stood in the training yard, waiting for instructions.

Mark blinked, still shaking off the remnants of sleep. "Leaving?”

“There is a planet in need of our assistance,” Thragg explained smoothly. “A tyrant rules over its people with an iron fist. They’ve pleaded for our help, and I’ve decided we shall grant it.”
Something about Thragg’s words unsettled Mark. Since when did the Viltrumites help anyone? But the way Thragg phrased it, the way he looked at Mark with certainty, it made it hard to argue.

He eyed Mark carefully. “You will handle the matter personally.”

Mark stiffened. “You…want me to take him out?”

Thragg’s expression didn’t waver. “You’re more than capable.”

Mark swallowed hard.

It wasn’t that he had never killed before—war demanded it. But this felt different. This wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t an ambush. It was a mission of execution.

Still, he didn’t protest.

And so, they left.

~~~~~~

The planet, known as Xythera, was a place of stark contrasts. It was beautiful in a way Mark hadn’t expected—vast, golden plains stretched for miles, while jagged black mountains loomed in the distance. The sky was a rich violet, streaked with twin suns that burned hot overhead.

But the moment they landed, the atmosphere felt wrong.

The people—tall, four-armed beings with deep-set eyes—stood in clusters, whispering among themselves. They didn’t look relieved.

They looked afraid.

Mark tried to push the unease away as he followed Thragg toward the capital city. The so-called tyrant resided in a massive, fortress-like palace, heavily guarded but no match for Viltrumite's strength.

Thragg led the way, making short work of anyone who dared to resist. Mark followed, fists tightening at his sides, ignoring the pit growing in his stomach.

This was right, wasn’t it?

Then why did it feel so wrong?

~~~~~~

The battle inside the palace was short but brutal.

Mark faced the planet’s leader, a formidable warrior named Solas, who refused to go down without a fight. The two clashed, shattering walls, collapsing pillars, their battle shaking the very foundation of the palace.

Mark was stronger. Faster. More ruthless.

But Solas was experienced. He didn’t waste energy on meaningless attacks. He fought with precision, his movements calculated.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

Mark eventually gained the upper hand, pinning Solas against the fractured remains of a throne. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his brow as he prepared for the final blow.

But his hands trembled.

His mind screamed at him to stop.

This isn’t like before. He’s beaten. There’s no need to kill him.

But then—

“You hesitate,” Thragg’s voice echoed from behind.

Mark stiffened.

“Kill him,” Thragg ordered, his tone sharp.

Solas coughed, glaring up at Mark. “You don’t have to do this,” he rasped.

Mark’s grip tightened.

‘Don’t I?’

“Do it.”

Something inside Mark snapped.

With one swift motion, he drove his fist through Solas’s chest.

For a moment, everything stopped.

The warmth of blood coated his skin. Solas’s eyes went wide—shocked, disbelieving—before life faded from them completely.

Mark stood there, frozen, watching the body slump to the ground in a heap.

And then—

A smile twitched on his lips.

It was faint. Almost imperceptible.

But it was there.

The rush of power, the sheer dominance of it, sent a shiver through his body. It felt good.

And that realization terrified him.

The moment passed quickly, his breath hitching as the weight of what he’d done crashed down on him.

Slowly, he turned.

The beings of Xythera stood at the edges of the ruined palace, their wide, horrified eyes locked on him. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t celebrate.

They cowered.

Mark’s stomach twisted.

He had freed them, hadn’t he?

He did the right thing.

Then why did they look at him like he was the monster?

Thragg stepped beside him, a hand on his shoulder. “You did well,” he said, voice calm, almost proud.

Mark swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

He wasn’t sure what disturbed him more—the people’s terror, or the fact that, for one brief second, he had enjoyed it.

The throne room, once a symbol of Xytheran power, lay in ruins. Dust and blood stained the fractured stone floor, and the lifeless body of Solas slumped at Mark’s feet. The eerie silence that followed his execution sent a chill through the air.

Mark barely breathed, staring at the terrified onlookers, their trembling forms pressed against the walls, too scared to run, too afraid to speak.

Then, Thragg stepped forward.

“Your leader is dead,” he declared, his voice booming through the ruins of the palace. “From this day forward, Xythera will no longer rot under the rule of weak and misguided fools.”

Mark could feel the power radiating from Thragg’s every word. It was undeniable, absolute.

“You are now under the rule of Viltrum.”

A wave of unease spread through the gathered crowd. Their hands clenched into fists, their bodies stiffened. But no one spoke. No one resisted.

Because they couldn’t.

A hush fell over the crowd. Their fear was undeniable, their bodies instinctively recoiling at the sheer force of Thragg’s presence. Even without raising a hand, his energy alone suffocated the room like an unseen force pressing down on their very souls.

Slowly, one by one, the Xytherans began to kneel.

Not out of loyalty. Not out of respect.

But out of sheer, overwhelming terror.

Mark’s breath came shallow, his pulse pounding in his ears as he watched them submit.

They feared him.

Him.

And somehow, in that moment, something inside him stirred—something dark.

He should’ve felt sick. Should’ve felt wrong.

But instead, the way they lowered their heads, the way they cowered—it sent a shiver down his spine, one that was almost pleasurable.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, firm and reassuring.

“You have proven yourself worthy of standing beside me,” Thragg said, his voice low, filled with something Mark had craved for so long. Approval.

Mark swallowed.

He shouldn’t be proud of that. Not in a moment like this. Not after what he had just done.

Yet he was.

He turned slightly, his eyes meeting Thragg’s. The older Viltrumite’s gaze was unwavering, filled with something Mark rarely saw even in his father’s eyes. Not disappointment. Not frustration.

But satisfaction.

And Mark felt a twisted sense of pride coil in his chest.

Before the weight of that realization could fully settle—

A roar of defiance cut through the air.

Mark barely had time to react before three warriors lunged at Thragg, weapons drawn, eyes burning with desperate rage.

They still resist.

A part of Mark expected Thragg to handle it.

But he didn’t. He didn't need to.

The desire to protect his Alpha was strong and in that split second, Mark moved. His body acted on instinct, faster than his thoughts. He intercepted the first warrior mid-air, his fist driving through the Xytheran’s chest before the alien could even blink. Blood splattered across Mark’s face, warm and thick.

The second came next. Mark twisted, his hands closing around the warrior’s throat, crushing his windpipe with a sickening crack before tossing the limp body aside.

The third hesitated. A fatal mistake.

Mark didn’t give him a chance to rethink his decision.

In one fluid motion, he grabbed the final warrior by the skull and slammed him into the stone floor. The impact sent a tremor through the ground, and when Mark lifted his hand, all that remained was a mangled, lifeless corpse.

A heavy silence followed.

Mark stood there, his chest rising and falling, blood dripping from his fingers.

The remaining Xytherans didn’t hesitate this time.

They all dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the cold floor, too terrified to look him in the eye.

The dark feeling inside Mark swelled.

It felt good.

It felt right.

And for the first time, he didn’t try to fight it.

~~~~~~

Far across the galaxy, deep within the Coalition of Planets' stronghold, Allen the Alien stood frozen, his eye wide with shock. His body tensed as a chilling sensation crawled up his body—a darkness so raw, so consuming, that it made his stomach churn.

It wasn’t just any presence.

It was familiar.

It was Mark.

“No way…” Allen whispered under his breath, gripping the railing before him as he tried to steady himself.

This wasn’t like before. Mark had always been strong, always had potential—but this?

This was something else.

Something dangerous.

Something wrong.

For the first time since he’d known Mark, Allen felt an unease settle into his gut. This wasn’t the same friend he had fought beside. This was something new. Something's changing. And whatever it was… it wasn’t heading in the right direction.

~~~~~~

(Elsewhere, in a distant war-ravaged world…)

Thokk, the infamous Battle Beast, sat atop a mountain of corpses, his fur matted with the blood of fallen warriors. His breath was steady, but his heart…

His heart was restless.

Then, he felt it.

A pulse. A disturbance in the vast cosmos.

It was faint but unmistakable—a surge of raw, untamed bloodlust.

And it came from none other than Mark Grayson.

Thokk’s lips curled into a feral grin, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.

“Well now…” he mused, gripping his weapon tightly as excitement rushed through him.

It wasn’t fear that gripped him.

It was hunger.

A hunger for the battle that awaited him.

For the warrior that Mark was becoming.

For the warrior he would soon face.

~~~~~

The journey back to Planet Viltrum was heavy with silence. Mark sat stiffly, staring out at the endless stretch of space, his mind caught in an endless loop of everything that had transpired on Xythera.

The leader’s—as well as the rebellious Xytheran’s—corpse were still fresh in his memory. The way the beings looked at him. The way his heart raced at the power, at Thragg’s approval.

He should feel sick. He wanted to feel sick. But instead, all he felt was confused.

Did he do the right thing?

Would he even recognize if he was becoming the very thing he fought against?

The weight of those thoughts didn’t leave him, not even when they finally landed back on Thragg’s estate.

But something else was in the air.

Adrenaline still coursed through their veins, tense and electric. Every movement between them felt charged. Every glance lingered too long.

Mark barely had time to catch his breath before Thragg was on him, a storm of heat and dominance. There was no room for hesitation, no room for overthinking—just the raw, unspoken connection forged through battle, through bloodshed, through something neither of them fully understood.

Clothes were torn away without care, hands gripping, pulling, claiming. Their bodies moved in sync, driven by unfiltered lust.

For that moment, Mark let himself feel rather than think.

But afterward, when the high faded, when the room was quiet save for the steady rhythm of their breathing, reality crept back in.

Mark lay beside Thragg, staring at the ceiling, his mind unwilling to let go of the question that had haunted him all the way back.

"What am I becoming?"

Chapter Text

Mark stood at the front of the warship, his arms crossed as he gazed down at the planet below. This was his first mission as a leader. He had to prove himself—to Thragg, to himself, and to the other Viltrumites. But as he turned his gaze toward his so-called team, he already felt the weight of their defiance pressing against him.

They didn’t respect him.

Some of them made no effort to hide their contempt. Others, like Korvel, were openly antagonistic. Korvel leaned against the ship’s interior wall, arms crossed, an insufferable smirk plastered across his face.

“So, we’re supposed to take orders from you now?” Korvel scoffed, his tone laced with mockery. "What, because you’ve got Thragg’s favor? You think getting bent over by him makes you fit to lead?"

Mark’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t react. Not yet.

The others chuckled lowly, exchanging glances, waiting to see if he’d snap. But Mark remained still, forcing himself to stay calm.

“Enough,” he said flatly. “We have a mission to complete. We go in without drawing too much attention to ourselves, we don’t engage unless necessary, and we capture the ruler alive. We do this right, and it’ll be over quickly.”

No one spoke up. But the smirks remained.

Mark turned back toward the display. He knew they weren’t taking him seriously.

They would soon.

~~~~~

No one was having a shittier day than Mark was. Why? Because the plan unraveled the moment their boots hit the ground.

Instead of precision and control, his squad tore into the enemy like savages, ignoring strategy entirely. The mission was supposed to be surgical—neutralize key targets, subdue the ruler, and establish dominance without unnecessary bloodshed.

Instead, it was chaos.

Korvel and the other members didn’t just kill; they butchered. They tore through the planet’s warriors like rabid beasts, laughing as they dismembered bodies, painting the grounds in blood. Instead of striking efficiently and moving on, they lingered, playing with their prey, reveling in the violence.

Mark clenched his teeth, his fury bubbling beneath the surface. This wasn't strategy. This wasn’t gain. This was stupidity.

Mark fought his way to the ruler’s stronghold, breaking through their defenses and subduing them in brutal combat. The ruler was powerful, seasoned—but Mark was stronger. Faster. With a devastating blow to the ribs, he brought them to their knees, gasping for breath, blood spilling from their mouth.

“It’s over,” Mark said, shaking the pain from his own bloodied knuckles. “You surrender, you live.”

The ruler glared up at him, defiant even in defeat. But they knew—they had lost. They spat blood at Mark’s feet, but gave no further resistance.

Mark turned to his team. “Signal for—”

Before he could finish, Korvel struck.

The bastard surged forward and rammed his fist through the ruler’s chest, ripping out their heart with a cruel, satisfied grin.

Mark stared at the crumpled body. Silence rang in his ears. His first mission as a leader—ruined. All because of them. Because of their egos. Because they didn’t listen.

Korvel, utterly oblivious, grinned and wiped the blood off his hands. “See? That’s how it’s done.”

Mark exhaled slowly.

Then, in a single, blinding movement, he struck.

Korvel barely had time to react before Mark’s fingers were in his mouth. In a horrifying display of strength, Mark ripped his tongue out, veins and tendons snapping wetly as he tore it free. Korvel choked, eyes wide in disbelief, his hands flying to his ruined mouth—before Mark shoved the severed tongue down his throat.

Korvel gagged, his body convulsing as he tried to claw it out, but Mark wasn’t done. He drove his fist down after it, almost his entire arm vanishing into Korvel’s throat. The sound was sickening—wet, tearing flesh, cartilage snapping as Mark force-fed him his own severed muscle.

Korvel’s body seized, eyes bulging in terror. Then Mark ripped his arm free, dragging flesh and shattered bones with him. Korvel dropped, twitching, his body a gory ruin.

The remaining soldiers stood frozen, horror plastered across their faces.

Mark turned to the next one—Varis, who had been laughing at him earlier. He barely had time to turn before Mark drove a boot into the back of his knee, sending him crashing forward onto his hands and knees.

Mark stepped behind him.

Then he started kicking.

The first kick snapped his jaw. The second caved in the side of his skull. The third drove his teeth through his lips. Over and over, Mark stomped and kicked, each impact wet and brutal, the sickening crunch of bone filling the air. His face flattened, then caved inward, his skull collapsing until his head was a mangled ruin—a pulpy, broken mass of bone and brain matter crushed down between his shoulders.

The rest of the squad tried to back away.

Mark grabbed the next one before he could move, his fingers sinking into his throat like a vice. “All you had to do—” he snarled, twisting hard until the bones snapped under his grip. “Was follow the plan.”

Another soldier tried to run. Mark was on him in an instant. He grabbed his arm and ripped it off at the shoulder, then swung it like a club, shattering his jaw with his own severed limb. The soldier screamed, but it was cut short as Mark buried his fingers into his eye sockets and tore his skull in half.

One by one, they fell.

Limbs torn away. Heads crushed like ripe fruit. Flesh split and shredded like paper. Mark ripped and tore through them with precision, not an ounce of wasted movement, his face blank, cold.

By the time it was over, the battlefield was quiet. The only sound was the thick drip of blood pooling beneath him.

Mark straightened, breathing heavily, his hands drenched in crimson.

Then, slowly, he turned toward the last survivor.

The soldier trembled, his body rigid with fear.

Mark took a step forward. The soldier dropped to his knees, hands raised in surrender, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“P-Please,” he stammered. “I-I’ll listen—I swear—”

Mark tilted his head, considering.

Then he let him live.

A warning. A reminder.

He wiped the blood from his hands on a fallen soldier’s uniform and stepped over the bodies. “Next time,” he said, voice quiet, controlled, “I won’t be so generous.”

Thragg would not be happy that the mission had failed.

But at least Mark had ensured that failure would never happen again.

~~~~~~

The journey back to Viltrum was steeped in oppressive silence. The hum of the ship’s engines was the only sound filling the void, aside from the occasional shuffle of the lone survivor shifting uncomfortably in the corner.

Mark sat in the pilot’s seat, one arm resting lazily on the armrest, his bloodstained fingers tapping rhythmically against the metal. His other hand gripped the controls, though his attention wasn’t really on flying. His gaze remained fixed on the vast blackness of space ahead, his expression unreadable.

Behind him, curled into a trembling heap in the shadows, was the last surviving Viltrumite of the squad.

They barely dared to breathe. Their entire body shook violently, a mix of fear and the sheer inability to process what had happened mere hours ago. The scent of blood still clung to the ship’s interior, thick and metallic. It wasn’t just the blood of the enemy. No. It was their comrades. Their blood. Their organs. Their shattered bones now left to rot on that cursed planet.

And it was him.

Mark.

Mark, who had torn through them like they were nothing. Mark, who had once been seen as beneath them, as an unworthy outsider who had only gained Thragg’s favor through his body.

Now, the reality was suffocating.

Mark wasn’t beneath them.

Mark was a fucking monster.

And now, the only one left was them.

Mark didn’t acknowledge the survivor right away. He let them simmer in their own terror, let them stew in it. He could hear their ragged, uneven breathing, the way their body tensed whenever he shifted in his seat.

After what felt like an eternity, Mark finally spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

"You still breathing back there?"

The survivor flinched violently but said nothing.

Mark exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as if considering something. Then, he pushed himself up from the chair and turned.

The survivor immediately pressed themselves against the cold metal wall, their eyes wide, darting, desperate for an escape that didn’t exist.

Mark took slow, deliberate steps toward them. There was no rush, no aggression—just the unsettling calmness that made everything so much worse. He crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at them, his expression unreadable.

"You know… all you had to do was follow the plan."

The survivor sucked in a sharp breath, gripping their arms tightly, unable to look him in the eye.

Mark clicked his tongue. "But no. You all wanted to do things your way. Thought you knew better." He tilted his head. "How’d that work out for you?"

The survivor swallowed thickly. Their voice was barely above a whisper. "P—please..."

Mark’s expression didn’t change. "Please, what?"

Their breath hitched. "Please... don’t kill me."

Mark stared at them for a long moment. Then, to their absolute horror, he smiled. Not a kind smile. Not a reassuring one. It was empty. Almost bored.

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be decorating the walls by now."

The survivor shuddered, their face paling.

Mark straightened up, stretching his arms before turning away, walking back toward the pilot’s seat. "But I want you to live with this."

His tone darkened.

"I want you to live with the memory of what you saw. What you heard. What you felt watching them all die like fucking animals."

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with something cold and merciless. "And I want you to remember that if you ever think about stepping out of line again, I’ll make what happened to them look merciful."

The survivor didn't respond. They couldn't. They just sat there, curled in on themselves, barely holding back the sob that threatened to escape.

Mark turned back to the controls, adjusting their course as Viltrum loomed in the distance.

The silence stretched between them once more, heavier than before.

But this time, there was no mistaking who held control.

~~~~~~

Mark’s boots echoed through the grand halls of the Viltrumite stronghold, each step heavy with the weight of what had transpired. The metallic scent of blood still clung to his skin, dried in the crevices of his uniform, staining his knuckles. He didn’t bother cleaning himself up before returning. Let Thragg see him exactly as he was.

The towering doors to Thragg’s chamber loomed ahead. Mark didn’t hesitate. He pushed them open and stepped inside.

Thragg stood at the far end, facing away, gazing at a massive holographic display of the galaxy. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture rigid with authority. The moment Mark entered, Thragg dismissed the hologram with a wave of his hand.

Silence settled between them, thick and expectant.

Mark didn’t kneel. He didn’t bow his head. He simply stood there, his expression was void of emotions.

Thragg turned to face him, his piercing gaze sweeping over Mark’s bloodied form. His expression remained neutral, though his eyes held something calculating.

“You return alone,” Thragg noted, voice devoid of surprise.

Mark exhaled slowly. “The mission was compromised.”

Thragg arched a brow but said nothing, waiting.

Mark’s jaw clenched. He had no intention of making excuses. “They didn’t follow orders,” he stated plainly. “They disrespected my command. They disrespected you by failing to uphold our discipline.” His fists curled at his sides. “They made a mockery of us…”

Thragg remained still, studying him.

Mark met his gaze, unwavering. “So I killed them.”

A long silence stretched between them. Thragg’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes—something unreadable. Then, finally, the corner of his mouth twitched upward in the barest hint of amusement.

“Did you now?”

Mark didn’t respond. He simply waited.

Thragg stepped forward, slow and deliberate, stopping just before him. He reached out, dragging a thumb along the dried blood on Mark’s cheek before inspecting the crimson smear on his own hand.

“You’ve grown stronger,” Thragg observed. His tone wasn’t praise. It was merely a statement of fact.

Mark didn’t respond, though his breath was steady, controlled.

Thragg’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And more ruthless.”

Another beat of silence. Then, to Mark’s surprise, Thragg let out a low chuckle.

“I knew they would fail you,” he said, turning away as if the deaths of the squad were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “I sent them with you for that very reason.”

Mark’s brows furrowed slightly, but he kept his expression neutral.

“They were weak,” Thragg continued. “Undisciplined. A waste of our resources. I wanted to see what you would do when faced with failure—when surrounded by incompetence.” He turned his head slightly, smirking. “You didn’t disappoint.”

Mark’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The mission itself was a failure.”

“Was it?” Thragg countered. “You brought back no prisoner, no conquered ruler.” He stepped closer again, his presence suffocating. “But you did something far more important.”

Mark remained silent, waiting.

Thragg’s smirk widened ever so slightly. “You cleansed weakness from our ranks. You enforced your authority without hesitation. You proved that you are not to be questioned. Not to be undermined.” He placed a firm hand on Mark’s shoulder.

Mark didn’t move.

“This,” Thragg said, voice lowering, “is what it means to lead.”

Mark swallowed, his throat tight.

Thragg’s grip remained firm. “And tell me… how did it feel?”

Mark didn’t answer immediately. He thought of the battlefield. Of Korvel choking on his own tongue, clawing at his throat in helpless terror. Of Varis’s skull caving in with each brutal stomp of his boot. The way the last survivor had trembled, begging for his life.

Mark met Thragg’s gaze.

“…Necessary.”

Thragg’s expression darkened with satisfaction.

“Yes,” he murmured. “It was.”

For the first time, Thragg’s grip eased, not as a show of dominance, but something… else. Something Mark couldn’t quite name.

Then Thragg turned away, his voice dismissive. “Go. Rest. Bathe. We will speak again soon.”

Mark hesitated, then gave a curt nod before stepping back. As he turned to leave, Thragg spoke once more.

“Mark.”

He paused, glancing back.

Thragg’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “You are becoming exactly what you were meant to be.”

Mark didn’t respond.

He simply walked out, his mind heavy with the weight of that statement.

And then—Thragg’s nostrils flared, his expression subtly darkening.

Because he smelled it.

The change.

Viltrumites had an acute sense of smell, capable of distinguishing even the most minute shifts in another’s biological state. And Mark…

Mark didn’t smell the same.

Not anymore.

Once, his scent carried a natural sweetness—an odd trait, yet undeniably his own. It was something that had set him apart. Something that spoke of his youth, his freshness, his lingering humanity.

But now?

Now, that scent had begun to rot.

It was subtle—but to an Alpha like Thragg, it was unmistakable. The sweetness was fading, replaced by something darker, heavier. A scent marked by violence. By blood.

By rage.

A scent that signaled the unraveling of something once pure.

Chapter Text

The air inside Thragg’s estate was eerily still, the silence pressing against Mark like a weight. He barely registered Seressa’s presence as she gracefully moved about the lavish bathing chamber, preparing the bath with the same mechanical precision she always did. The scent of heated minerals and cleansing oils filled the air, but it did little to ease the tension in his shoulders.

When she finished, she turned to him, awaiting further instruction.

"Thank you," Mark muttered, his voice dull. "I’d like to be left alone.”

Seressa hesitated for a moment, as if sensing something off about him, but ultimately nodded and exited without another word, leaving Mark alone with nothing but his thoughts.

The massive bath stretched before him, the water steaming slightly, its pristine surface undisturbed. Mark exhaled sharply and began peeling off his uniform, the fabric stiff with dried blood. It clung to his skin, requiring more force than it should have to remove. With each article discarded, more of the dried carnage was revealed, smeared across his arms, his chest—and his hands.

Mark flexed his fingers, staring at the blood that had long since dried into the creases of his palms. His teammates’ blood.

His jaw tightened.

He stepped toward the bath, then hesitated.

The water rippled slightly from the heat rising off it, the surface impossibly smooth, reflecting his image back at him like a mirror. For a moment, he just stood there, staring—not at the water itself, but at his own expression. The person looking back at him wasn’t quite a stranger, but he wasn’t entirely himself either.

The mission was supposed to be simple. The plan was laid out. If they had just listened, it wouldn’t have gone the way it did.

He had warned them.

And yet…

Mark exhaled through his nose and stepped in.

The moment his body met the water, faint ripples spread outward, and the surface turned a pale pink. His blood, their blood, loosened from his skin and diluted into the warmth, swirling in lazy patterns around him.

He sank lower, submerging up to his shoulders.

Thragg’s words echoed in his mind.

"You are becoming exactly what you were meant to be."

Mark shut his eyes.

A part of him wanted to believe that. It would be easier to believe it—to accept that this was just who he was now, who he was meant to be. But another part, the part buried deep beneath the violence, whispered something different.

It asked why.

Why had he really done it?

He’d told himself it was necessary. That it was about discipline. About setting an example. But was that all it was?

No.

The truth settled into him like a sickness.

For a brief moment, it had felt good. The anger, the frustration—it had all exploded out of him in a way that was satisfying. Ripping out Korvel’s tongue, feeling his body convulse as he choked on it, hearing the sickening crack of Varis’s skull collapsing under his relentless kicks—there had been a moment, just a moment, where he had enjoyed it.

And now?

Now, he just felt sick.

Mark grabbed the soap and began scrubbing.

At first, he moved methodically, but soon, his motions became more aggressive. He dug his nails into his skin, dragging the lather over every inch, over every crevice, every stain. He scrubbed at his arms, his chest, his hands—especially his hands. As if he could erase what had happened as if he could undo what he’d done.

The water darkened. The pink deepened to red.

His breaths came out heavier. The more he scrubbed, the more his eyes burned, his vision blurring at the edges. His jaw clenched tight, his teeth grinding together, but it wasn’t enough.

He could still see their faces.

Still, hear their voices.

Still feel the way their bodies broke beneath him.

A choked sound escaped his throat—half a sob, half a growl of frustration.

"Why? Why did I have to go that far?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his arms so tightly his nails dug into his flesh.

"This isn’t me…"

His breath hitched.

"At least, I hope it isn’t."

But how could he know for sure?

Mark let out a shuddering exhale and slumped forward, arms resting on the edge of the bath, his head lowering between them. He gritted his teeth, but it was no use—his body betrayed him.

A broken sob tore its way out of him.

Then another.

And another.

He sat there, shoulders trembling, water sloshing around him as silent, frustrated tears slipped down his face.

Alone, in a bath now stained entirely red, Mark Grayson wept.

~~~~~~~

Mark walked through the dim corridors of Thragg’s grand home, his steps slow and deliberate. His muscles ached—not from the battle, but from the sheer weight of everything in his mind. His body was clean, scrubbed raw in a bath that had turned crimson with the remnants of his actions, but he still felt stained. It clung to him, deeper than skin.

He considered finding another room to sleep in. He didn’t want to deal with anyone right now. The silence of an empty bed seemed preferable to facing Thragg. But despite his reluctance, something in him gravitated toward their shared quarters anyway.

When he stepped inside, he stopped in the doorway.

Thragg was already there.

It wasn’t often that he saw the Grand Regent at rest. Mark was used to nights spent alone, his mind twisting in on itself with nowhere to run. But tonight, Thragg was present—seated at the edge of the massive bed, his posture as composed as ever, yet somehow more at ease.

Mark hesitated, then stepped forward, his movements heavy. He sat down, keeping his back to Thragg, his head dipping slightly. The silence between them was thick, but not unfamiliar.

"You’re troubled," Thragg stated, not bothering with a question.

Mark exhaled sharply through his nose. He didn’t confirm or deny it. He just sat there, letting the weight of the moment press down on him.

Thragg shifted, his presence looming closer. A firm hand rested on Mark’s shoulder—not gentle, but solid, grounding.

"Speak.”

Mark clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to. Not because he was afraid—no, it was never fear. It was exhaustion. The act of putting his emotions into words felt more draining than the mission itself.

But Thragg was patient. He didn’t demand. He simply waited.

And Mark, despite himself, caved.

"It’s just…" His voice was hoarse. "It’s a lot. Everything. The missions, the expectations, the killing—" He cut himself off, sucking in a sharp breath. "I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I don’t regret it the way I should. But I do. At the same time, I don’t know if I even—" He exhaled harshly, gripping his knees. "It’s just overwhelming."

Thragg’s hands didn’t move, but Mark could feel the way he was analyzing him, taking in his every word, his every movement.

"Such burdens are not uncommon," Thragg said after a moment. "The mind requires time to adapt. You are still adjusting."

Mark let out a bitter laugh. "Adjusting," he muttered. "Yeah. Sure."

His hands curled into fists, nails pressing into his palms. His body was so tight with tension that he felt like he would snap in half. His emotions felt like they were suffocating him—drowning him from the inside.

Then—

A subtle shift in the air.

Mark barely registered it at first. But then, his breathing hitched.

A scent.

It was faint but unmistakable.

Mark’s mating mark pulsed, heat spreading from the spot on his neck down his spine, settling deep in his gut. It was calming yet provoking, stirring something inside him that had been coiled too tightly for too long.

He swallowed hard.

"Thragg—" His voice was strained.

Thragg’s hands finally moved, in both comfort and control. He pulled Mark back slightly, enough for their bodies to align, his breath ghosting over Mark’s ear.

"You need release."

Mark squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body betraying him. He hated that Thragg could read him so easily, hated that he wasn’t wrong.

All the tension, all the frustration, all the confusion—it was too much.

And right now, Mark needed something real to hold onto.

Mark barely had time to breathe before he was taken before his body was claimed with absolute certainty. There was no room for hesitation, no room for doubt—only the overwhelming sensation of being possessed, of being reshaped.

Each movement was deliberate, unyielding, pushing deeper, demanding more.

Mark tried to hold himself together, but it was too much.

Too intense.

Too good.

His fingers curled against the sheets, his breath coming in ragged gasps as pleasure crashed over him in relentless waves. "Yes… yes, yes~" The words fell from his lips like a prayer, like a desperate surrender.

He had needed this.

Craved this.

A release from everything—the pain, the pressure, the weight of what he had done.

And Thragg knew.

Knew and took full advantage of it.

No matter how many times Mark shuddered beneath him, no matter how weak he became, how spent, Thragg did not relent.

Even when Mark tried to crawl away—tried to pull himself from the overwhelming bliss consuming him—he was dragged back effortlessly.

Because for the rest of the night, he belonged to Thragg.

There was no escape.

No mercy.

Only possession.

Only him.

~~~~~~

(A Cycle of Ruin and Desire)

It was a cycle—one Mark couldn't escape.

Violence by day. Submission by night.

And at this point, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to escape.

Not when Thragg knew exactly how to break him apart.

Not when each moment of resistance only led to more punishment—more pleasure.

Because Mark wasn’t just learning to obey.

He was learning to love it.

~~~~~~

(Tears and Weakness)

It started with an argument. As they returned from a not-so-smooth mission, they argued as they walked through grand hallways until they entered their bedroom. Mark just wanted to forget about today but Thragg just kept going.

A mission debrief. Harsh words. Thragg tearing into him without mercy.

Mark tried to snap back.

But Thragg was crueler, sharper, cutting him down to nothing.

And it hurt.

Enough that Mark turned away, blinking fast, trying to hide the burn of tears.

But Thragg wasn’t done with him.

A rough grip on his wrist stopped him.

Mark tried to pull away, but Thragg yanked him back and shoved him into their bed while pinning him down.

“Running away?” The words were low, amused. Mocking.

Mark glared, jaw clenched.

“Fuck you.”

Thragg only smirked. “Brat.”

Thragg tore Mark’s pants so that his lower half was exposed before he dropped to his knees, spreading Mark’s legs apart,

"W—wait—"

But the first slow, dragging stroke of Thragg’s tongue silenced him.

Mark gasped, body jolting, thighs trembling.

“Ngh—!”

He bit his lip, but it wasn’t enough to hold back the shaky, desperate sounds slipping past. Not when the sensation of Thragg's mustache against his slick lips tickles him deliciously.

Thragg was taking his time, teasing, torturing, flicking his tongue against Mark’s clit. He circles the small bundle of nerves, quietly enjoying the feeling of it pulsing rapidly against the tip of his tongue, dragging deep, slow groans from the teen.

He moves a little lower, his tongue slowly dipping in and out of Mark, making sure to lap up the cream that oozed out of him. The hypnotizing taste of sweet and salty made Thragg's dick throb.

"So sensitive..." Thragg murmured between strokes before burying his tongue completely inside the wet warmth.

Mark's fingers twisted in his hair, hips twitching involuntarily.

"Pl—please—"

"Please what?" Thragg’s tone was cruel, knowing. "Speak properly."

Mark could barely form words. His body was already shaking, overwhelmed.

And then—

Thragg wrapped his lips around his pulsing erection fully and sucked.

Mark broke.

A sobbed-out cry, his thighs clamping around Thragg’s head as pleasure ripped through him.

But Thragg didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Not until, white strings of cum shot out.

Not until Mark was completely wrecked beneath him, trembling, panting, utterly ruined.

~~~~~~~~

(A Different Kind of Distraction)

A new mission. A serious discussion.

Thragg spoke, voice calm, authoritative—

And Mark wasn’t listening.

Instead—

Letting his intrusive thoughts win, he sank to his knees.

Pulling down Thragg’s pants enough for his prize to spring out.

Took him into his mouth, skillfully working it to life. The softened organ was completely hard within seconds. He had to readjust himself so that Thragg's dick could fit in his mouth a little more.

Even calling it a dick was an understatement, it was fucking monster.

At first, Thragg ignored it.

Kept talking, pretending like Mark wasn’t swallowing him deeper, hollowing his cheeks.

But the moment Mark’s tongue dragged along the underside, teasing the tip—

Thragg’s words faltered.

Just for a second.

A sharp inhale.

And Mark smirked.

His hands gripped Thragg’s thighs, nails digging in as he took him all the way, swallowing him down.

"Tch—"

Thragg’s hand came down heavy against Mark’s head, gripping his hair, guiding him.

"You're getting bold."

Mark hummed around him, sending vibrations through his length, making Thragg’s fingers tighten.

He pulls Mark's head back, “Open your mouth.”

And Mark does exactly as he's told. His eyes glazed over with lust, his mating mark pulsing.
With his mouth open, he waited for Thragg's next move.

He wouldn't admit it outright but he was loving the heavy weight of Thragg's dick slapping against his tongue.

That's when Thragg masterfully allows a long string of spit to dribble out his mouth. The string broke, landing on the tip of his dick before it slowly oozes onto Mark's tongue, and in return, Mark spat their combined saliva back onto the monstrous dick in front of him before attempting to fully engulf what he could, milking the older Viltrumite deliciously.

And Thragg finally came, covering his mate's face in thick seed.

Mark licked the corner of his lips, looking up at him through lidded, satisfied eyes.

"Sorry…but sometimes you talk too much~"

For once, Thragg chuckled.

Like an actual genuine chuckle. It was extremely rare for Thragg to laugh at anything.

And Mark couldn't help but feel warm.

~~~~~~

(Complete surrender)

Mark's breaths came uneven as he felt himself being guided, each step slow, deliberate. Thragg’s hands roamed over his body, not with impatience, but with possession. His touch was practiced, skilled—every movement carefully calculated to draw Mark in deeper, to erode his resistance little by little.

The scent in the air was thick and intoxicating. The Alpha scent clung to Mark’s skin, seeped into his bones, and curled around the edges of his mind, making it harder to think. Harder to fight.

Thragg stopped just before the bed, his grip on Mark firm but unhurried. Mark swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling in unsteady motions. He should push away, should say something, should stop this before it went any further.

But the moment Thragg’s lips ghosted over the pulse point of his neck, his body betrayed him.

His mating mark burned.

A sharp, needy gasp escaped his throat before he could stop it. His legs felt weak, his body caught between wanting to pull away and needing to lean in.

"You feel it, don’t you?" Thragg murmured against his skin, voice rich and velvety. "The bond. The ache. You were made for this, Mark. You were made for me."

Mark squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t shut out the warmth pressing against him, the way Thragg's fingers traced every inch of exposed skin like he was mapping him out, memorizing the way he trembled under his touch.

"I—" Mark tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. His mind was a tangled mess of conflicting thoughts, of guilt and frustration and something deeper—something primal that he hated.

He shouldn't want this.

Yet, his body did.

Thragg’s hands slid down to his waist, tugging at the last remaining barriers of clothing between them. The movement was slow, methodical—like he was savoring every moment like he knew exactly what this was doing to Mark.

Mark’s reflection in the mirror was still there, watching.

Watching as his body leaned into Thragg’s, watching as his resolve wavered, watching as he slowly, completely, inevitably gave in.

His lips parted, a silent plea or protest—he wasn’t even sure anymore.

Thragg hushed him with a hand cradling his jaw, forcing him to meet his own reflection.

"Look at yourself," Thragg commanded, his voice deep and steady. "See what I see."

Mark's breath hitched.

He saw it now—the way his body responded to Thragg’s touch, the way his skin flushed beneath the Alpha’s hands, the way his expression wavered between uncertainty and undeniable need.

It was humiliating.

It was terrifying.

But most of all… it was inevitable.

Thragg smirked against his skin, his grip tightening just enough to remind Mark of the power difference between them. Not that it mattered. Mark had already lost.

As he was finally completely pulled into the inevitable, his last coherent thought was that he could no longer tell where the bond ended, and he began.

But there were other nights too.

Nights where it wasn’t just about control.

Where it wasn’t about power.

One of those nights, Thragg held Mark differently.

There was no bed this time—just Thragg’s strength, his grip unrelenting, his body solid and unmoving as he lifted Mark off the ground.

Mark clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist as their lips met in a kiss so deep, so consuming, it left Mark breathless.

This wasn’t just passion.

It was ownership.

It was claiming.

Mark had never felt so completely consumed before.

And he had never wanted it more.

This cycle…

It was dangerous.

And Mark knew it.

Yet in this moment of release...he didn't care.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Mark woke slowly, his body sore in ways that left no room for doubt about the previous night’s events. As he blinked against the dim morning light filtering into their shared chambers, he exhaled deeply. His mind was caught between two opposing truths—one, that he had needed last night, had craved the release and Thragg’s overwhelming presence, and two, that the path ahead unsettled him more than he dared to admit.

Thragg was already awake, standing near the large window that overlooked the Viltrumite capital. He had his hands clasped behind his back, a regal yet calculating stance. Even without turning, he knew Mark was awake.

“Rested well?” Thragg asked, his voice steady, almost amused.

Mark sat up, rolling his shoulders. “As much as I could.”
Thragg finally turned to him, studying him carefully. “Good. You will need your strength for what is to come.”

Mark’s brows furrowed. That tone… it was the same one Thragg used when he was about to deliver something significant.

A weight settled in Mark’s gut. Thragg stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Mark’s shoulder. “It is time you prove yourself.”

Mark stiffened slightly. “Haven’t I already?”

Thragg’s grip tightened—not in a way that hurt, but in a way that told Mark to listen. “Not yet.” His piercing gaze locked onto Mark’s. “You have made progress, but the true test of your strength—your loyalty—has yet to come. The empire demands more from you. I demand more from you.”

Mark swallowed, but kept his expression neutral. “What exactly does that mean?”

Thragg’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “A ceremony,” he said simply. “A display of strength. You will face off against some of the deadliest beings in the galaxy—beasts, warriors, and conquerors. A trial by combat that will show the empire you are more than just my chosen mate. It will solidify your place among us, your loyalty to me and to Viltrum.”

Mark’s heart pounded, but his face remained impassive. A ceremony? A public spectacle where he was expected to fight—and win?

He had fought powerful beings before, had gone through war, but something about this felt different.

Something about this felt final.

“I can handle it,” Mark said, keeping his voice even.

Thragg nodded approvingly. “Good. But you will not go into this trial unprepared.”

Mark frowned. “What do you mean?”

Thragg’s expression darkened with something unreadable. “You will be sent to someone who will refine you. Strengthen you. Make you into what you are meant to be.”

Mark felt an uneasy shift in his gut. “Who?”

Thragg finally smiled—just slightly, just enough to send a chill through Mark.

“Conquest.”

Silence.

A cold weight settled in Mark’s chest.

He had heard of Conquest. He had seen glimpses of what he was capable of. And the idea of being trained by him…

Mark clenched his jaw. “You’re serious.”

Thragg’s grip on his shoulder turned almost possessive. “Completely.” He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to something lower, something final. “You will learn from him. You will grow under him. And when your trial comes… you will prove that you belong.”

Mark felt the weight of those words pressing down on him. He kept his expression unreadable, kept the wariness buried deep where Thragg wouldn’t see it.

“Understood,” Mark said finally.

Thragg studied him for a moment longer before releasing his grip. “Good. Prepare yourself. You leave within the hour.”

Mark inhaled slowly, nodding. He wouldn’t argue. He couldn’t argue. This was what was expected of him.
As Thragg turned back to the window, Mark sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

Conquest.

The very name sent a sharp sense of unease through him.

He had no choice but to face it.

~~~~~~~

Mark had little time to process the full weight of Thragg’s words before preparations were underway. He barely had a moment to catch his breath before he was being led to the launch bay, where a transport ship awaited him. There was no grand send-off, no final words of encouragement—just a simple directive:

Survive.

He knew this wasn’t just about training. Thragg was testing him again, throwing him into the fire to see if he’d come out stronger. The real lesson wasn’t just about improving his combat skills—it was about whether he had the will to keep pushing forward, no matter the cost.

And the man waiting for him at his destination? That was no coincidence.

Conquest.

Mark had heard the stories. A war-hardened Viltrumite who had survived countless battles, who lived for the fight, who thrived in bloodshed. He was a relic from a time when the empire was at its peak—before the fall, before Nolan’s betrayal, before everything changed.

Now he was being sent to him.

Mark clenched his fists as the transport ship rattled during descent. The war-world below was a wasteland of broken landscapes, jagged cliffs, and ruined cities—evidence of battles long past. The second the doors opened, the dry, acrid air filled his lungs.

And then he saw him.

Conquest stood in the distance, arms crossed, his scarred face twisted in a grin. He didn’t look impressed.

“So,” the older Viltrumite said, his voice rough and mocking. “You’re Thragg’s new pet project.”

Mark said nothing, only watching him carefully.

Conquest chuckled, stepping closer. “Gotta say, I expected someone… meaner. Thragg’s been talking you up, making it sound like you’re something special.” He tilted his head. “But all I see is a kid who’s still figuring out if he belongs here.”

Mark’s jaw tightened.

Conquest’s grin widened. “But don’t worry. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll know. The question is…” He cracked his knuckles. “Will you still be alive to care?”

Then, without warning—he moved.

Mark barely had time to react before a fist slammed into his ribs, sending him flying. His body crashed into the rocky ground, carving a deep trench through the dirt before he came to a skidding halt.

His lungs burned. He tried to suck in a breath, but the pain in his ribs told him something had cracked.

Too fast.

He barely had time to register the impact before Conquest was on him again.

A brutal kick to his side sent him flipping through the air. He barely caught himself before another strike crashed into his face, rattling his skull. Blood filled his mouth.

Mark hit the ground hard, struggling to lift himself up. His vision blurred as Conquest loomed over him, a sickening grin stretched across his scarred face.

“That’s all?” he taunted. “Come on, boy, I thought you were better than this.”

Mark growled, forcing himself to his feet. He wiped the blood from his mouth.

Conquest smirked. “There you go. Now let’s really begin.”

This was going to be hell.

Conquest’s grip on Mark’s jaw tightened, his words laced with amusement as he loomed over him.

“You want Thragg’s approval?” he taunted, his breath hot against Mark’s bruised and bloodied face. “Then prove you’re worth the trouble. Or should I just send him another replacement?”

Mark’s entire body was screaming. Every nerve felt like it was on fire, and his vision blurred from the repeated blows. But even now, even as his body threatened to give out, something inside him refused to bend.

With the last bit of strength he had left, he gathered blood and spit in his mouth—then launched it directly at Conquest’s face.

It splattered across his cheek, thick and crimson.

Mark forced a smirk, though it barely held with how swollen his lips were. And then, through ragged, bloody breaths, he forced out—

“Fuck you.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then—Conquest laughed.

Not a scoff. Not a quick chuckle. But a deep, rumbling, genuinely entertained laugh.

“Hah. You’ve got some fight in you after all.”

Before Mark could react—

WHAM!

Conquest’s fist sank into his stomach with brutal force. Mark’s entire body lurched, a broken wheeze escaping his lips as the air was ripped from his lungs. His vision nearly blacked out, nausea twisting his gut as he coughed violently, blood splattering onto the ground beneath him.

Before he could collapse, Conquest grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up, forcing him to look into his grinning face.

“I like you,” Conquest said, almost conversationally. “Thragg might have actually picked something worth training this time.”

Mark barely had a second to recover before—

CRACK!

A knee slammed into his ribs with enough force to send him rocketing across the battlefield. He hit the ground hard, tumbling several feet before skidding to a stop. His body twitched, nerves screaming in agony, his breaths coming out in wet, uneven gasps.

Conquest strolled toward him casually, as if he hadn’t just broken him in half.

“Come on, boy. Get up.”

Mark groaned, his arms trembling as he tried to push himself up. But before he could—

CRUNCH!

Conquest’s foot came down hard on his forearm. The sickening snap of bone breaking filled the air.

Mark’s entire body seized, a strangled noise catching in his throat—he refused to scream, refused to give Conquest that satisfaction. But the pain was unbearable, white-hot and searing, his vision flickering at the edges.

Conquest crouched down, grabbing Mark’s shattered arm and twisting it.

“That’s it,” he murmured, almost like he was teaching him. “Feel that pain? Let it sink in. Let it shape you. Because Thragg doesn’t want a weak little brat. He wants a survivor. A warrior. Someone who doesn’t break.”

Mark gasped through clenched teeth, his head spinning.

Conquest hummed, almost pleased, and patted his cheek condescendingly.

“You’re gonna learn, kid.”

Then—he lets go of Mark's mangled arm, letting drop like dead weight.

“Tomorrow, we do it again.”

And with that, Conquest turned and walked away, leaving Mark broken, bloodied, and barely clinging to consciousness.

~~~~~~

Mark hadn’t even realized he had passed out until his eyes cracked open the next morning. His entire body ached, but to his surprise, the pain wasn’t as unbearable as he expected. Since coming to Viltrum, his healing factor had improved significantly, something he had been reluctant to acknowledge. By the time the next day came, most of his injuries had nearly healed—including his broken arm. The only remnants of yesterday’s beating were dull soreness and dried blood clinging to his skin.

And standing over him—watching him like a hawk—was Conquest.

“You’re finally up.” The older Viltrumite’s voice was as casual as if he had just been waiting for breakfast, not the aftermath of a brutal beatdown. His shadow loomed over Mark, arms crossed over his chest, exuding undeniable authority. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t wake up. That would’ve been a shame.”

Mark groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Let me lay here for five more minutes.”

Conquest raised an eyebrow before letting out a low chuckle. “That’s cute.” And then—without warning—he kicked Mark square in the ribs.

A dull thud echoed through the ruined training grounds as Mark’s body jerked from the impact. Though it wasn’t nearly as devastating as yesterday’s attacks, it still hurt enough to make him hiss.

“No more lying around,” Conquest said, his amusement evident. “If you’ve got enough energy to joke, then you’ve got enough energy to fight.”

Mark let out a slow breath, forcing himself up. His body protested, but at least this time, it responded. He got to his feet, rolling his shoulders, testing his movements. Yeah—his Viltrumite biology was definitely adapting.

He wiped some of the dried blood off his lip with his wrist before locking eyes with Conquest. “What now?”

The older Viltrumite smirked. “Now, we see if you actually learned something from yesterday… or if I need to beat it into you again.”

Mark’s fingers tensed. He already knew what was coming. Another fight. Another loss. Another excruciating lesson at Conquest’s hands.

But this time—he wasn’t going to just stand there and take it.

Mark threw the first punch.

He launched forward, closing the gap in a blink, his fist aiming straight for Conquest’s smug face. The moment of impact should have been satisfying—should have felt like progress.

Instead—it was futile.

Conquest barely even moved. Mark’s punch connected, but it was like hitting a wall. He didn’t even flinch.

Then, before Mark could react—Conquest struck back.

A devastating uppercut sent Mark’s head snapping back, the force alone nearly knocking him unconscious right then and there. The next thing he knew, a knee smashed into his stomach, launching him off his feet and into the air before he came crashing back down.

The ground beneath him cracked on impact.

Mark wheezed, gripping his sides, already feeling the fresh pain blooming.

Above him, Conquest let out a low chuckle. “Not bad.”

Mark blinked. What?

Through his haze of pain, he caught the look in Conquest’s eye—genuine amusement.

“You’re starting to catch on.” Conquest flexed his fingers, towering over Mark like a predator playing with its prey. “Still pathetic, but at least you’re trying.”

Mark gritted his teeth. He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or just more humiliation, but it didn’t matter.

He was still conscious. He was still breathing. And he wasn’t done yet.

Slowly—he started pushing himself up.

~~~~~~

By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, marking the end of another brutal training session, Mark was once again a crumpled, bloody mess on the ground. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, his clothes tattered and soaked with sweat and blood. He could taste the familiar metallic tang of it in his mouth, the pain and exhaustion mixing in a dizzying haze.

Despite his healing factor, his body had reached its limit. His bones were still mending, but the process didn’t make him immune to the force behind Conquest’s strikes. Every punch, every kick, every debilitating blow Conquest had delivered was a testament to the older Viltrumite’s power.

Mark lay there, breathing heavily as the ache of his bruised muscles intensified with every breath he took. His ribs screamed in protest with every movement, and even his pride felt fractured.

Through the blur of pain, he could hear Conquest’s voice—a low rumble of disappointment laced with something that almost resembled approval. “You’re a fighter, I’ll give you that. But there’s still so much you need to learn.”

Mark’s heart pounded in his chest, but he didn’t let himself show weakness. Not yet. He forced his body to move, his arms trembling as he tried to push himself off the ground. He didn’t even know what he was hoping for anymore. His head was swimming, his thoughts clouded with frustration, his body begging him to stop.

Conquest’s shadow loomed over him again.

“Get up, Mark,” Conquest commanded, his voice like stone. “You think you’ve reached your limit? You haven’t even begun to scrape the surface. Get up.”

Mark’s hands shook as they dug into the dirt. He could barely feel his legs, but somehow, he managed to plant them beneath him and push. Everything was blurry, his vision faltering like he was stuck in a fog, but there was a fire inside him—a stubbornness that refused to let him lay down and die, no matter how close he was to it.

He staggered to his feet, his legs almost giving way beneath him, and Conquest grinned. “That’s what I want to see. That defiance. That hunger to keep going even when your body is begging you to quit.”

Mark’s mouth was dry, his throat raw from the blood he had swallowed, but he managed to spit it out. “I’m not done yet.”

Conquest simply looked at him—his expression unreadable—before giving a single nod. “We’ll see about that.”

The older Viltrumite stepped back, allowing Mark a moment to collect himself. But it wasn’t over. The training wasn’t over. Mark knew it. Conquest knew it.

And they both knew that by the time this was over, Mark would be broken in ways he couldn’t even imagine yet.

But Mark wasn’t ready to accept that. Not just yet. He was tired, he was bloodied, and every part of him screamed for it to stop, but his pride refused to allow him to back down. Not from Conquest. Not from anyone.

So, he stood tall…kinda.

The world might have been turning blurry, but his will was clear.

~~~~~~

Mark’s body was running on pure adrenaline.

Every inch of him ached.

The past few days had been a never-ending cycle of violence, exhaustion, and pain. Conquest had thrown him into fights against some of the most monstrous beings he had ever encountered. He had been tossed, crushed, and broken—but he was still standing.

Even Conquest had taken notice. Not impressed, but acknowledging.

But Mark knew it wasn’t enough.

Not for him.

Not for Thragg.

And definitely not for himself.

Conquest had been pushing him harder, breaking him down piece by piece. And today was no different.

Mark stood before him, bloodied, bruised, but still upright. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails threatened to pierce skin. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.

Conquest, however, stood there completely unbothered.

Cold. Calculating. Watching.

Waiting for Mark to break.

Then, with a smirk that sent ice through Mark’s veins, he said it.

“The only reason you’re here is because of your father’s failure.”

The words cut deeper than any blade.

Mark’s expression darkened.

“If Nolan hadn’t been so weak, so pathetic, you wouldn’t even be necessary.”

Mark’s breathing hitched.

“You wouldn’t be here, covered in blood, desperately trying to prove yourself.” Conquest tilted his head mockingly. “No… You’d be home. On Earth. Maybe playing house with that girl of yours. Maybe pretending you’re still human.”

Mark’s chest tightened.

“But your father failed.”

His jaw locked.

“And now you’re here.”

His pulse hammered violently.

“A failure’s failure.”

The world spun.

Something inside Mark snapped.

“I NEVER WANTED THIS!”

His voice was raw, shaking.

“I NEVER WANTED ANY OF THIS!”

His entire body trembled, rage and despair crashing into each other. “I’m not doing this for you! I’m not doing this for the fucking empire! I’M DOING THIS TO KEEP THEM SAFE!”

His breath came in frantic, broken gasps.

His stomach twisted, a vicious churn building from deep within him.

And before he could process what was happening—

He lurched forward and vomited.

The bile burned as it forced its way up, spilling onto the ground in harsh, gut-wrenching heaves. His hands shook as he braced himself, his body wracked with shudders.

For a brief second, he thought it was just the adrenaline.

But Conquest?

Conquest knew better.

In an instant, Mark felt a presence behind him.

Not an attack.

But something far more unsettling.

A firm hand gripped his waist, pulling him back against a wall of muscle.

Mark barely had the strength to react before another hand trailed slowly, deliberately, across his torso.

And then—

It rested on his stomach.

Mark stiffened.

The touch wasn’t forceful. It wasn’t mocking.

It was calculated.

A hint.

A warning.

A truth.

Mark tried to shake it off, tried to dismiss the gnawing unease crawling up his spine, but Conquest’s voice was disturbingly calm.

“Breathe.”

Mark froze.

“Calm down.”

Mark’s chest rose and fell erratically, but the weight of Conquest’s hand never left.

“Feel what your body is trying to tell you.”

He didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to entertain whatever game Conquest was playing.

But his body was still trembling, his insides still twisted in knots.

And for some reason…

He listened.

He took a breath.

Then another.

And for a long, agonizing moment—

He felt nothing.

Nothing but the bruises, the soreness, the overwhelming weight of exhaustion.

Just as he was about to scoff at Conquest’s bullshit—

He felt it.

Something small.

Something faint.

Something growing.

Mark’s blood turned to ice.

His stomach lurched for an entirely different reason now.

He went rigid under Conquest’s grasp, every nerve in his body screaming to reject the realization crashing down on him.

Conquest smirked.

He knew.

He always knew.

His voice was almost gentle when he finally spoke.

“If you really want to protect them…”

His fingers pressed just slightly against Mark’s stomach, enough to drive the reality further in.

“You’re going to have to be a hell of a lot stronger than this.”

Mark’s breath hitched.

“Especially for your little one.”

The world tilted.

His vision swam.

And for the first time since stepping foot on Viltrum—Mark felt true, unrelenting terror. His body was tense, every muscle coiled like a loaded spring. He was seething, his breaths coming out in ragged huffs, but he still tried to hold on—tried to push Conquest’s words out of his mind.

But Conquest wasn’t done.

He took a slow, deliberate step toward Mark, towering over him with that infuriating smirk.

"You know, I wonder…" Conquest mused, his tone almost casual, as if he were discussing the weather. "How strong would it be? Would it come out looking like you? Or maybe Thragg?"

Mark’s stomach twisted.

Conquest chuckled darkly. "I hope it looks like you. That way, when I crush its tiny skull in my palm, I can watch the horror in your eyes as your own face is staring back at you."

Mark’s breathing hitched.

He wasn’t done.

"And before that?" Conquest continued, circling Mark like a predator. "I’ll let it wail, let it cry for its father—helpless, fragile—and then..."

Mark clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms so hard he nearly drew blood.

"I think I’d start with the arms," Conquest said, tilting his head as if genuinely considering it. "Pop them right out of their sockets, just to hear how it screams. Then the legs—rip them off, nice and slow. Let the pain linger before I go for the gut. And when I finally get to the skull, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing left intact, so you get to hear every last whimper before I—"

SNAP.

Something inside Mark broke.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his throat as his vision blurred with rage. His body burned, veins thrumming with something primal, something monstrous.

And then—

He struck.

Faster than Conquest had anticipated, Mark lunged forward, fists swinging wildly, landing a devastating punch square against the older Viltrumite’s jaw.

CRACK!

Blood spattered from Conquest’s mouth as his head snapped to the side. The force sent him skidding back several feet, leaving deep cracks in the ground beneath him.

And Mark?

His eyes glowed red.

That dark energy Conquest had sensed before? It was no longer lurking in the background.

It was here.

And it was hungry.

Mark didn’t hold back.

He was relentless, feral, his punches fueled by an unhinged fury that made his previous fights look like child’s play.

They clashed.

Brutally. Violently.

Conquest had fought plenty of Viltrumites in his time.

But this?

This was euphoric.

This was war.

Mark’s blows were heavier, sharper, faster. He wasn’t the same broken boy who had been crying on the floor minutes ago.

This was something else.

Something stronger.

Something deadlier.

Conquest loved it.

But all good things must come to an end.

Mark swung again, his knuckles colliding against Conquest’s cheek with a sickening crunch.

But this time—

Conquest caught his fist.

With one brutal yank, he wrenched Mark forward, twisting his arm at an angle that made something pop.

Mark let out a choked sound, but before he could react, Conquest moved.

CRACK!

His knee slammed into Mark’s ribs with bone-crushing force.

POP!

Another devastating hit—this time to his spine.

Mark gasped, his body spasming.

But Conquest wasn’t done.

Before Mark could even fall, Conquest gripped the back of his head—

—and smashed his face into the ground.

BOOM!

The impact was so forceful that the ground beneath them caved in. A thick cloud of dust and debris erupted into the air.

Mark didn’t move.

His limbs were limp, his breath faint. Blood trickled from his nose, his mouth, his head—his entire body barely responding.

Unconscious.

Conquest exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he wiped a smear of blood from his lip.

Then, he looked down at Mark’s crumpled form, his smirk widening.

“Oh, this is gonna be more fun than I anticipated~”

Chapter Text

Deep within the hidden corridors of the Global Defense Agency, past layers of reinforced security, biometric scanners, and classified access points, a project was nearing completion—one that had been in the making for years.

Cecil walked with measured steps through the sterile white halls of the facility, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Donald followed closely, his cybernetic eyes glowing faintly as he processed the data being fed into his systems.

"How close are we?" Cecil asked, his tone cool and professional.

"We’re in the final stages," Donald replied. "Growth has stabilized, and cognitive development is on track. We could begin the next phase within the week."

Cecil hummed in acknowledgment, but his gaze remained forward as they entered a heavily secured chamber. The walls pulsed with faint blue lights from the high-tech monitoring equipment lining the room. In the center, submerged in a thick, nutrient-rich fluid, floated the culmination of months of genetic manipulation—a being unlike any other.

The tank was massive, reinforced with an alloy stronger than steel, its transparent surface slightly fogged from the condensation of the controlled atmosphere inside. Within it, suspended in the fluid, was him.

The nearly completed creation.

The body was fully formed, appearing to be no older than a 10-year-old. Short black hair floated weightlessly in the liquid, framing a face that was eerily familiar yet distinctly unique. His chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic pattern, the only indication of life.

A fusion of Mark, Nolan, and Thraxan DNA.

Not a perfect copy of any one of them. But something new.

Donald typed a few commands into the control panel, and the tank’s internal systems responded with soft beeps. Streams of data flickered across the screens, detailing metabolic rates, brain activity, and genetic sequences.

Cecil studied the readings in silence before turning his gaze back to the clone. "And you’re sure there’s no instability?"

Donald hesitated. "None that we can detect. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be complications once he wakes up."

Cecil sighs. "There are always complications."

They both knew the risks. A being with Viltrumite strength was already dangerous. One that possessed a mix of Nolan and Mark’s DNA—along with the genetic fortifications of a Thraxan—was something else entirely. The enhanced healing, the potential for accelerated adaptation… it was an experiment that, if successful, could be one of the GDA’s greatest assets—or its greatest mistake.

The question wasn’t if the new being would be powerful.

It was whether he would be controllable.

Cecil took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling as he continued observing the motionless figure.

"Do we have a name?" he asked.

Donald glanced at the file, then back at the clone. "The scientists designated him Project Oliver."

Cecil chuckled. "Oliver, huh?" His gaze lingered on the young man in the tank. "Let’s hope he turns out better than the last Grayson we put our faith in."

For now, Oliver remained asleep, floating in the void between creation and purpose.

But soon, he would wake.

And when he did… they would have to be ready.

~~~~~

(Debbie's Home)

The house was quieter than usual. Too quiet.

Debbie sat at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands, but she wasn’t drinking it. Her gaze was distant, staring through the window into the night, watching the gentle sway of the trees outside. It was peaceful, but that peace felt hollow.

Ever since Mark was taken, the house had felt emptier. No amount of cleaning, rearranging, or distractions could fill the absence. She had gotten used to the stillness after Nolan left—after everything fell apart the first time. But Mark's absence? That was something different. Something worse.

It had been months now. Months without hearing his voice, without knowing if he was okay.

Months of silence.

Her grip on the cup tightened. She had tried to be strong. She had tried to move forward. But no matter how much she told herself that she had to keep going, a part of her was frozen in place, waiting…

A sharp knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts.

She frowned. It was late. Too late for visitors.

Setting the cup down, she rose from her seat and made her way to the door. When she opened it, she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or irritated.

Cecil.

His usual serious expression was absent, replaced by something more neutral. That alone put her on edge.

"Cecil," she said flatly. "What do you want?"

"Can’t an old friend check in?"

Debbie crossed her arms. "We were never friends."

Cecil sighed. "Fair enough." He glanced past her into the house. "May I come in?"

She hesitated but stepped aside, allowing him entry. He walked in nonchalantly which irritated her even more.

"Is this a social visit, or are you just here to waste my time?" she asked, closing the door behind him.

"Neither." Cecil turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

Debbie narrowed her eyes. "Bullshit."

Cecil smirked slightly. "Okay, maybe partially bullshit." He ran a hand through his gray hair, exhaling. "But I mean it. How are you holding up?"

Debbie stared at him for a long moment, debating whether to be honest.

Finally, she sighed. "I'm managing."

Cecil gave a slight nod. "I know it's been hard."

"You don’t know anything," she snapped. "You don’t know what it’s like to have a son taken away from you by some alien brute."

Something flickered across Cecil’s face. "No, I don’t," he admitted. "But I can take a pretty good guess with everything that's been happening, this is messing with your psyche. To have someone you love taken away so suddenly. To wonder if they’re ever coming back. To wonder if they’re even alive.”

Debbie looked away, jaw tightening.

Cecil sighed again. "Look, I know you don’t trust me and given our track record, I don’t blame you. But I just wanted to say…don’t lose hope yet."

Debbie’s eyes snapped back to him. "What do you mean by that?"

Cecil hesitated just for a second. Too quick for most to notice. But Debbie noticed.

Her stomach twisted. "Do you know something?"

"If I did, you’d be the first to know," Cecil lied smoothly.

Debbie studied him. She didn’t believe him, not for a second. But she also knew she wouldn’t get the truth out of him—not now, at least.

"Right," she said, voice laced with sarcasm. "And I’m supposed to just take your word for it?"

Cecil’s smirk returned. "Would you ever?"

Debbie rolled her eyes. "Get out, Cecil."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, already making his way toward the door. Before stepping out, he paused, glancing back at her. "If you ever need anything… you know how to reach me."

Debbie didn’t respond. She just watched as he walked to his car before driving off.

The moment he was gone, she closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling sharply.

Something was going on. She could feel it.

And if Cecil was involved, that meant it was something big.

Something she wasn’t supposed to know about.

Her fingers curled into fists. Whatever it was, she’d find out.

Because if there was even a chance that it had something to do with Mark…

She wasn’t going to sit back and wait.

~~~~~

Debbie sat on the couch, staring at her phone, debating whether to make the call. She had been meaning to check in with Eve anyway, but after Cecil’s visit, the unease sitting in her stomach refused to fade.

Taking a breath, she tapped the contact and brought the phone to her ear.

It rang twice before Eve picked up.

"Debbie?"

Debbie smiled slightly. "Hey, Eve. Hope I’m not calling too late."

"No, no, it’s fine! I was just winding down after training. It’s good to hear from you. How have you been?"

Debbie hesitated, not wanting to immediately dump her concerns on the girl. "I’ve been... managing," she said, echoing her earlier words to Cecil. "And you? How’s training going?"

"Exhausting," Eve admitted with a small laugh. "It's been difficult but I think I’m improving. At least, I hope I am."

Debbie chuckled. "I don’t doubt it. You’ve always been strong."

"Thanks," Eve said, her voice warm. "And how’s everything on your end? I mean, really?"

Debbie exhaled softly. "I won’t lie, Eve. It’s been tough. The house is too quiet. I miss Mark."

There was a brief silence on the other end before Eve spoke, her voice softer. "I miss him too."

A lump formed in Debbie’s throat, but she swallowed it down. She had called for a reason. "Eve, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Debbie hesitated for a second before continuing. "While training under Cecil, have you noticed anything... off? More suspicious than usual?"

There was a pause.

"Suspicious?" Eve repeated.

"Yeah. Anything that feels bigger than what he's been telling you. Any weird projects, classified discussions, things that don’t add up?"

"Well... I mean, everything about Cecil is kind of suspicious," Eve said, half-jokingly. But then her tone grew more serious. "I guess I haven’t really thought about it. I’ve been so caught up in training, I haven’t had time to really focus on anything else."

Debbie sighed. She had expected that answer, but she had still hoped for something more.

"But..." Eve continued, a bit more thoughtfully. "If it’s bothering you this much, I can keep an eye out. See if there’s anything unusual happening around the base."

"You’d do that?"

"Of course, Debbie. If it helps ease your mind, I’ll pay closer attention. And if I notice anything strange, I’ll let you know ASAP."

Debbie felt a flicker of relief, but it didn’t erase the tension she felt deep down. "Thank you, Eve. That means a lot."

"No problem. And hey, if you ever need to talk—about Mark, about anything—I’m here, okay?"

Debbie smiled, even if it was bittersweet. "I know. Same goes for you."

"We’ll find a way to bring him home," Eve added softly.

Debbie closed her eyes, gripping the phone a little tighter. "I hope so, Eve. I really do."

They exchanged a few more words before hanging up.

Debbie sat there for a while, staring at the darkened screen of her phone. She appreciated Eve’s promise, but something deep inside her told her that whatever Cecil was hiding...

It was far from what either of them could imagine.

Chapter Text

Cecil stood beside Donald, arms crossed, his expression tense. He had seen many things in his time, but this project carried a weight that unsettled even him.

“How much longer?” Cecil finally asked.

Donald checked the readings. “Physically? He’s nearly, if not already, complete. The Thraxan DNA accelerated the maturation process far beyond what we expected. He’s developing at a rate that should have taken much longer.”

Cecil’s brow furrowed. “And mentally?”

Donald hesitated. “That’s… harder to say. We’ve been implanting some artificial memories and foundational knowledge, but we still don’t know what kind of person he’ll be when he wakes up.”

Cecil stepped closer to the vat, watching the slow rise and fall of Oliver's chest as oxygen circulated through the fluid. “We made him to be a failsafe,” he murmured. “A contingency in case Mark is lost for good. But we might’ve created something even more complex…let's just pray to whatever Gods that this doesn't come back and bite us in the ass.”

Donald nodded. “His brain activity is off the charts. He’s dreaming—if you can even call it that. Neural patterns suggest he’s already forming vague thoughts, unfamiliar connections. It’s like he’s…aware in a sense.”

Cecil’s jaw tightened. “Then it won’t be long now.”

As if on cue, a ripple coursed through the fluid, and for the first time, Oliver's fingers twitched. He was waking up.

Darkness. Then, sensation.

A rush of awareness flooded through Oliver's mind, chaotic and unfiltered. Flashes of images—faces he didn’t know yet somehow recognized. Voices echoed, distorted and fragmented, words he couldn’t yet understand. His body felt heavy, restrained, the weight of the liquid pressing against his skin like an unseen force.

His fingers curled, unfamiliar muscles responding to an instinct he did not remember learning. His eyes fluttered open, fluid distorting the lights above him. A dull ache settled in his chest, a strange awareness that he was…alive.

A sudden jolt ran through his spine, and his breathing quickened. The machinery monitoring him beeped frantically as neural activity spiked.

Donald’s voice, muffled through the glass. “Cecil, he’s—he’s reacting faster than expected.”

Oliver turned his head slightly, the movement sluggish yet deliberate. His gaze met Cecil’s through the fluid. For a moment, there was nothing but silent recognition.

Then, Oliver’s lips parted, and a distorted, garbled sound escaped—his first attempt at speech.

And with that, the world became real.

Alarms rang out as the release protocol initiated. A mechanical hiss filled the room, and the fluid rapidly drained from the vat. Oliver's body sagged, unsupported, and before he could fully process what was happening, the glass casing split apart with a pressurized snap. A rush of cold air struck his damp skin, and he collapsed forward, coughing up the remnants of the thick fluid that had sustained him.

His small body trembled, muscles weak from disuse yet charged with an unfamiliar strength. He pressed his hands against the slick metal floor, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. His fingers dug into the surface, and his purple skin shimmered under the artificial lighting.

Donald cautiously approached, taking off his jacket in an attempt to comfort the being. “Easy… Just breathe.”

Oliver’s head snapped up, eyes wide with confusion. He recoiled from Donald’s outstretched hands, his instincts screaming at him to run—but his legs refused to obey. His small frame shook violently, and his breathing turned into something resembling a quiet sob.

Every sensation overwhelmed him. The cold metal floor burned against his skin, the sounds of machinery stabbed at his ears, and the sight of the two strangers looming over him sent waves of fear through his fragile consciousness. His heart pounded erratically, and a strange, aching pressure built in his chest—a feeling he couldn’t yet name but was as raw and real as the breath in his lungs.

He shifts back, curled in on himself, instinctively shielding his body. His eyes darted wildly across the room, searching for something familiar, something safe—but there was nothing. Just sterile walls, blinding lights, and the suffocating weight of existence itself.

The lab was too bright. Too loud. Too sharp.

Every second after the vat opened was a new agony. The hum of fluorescent lights drilled into his skull like thunder. The air stung his skin—too cold. The hiss of nearby machines might as well have been screams. Even the floor under his bare feet sent jolts through him. And then… the smell. Sterile chemicals, metal, plastic—wrong. All of it felt wrong.

Oliver then attempts to stand but he staggers forward, clutching his head, blinking hard as his newly formed brain tries to categorize the flood of information pouring in from every direction. Emotions he had no names for bloomed like fire in his chest—confusion, fear, anger, isolation. He didn’t understand anything except that it hurt. Everything hurts.

Donald said something. A name maybe. A question. His voice wasn’t cruel, but Oliver couldn’t process the words. Couldn’t breathe properly.

He clawed at his head, snarling through clenched teeth as the panic hit full force. And then he screamed—not just in fear, but in defense, in warning. A high-pitched wail that cracked through the lab.

Cecil summoned security bots—not to subdue, but to contain, to protect him from hurting himself. But as the bots suddenly made themselves visible around them, sleek and cold and humming with artificial intelligence, Oliver looked up... and panicked again.

They looked like more danger. More noise. More pressure. Too much…all of it was too much.

And then instinct took over.

With a feral snarl, Oliver lunged. A purple blur tore through the air—too fast to follow. Metal limbs were ripped from sockets. Sparks exploded. One robot’s torso was crushed in a single, wild strike. Within seconds, the containment unit was a scrapyard of twitching limbs and shredded plating. He didn’t mean to destroy. He didn’t even know what “destroy” meant. He was just trying to be anywhere but here.

The lab door had been forced open during the chaos, and Oliver, now running on adrenaline and raw terror, bolted. He didn’t look back. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to get away. His feet pounded against the pristine floors, echoing down long, sterile corridors.

Alarms began to wail, a high-pitched screech that tore at his ears. More robots began closing in, coming from all directions. Oliver barely dodged them, ducking under grappling arms, leaping over drones. His breathing was ragged. His heart felt like it was going to explode.

And then he burst through a door.

The training room door exploded inward with a thunderous crash.

In stumbled a strange, naked purple child—wide-eyed, trembling, breathing fast. He looked around wildly, chest rising and falling like a cornered animal. His skin shimmered slightly under the harsh overhead lights. Every muscle in his small frame was tense like a wire about to snap.

The Guardians stopped mid-session.

Immortal squinted. “Is that a…kid?”

Rex blinked. “Okay… what the hell? Did Rudy grow himself a weird alien baby?”

“I did not,” Rudy answers flatly, narrowing his eyes as he keeps his focus on the child.

Kate’s clones vanished as she took a cautious step forward. Amanda looked over her shoulder, frowning.

He wasn't sure who they were. But given what he's been through in a short time, he perceives them as more danger.

Then—Oliver screams.

It tore out of his throat like a siren wail and echoed through the room, shaking light fixtures and dropping everyone’s guard for a fraction of a second.

Without thinking, Oliver moved like a bullet.

Rudy went down first. He raised a hard-light shield, but Oliver’s fist shattered it on impact, sending him flying into a steel wall with a loud crunch. Rudy groaned, crumpling into a heap.

Oliver immediately turns his attention to his next perceived threat.

“WHOA WHOA WHOA!” Rex yelled, hurling a cluster of energy charges.

Oliver weaved between them. One exploded behind him, flaring red-orange, scorching the floor—he didn’t even flinch. He lunged at Rex.

“Aw crap—!” Rex dove, narrowly avoiding a wild haymaker that dented the training room floor.

Oliver pounced on him, grabbing his arm—Rex barely dodges and flipped himself away using a mini-charge to blast off the ground. “This kid hits like a fucking asteroid!”

DupliKate immediately summoned five clones, attempting to surround him.

“Calm down!” one of the Kates shouted.

“Please, we don’t want to hurt you!” yelled another Kate.

Their words fall on deaf ears as Oliver charges towards them. He ripped through the first three with wild, hammering blows. Their bodies splatter into a bloody mess.

Another Kate leapt in to restrain him—he caught her mid-air by the ankle and swung her into the floor, hard enough to dent it.

“He’s just a kid! Can we not kill him?” one of the Kates yelled.

“He’s trying to kill us!” shouted another as she got punched out of existence.

Then Amanda transformed.

A flash of green light enveloped her as her form twisted and swelled. Her voice deepened into a snarl as bones reshaped and her monstrous version towered over the chaos. Huge, muscular, snarling—Monster Girl stepped forward, cracking her knuckles.

“Alright, little man,” she growled. “Let’s dance.”

Oliver froze, eyes wide at the sudden transformation.

She didn’t wait.

Amanda grabbed him, slamming him into the floor hard enough for it to crack under his back.

He thrashed. She held on.

However, despite the moment of struggle between them, he kept getting stronger.

With a roar, he shoved her off, tossing her into the ceiling, where she crashed and brought a chunk of it down with her.

“Oh hell no,” Rex muttered.

That's when Immortal entered the fray.

He didn’t hesitate. He tackled Oliver into a wall, pinning him with one massive hand to the chest. “Just calm down, kid—”

Oliver bit him.

“AAAGH—YOU MOTHERFU—!”

The Immortal doesn't get the chance to finish that sentence before Oliver headbutts him square in the nose, then kicks off his chest and sends him flying across the room, crashing into Monster Girl as she tries to stand up again.

As chaos continues to unfold, more security bots arrive.

Seven of them. Sleek, angular, spider-eyed.

“Do not be alarmed,” one intoned. “Initiating passive containment protocol.”

Oliver turned. He froze.

A wave of visceral dread swept over him.

Before he could stop himself, Oliver lunges, ripping a bot in half. He grabs and smashes one into another, shattering both.

He tore through another, punching straight through another bot’s chest cavity. Sparks exploded.

The Guardians could only watch from the edges now.

“Should we be helping?” Kate asked nervously.

“I think we’re past helping,” Rex muttered. “We need a priest.”

In the span of ten seconds, the entire security team was scrap metal. Oliver stood in the center of the room, breathing hard, surrounded by smoke, wreckage, and bent metal. His eyes were wild, tears streaming down his face—but his fists were still raised.

Then the doors opened.

Cecil walked in, flanked by Donald and a fresh squad of sleek security bots, their red optics glowing like predators in the dark.

“Kid doesn’t know when to quit,” Cecil muttered, frowning.

The moment Oliver saw them—especially the bots—his expression snapped from panicked confusion to raw terror. He screamed again, an ear splitting sound of defiance and fear mashed together, and launched himself at the machines.

“Stand down, kid.” Cecil commands.

A command that was never met.

Oliver ripped through the first unit like it was paper. He ducked low, grabbed a bot’s leg, and whipped it into two others, exploding them in a rain of metal. A laser net shot toward him—he grabbed it mid-air and yanked, pulling two more bots in before crushing their heads together with a thunderous boom.

Sparks lit the room. Shards flew.

Donald flinched. “Jesus Christ…”

Battered and breathless, the Guardians—Rex, Amanda, Rudy, Kate—stood back, watching the wreckage. No one dared move.

That's when a voice rings out—

“What the hell is going on?!”

Eve’s voice cut through the storm like a sudden breeze.

She stepped into the room, eyes wide as they swept over the wreckage, the battered Guardians, and the feral, purple-skinned boy standing in the ruins.

Oliver froze.

He stared at her.

She wasn’t like the others. Her presence didn’t strike fear into him—it stirred something different. Something...warm. It was like recognition, though he’d never seen her before.

And without thinking…he ran to her.

Not like before, not a wild, thrashing attack.

It was desperate. Needy.

His feet stumbled over rubble as he sprinted, arms slightly open, tears brimming in his eyes. Eve’s brows furrowed, confused but unmoving.

The Guardians tensed.

Cecil didn’t.

He sighed, pulled out a small black device from his coat. “Enough.”

Click.

A pulse emitted.

No one else heard it.

But Oliver screamed bloody murder.

His body arched, mid-run, and he collapsed hard onto the floor. His hands clawed at his head like something was burrowing inside it. His teeth gnashed as his shrieks hit a pitch that sent shivers down every spine in the room.

It wasn’t just pain…it was torment. Agony designed to disrupt every nerve, every cell in his body.

He convulsed. Blood trickled from his nose.

Even Rex winced. “Okay, damn.”

“Cecil, STOP!” Eve shouted, eyes blazing with horror. “Turn it off!”

He hesitated. Just a second before clicking it again.

Silence.

Oliver’s body stilled—twitching slightly, gasping for breath as he still makes a feeble attempt to crawl to her. His eyes, wide and unfocused, looked at Eve one last time before his muscles gave out completely and he collapsed again.

She ran to him, falling to her knees. Gently, she gathered his limp form in her arms. His head lolled against her chest, body trembling.

Eve glared up at Cecil. “He’s just a child.”

Cecil stared back, jaw tight. “He’s dangerous.”

Eve looked down at Oliver…scared, broken, and unconscious in her arms.

~~~~~~~

A dimly lit observation chamber, quieter and removed from the chaos earlier, buzzed with low-frequency hums from nearby equipment. Oliver lay unconscious on a padded table in the adjacent med-bay, still wrapped loosely in the towel, his body twitching slightly in sleep—haunted by sensations he didn’t yet have words for. Monitors pulsed gently above him, measuring vital signs that flickered with unreadable data.

Through the two-way glass, Eve stood with her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her expression tense yet concerned as she watched the boy sleep. The quiet was suffocating.

Finally, she turned to Cecil and Donald, her voice low but sharp.
“I want to know what that is. Who he is.”

Cecil didn’t look away from the glass. “He’s… complicated.”

Eve narrowed her eyes. “Cut the shit, Cecil. That kid isn’t normal even by our standards. You saw what happened there. He looked at me like he knew me. That wasn’t random.” She jabbed a finger toward the observation window. “So I’ll ask again: what is he?”

Donald sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that we don’t want to tell you, it’s that the full answer isn’t ready yet. He’s still—developing.”

Eve stepped closer. “That’s a child, Donald. A living, breathing being. He ran to me, crying like someone who's been through hell…like someone desperate for help and then Ceci…you basically tortured him.”

Cecil finally turned, his voice measured. “We didn’t have a choice. He was out of control. He took out half a squad of bots and almost leveled a training room full of Guardians. We needed a way to neutralize him safely.”

Eve’s voice dropped to a near-growl. “Safely? He was running toward me. Not attacking me. He needed help, not—whatever the hell that was. That wasn't safe, that was cruelty.”

The silence stretched between them.

Cecil exhaled. “Look… he’s not ready for the outside world. He barely understands who or what he is. And frankly, neither do we. But one thing’s clear—this can’t leave the GDA.”

Eve looked stunned. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Cecil said. “Until we know more, no one outside this facility can know about him.”

She clenched her jaw. “You’re asking me to lie?”

“I’m asking you to protect him,” Cecil said, his tone suddenly softer. “Because if anyone else finds out what he is…they won’t see a scared child. They’ll see a weapon.”

Eve looked back through the glass.

Oliver stirred, his brows furrowing in his sleep as if dreaming of something he couldn’t name. For a moment, her own defenses faltered.

She gave a slow nod. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone.”

Cecil raised a brow. “And knowing you, I'm assuming you’ll stay close? Keep an eye on him?”

“You know me so well. I was going to do that anyway,” Eve said quietly.

They said nothing else.

But in that silence, a decision was made. From that moment on, Eve would be his shadow—watching, guarding, trying to understand this strange, purple child who had nothing else but the name given to him:

Oliver.

And no past… only the chaos of what came next. She didn’t know what he was… not really. But she felt something.

~~~~~~~

Outside the GDA, the night had fallen thick and cold, lights from the city glittering below like distant stars. Eve stepped out into the breeze and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Her thoughts were a swirl of worry and dread — not just for Oliver, but for what this all meant.

After a moment, Eve pulled out her phone. But she hesitates.

Her thumb hovers over Debbie's contact, her name glowing softly on the screen. Eve’s lips parted like she might speak, already imagining what she’d even say. "You need to see this. Cecil has a purple child running around with the strength of 100 gorillas—” She scoffs at herself, “That's so stupid…”

But then…she hesitated again as her thoughts snapped back to Oliver running to her.

He didn’t need more eyes on him. Not yet. Not when he was so scared…so new.

Eve lowered her phone slowly, thumb resting on the screen.

She locked it without making the call.

“…Not yet,” she whispered.

With one last look at the GDA’s cold exterior, she turns and flies off into the night…silent, tense, and deeply unsettled.

But from that moment forward…she vowed to watch everything more closely.

Especially him.

Chapter Text

There was no sound. No warmth. No edge to the world.
Only divided stillness.

Mark stood alone in a realm that was neither dream nor reality—where the universe itself had been cut clean in half.
On his right: endless black, thick and swallowing, stretching forever.
On his left: blinding, sterile white, cold enough to burn.

And in the space between, he stood frozen.

Until they arrived.

Two mouthless figures emerged from the contrast—identical in shape, in stature, in voice. Each one was him and yet… not.

The figure standing in the blackness was pale white, nearly glowing, with black voids for eyes—empty, sharp, and cruel.
The figure on the white side was made of pure shadow, but its glowing white eyes shimmered with aching empathy.

They approached him slowly—two pieces of himself long kept apart.
And then the white one spoke, voice like cracked marble.

“You’ve always been weak.”

The words hit like a whip.

“From the day your powers awakened, you’ve flinched at your own strength. Held back. Worried more about feelings than survival.”

Mark swallowed hard, fists clenched. The black figure didn’t speak—yet. It only watched, patiently.

“You let your father beat you into the ground. You survived, sure—but barely. And what did you learn?”
The white figure stepped forward, venomous.
“Nothing.”

Images tore through Mark’s mind—Nolan’s fists. The cratered rocky mountains. The blood. The helplessness…

“Then came Thragg,” the figure snarled.
“You didn’t fight. You yielded. Let him take you. Let him mark you.”
It leaned in, eyes narrowing.
“And now you’re carrying his child.”

Mark’s hand moved instinctively to his stomach. The atmosphere grew thick, pressing down like gravity in reverse.

That’s when the black figure spoke—calm, deep, and tired.
“He was seventeen. Barely grown. Buried in battles that were never his to fight. And still, he endured.”

The white figure spat:

“Endured? No. He surrendered. Again and again. He became their tool. Their toy.”

Mark’s jaw tightened.

The black figure took another step. Its glow pulsed gently.
“You chose to protect the people you love. You sacrificed your pride to keep Earth standing.”

“And what did that get him?” the white figure sneered.
“You’re alone. Broken. Used. And now carrying something that will tear you apart from the inside.”

Mark’s knees buckled slightly. The echo of a scream clawed at his throat but never left his mouth.

“That thing,” the white one whispered, voice like poison, “is going to kill you.”

But the black figure—firm now—countered:

“No. That child is going to save you.”

The white one stepped closer again.

“Thragg will never stop testing you. This is already wearing you down. You’re slower. Tired. Soft. You’ll hesitate because of it—and that moment of hesitation will be the end.”

The black one didn’t retreat.
“That hesitation is compassion. And that compassion is strength. You still know love. You still want something more than war and bloodshed.

Mark sank to his knees, breath catching in his throat. His arms wrapped around his abdomen. His voice, shaking, barely audible:

“…I didn’t ask for any of this.”

The black figure knelt beside him.

“I know.”

The white one towered over him now.

“Then end it. Rip it out. You’re still strong enough to cut ties. To survive. To be Viltrumite again.”

Mark’s eyes brimmed with tears.

The black figure placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Or carry it. Not just the burden—but the hope. Let this be the first thing born of you that wasn’t violence.”

One voice, a noose around his neck.
The other, a trembling hand pulling him back from the ledge.

“Snap,” the white figure urged. “Burn it all down before it buries you.”

“Hold on,” the black one whispered. “Just a little longer. You’re not done yet.”

Mark trembled—broken, scared, and exhausted.

But his hand never left his stomach.

~~~~~~~~

Everything was too much.

The clash of voices in his head, the violence, the conflicting emotions — it all spiraled until it was hard to tell which part of him was real anymore.
His sense of right and wrong, the fragile compass he clung to all his life, was beginning to shatter beneath the weight of it all.

The urge for freedom.
The instinct to survive.
The unbearable, shameful pull of his omega instincts — whispering not to run, but to stay. Stay with Thragg. Stay with the one who had broken and bound him.

And now… the child.

Mark’s hands trembled just thinking of it. Not just because of what it meant. But because of the danger it posed — to himself, to the world, to everything.

Hope and hopelessness warred inside him like twin suns tearing his soul in two.

And then — he woke up.

His body jerked forward and the first thing he did was vomit, spilling bile and mucus across the cold floor. His muscles seized from the force, ribs aching, throat raw.

He wasn’t where he last remembered being.
Not in the nightmare Conquest dragged him through.
Not in the suffocating dream space filled with voices and judgment.

He was somewhere sterile.
Dim lights. Soft humming. White walls.

The recovery room.

And next to him stood someone he last expected: Thula.

Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, her expression stoic as she looked down at him. Her booted foot shifted just slightly to avoid the pool of vomit.

"Seriously?" she sighed, voice dry as dust. "I stopped by to check in, not to get my boots baptized in your stomach acid."

Mark tried to say something. It came out as a broken wheeze. His whole body was still trembling — not just from sickness, but something deeper.

Before Thula could finish another quip, Mark reached for her, almost without thinking. He gripped her uniform and collapsed into her chest, wrapping his arms around her like he was afraid he’d vanish if he let go.

His face pressed into her shoulder. He was crying — hard. Silently, desperately. Tears soaked into the fabric of her uniform . He tried to speak again, but nothing came. Only sharp gasps and the kind of anguish that had no words.

Thula stiffened at first — purely on instinct.

But then she exhaled slowly. Her expression softened.

This kind of thing?
She usually only saw it when Anissa broke down. And even then, it wasn’t like this.

Quietly, without a word, Thula let down the walls she kept up around everyone else — the brutal edges, the hard stares.

And she did something she never did in the open…she released her scent.

Not overpowering. Not flowery or sweet.
Just something calm. Grounded. Ancient and firm like stone worn smooth by time.

It surrounded Mark, warm and lightly weighted in the air.
Not soft…but safe.

Mark’s breathing slowed. His grip eased, but he didn’t let go.

The shaking subsided.
But the tears kept falling, slower now. Hot against her shoulder.

Neither of them spoke.
There was nothing to say.

But for the first time in months Mark didn’t feel like he was drowning.

The air between them eventually began to settle.

Mark’s breathing slowed, his shoulders no longer shaking. The tightness in his chest loosened enough for him to move, and with a small sniff, he slowly pulled back from Thula. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, but no longer spilling. A tear still clung to his jawline.

He looked away, ashamed. His voice cracked as he whispered, "Sorry."

Thula glanced at him, brow slightly raised.

"For what?" she asked casually, as if he’d bumped into her in the hallway rather than cried into her shoulder.

Still, Mark wiped his face, gathering what little composure he had left. His throat still felt raw, like he’d been screaming in a vacuum.

Thula gave him space without stepping away. Instead, she guides Mark back to his recovery bed and sits down next to him, letting her body relax for the first time since entering. Her scent still lingered in the room—steady, calm. She didn’t cut it off. Not yet.

A long silence passed between them. It wasn’t awkward. Just…suspended. Like something unspoken was hovering in the air between them, waiting to land.

And then, Thula broke it.

"When I got back from my mission with Anissa and Kregg," she said, not looking at him, "I started hearing the whispers. About the ceremony."
A pause. Her tone dropped slightly.
"About the...training. If you can even call what Conquest does training."

She didn’t elaborate on what she’d heard. She didn’t need to. It was written all over Mark’s face.

Her eyes flicked toward him, "But there's more, isn’t there?"

Mark’s jaw clenched.

Thula didn’t press. Instead, she added, softer now, "You’re not like the rest of us."

Another beat.
"You cry."

Mark looked at her, unsure whether it was an insult or not.

But she wasn’t mocking. There was no smirk. Her expression was hard to read. But her voice, oddly, held something like wonder.

"Most Viltrumites wouldn’t let themselves be seen like that. Not by anyone. But you... you let yourself feel.”

She didn’t say anything more after that.

But her presence — still and steady — said what words couldn’t.

She wasn’t prying. She wasn’t walking away.
She was just...there. A calm anchor. And if Mark ever felt ready, she was open enough for him to speak.

The silence lingered.

It was the kind of silence that wasn’t empty — it held something.
The dim hum of the recovery unit filled the room like white noise, and Thula’s calming scent gently wrapped around the air like an unseen fog refusing to lift.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them looked at each other.

Mark stared at the floor, fingers faintly twitching in his lap.

He wanted to stay quiet.
He wanted to pretend that silence was enough.
But it wasn’t. Not anymore.

His voice came out strained, hesitant, but real. “Everything just keeps piling up...”

Thula said nothing, her gaze focused on the opposite wall, letting him speak on his terms.

“It’s like I’m being crushed under decisions I never got to make. One day I’m trying to finish school. And now I’m…”
He swallowed thickly.
“…now I’m surviving. Barely.”

He exhaled, a slow, unsteady breath.

“I’m trying to be strong… but this—”
His hand hovered over his stomach.
“—this changes everything. I’m not just surviving for myself anymore. And I’m scared, Thula. I’m really scared.”

That was the first time he’d said it out loud.

Across the hall, just beyond the recovery wing, two more footsteps echoed — slow, steady.

Anissa, arms crossed but eyes alert, was approaching the room with long strides. Beside her was Kregg, trying to look disinterested, hands behind his back but his attention was razor sharp.

He'd heard the rumors. About the ceremony. About the brutal training with Conquest.
And though he’d never say it aloud, the thought of what that bastard could’ve done to Mark didn’t sit right with him…even if he wasn't too fond of the boy.

As they neared the door, both of them paused.

There was a faint trace in the air that Anissa recognized, Thula’s scent.

Anissa frowned.
“She’s actually using it…”

Kregg’s brow lifted.
“She never does that…well, not unless you're throwing your little tantrums.”

“Shut it.” Anissa snaps back at him.

Before they could question it further, a voice from inside made their quarrel halt.

It was Mark’s.

Soft, but clear enough to make both their eyes widen.

“…I’m pregnant.”

There was a beat of stunned silence. And then—

SLAM!

The door burst open, Anissa standing in the frame with wild, stunned eyes.

“YOU’RE WHAT!?”

Mark jerked upright, wide-eyed. Thula didn’t even flinch—just slowly turned her head toward the intruders, eyes filled with quiet annoyance.

Mark's face went pale.

Kregg, behind Anissa, stood frozen in the hall, blinking slowly — eyes widened in shock as he muttered to himself, “…holy shit.”

Anissa didn’t mean to come off so loud — but the second the words left Mark’s mouth, her brain short-circuited.

“Wait—how long have you known?”
“Does Thragg know?”
“Do you even know what this means—?”
“Is it developing normally?”
“Are you—are you okay?”
“How far along are you?”
“What if—”

The questions came fast, one after another, like bullets from a loaded chamber.

Mark blinked, head slowly lowering as his shoulders tensed. His mouth opened, but not a single answer came out. The fragile calm that had settled over him moments ago was already cracking, and a sharp ache built in his chest. His fingers curled slightly into the bedsheet beneath him.

Anissa kept going, oblivious to how overwhelmed he looked, not out of cruelty — just shock.

“—and what if it’s—”

Thwap.

A firm hand smacked lightly against the back of her head.

Not a hit meant to harm — just enough to interrupt.

“Hey!” she spun around with a scowl, rubbing her head as Kregg stood behind her, his face the picture of deadpan.

“You’re frying his brain, Anissa.” His tone was dry as sand.

“I’m concerned!”

“Yeah, me and all of Viltrum heard, idiot.”

“Have I ever told you that you're a complete dick?”

“And have I ever told you that you're a complete bitch?”

“I will throw you through a wall!—”

Their low-volume bickering kicked off like static — snappy, familiar, and somehow comforting. In their usual rhythm of eye-rolls, snappy and dry insults, something in the air shifted.

And then, from the bed, came a sound none of them had heard in too long a time…at least not genuinely.

A laugh.

Soft. Brief. But real.

Mark let out a small chuckle, quiet and almost surprised at himself. It wasn’t mocking or bitter — just... light. His hand came up to brush under his eyes, almost sheepish, but the tiniest ghost of a smile pulled at his lips.

Thula glanced at him, her expression unreadable, but the warmth in her gaze was unmistakable.

Anissa blinked.
“Did… did he just laugh?

Kregg arched his brow before he sarcastically stated, “Miracles do happen.”

The tension in the room didn’t vanish, but it thinned — like the first crack of sunlight slipping through storm clouds. For a fleeting moment, the heaviness lifted.

Unfortunately, this moment doesn't last long.

Mark’s soft laugh barely had time to fade before a sharp, familiar wave of nausea curled through his stomach.

His face tensed.
His body stiffened.
He leaned forward with a shaky groan, one arm across his middle.

“Shit—”

Thula was the first to move, reaching for the nearby basin and sliding it in front of him with a quiet efficiency. Kregg stepped back slightly to give space, arms still crossed but ready to help if in need of further assistance. Anissa made her way over, resting a hand lightly on Mark’s back as his breathing slowed.

They didn’t crowd him but they stayed close enough.

Once the wave passed, Mark exhaled and sat back slowly, his cheeks flushed, the tension in his shoulders refusing to fade. His eyes remained fixed on the wall, blinking rapidly like he was holding something in.

Silence followed.

Thick and brittle.

Until Mark finally broke it.

“…I hate this.”

The words came out hoarse. And before he even realized it, his voice didn’t stop. It was like some dam inside him had cracked open, and everything came spilling out on its own.

“I hate all of it.”
His fingers tightened into the sheets.
“Being ripped from Earth. From everything I knew. Finding out I’m not even who I thought I was. That I’m… this.”

He gestured vaguely at himself, frustration laced through every motion.

“That I’m an Omega. That I have this… pull I don’t understand.”

His voice wavered. But he kept going.

“That night when it started — my first heat — I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know it would feel like that. Like my body stopped being mine. Like I’d already lost.”

A pause.

“And I let him mark me.”
The room felt like it stilled.
“I let Thragg claim me. Not because I wanted to submit. But because… I don’t know. Part of me needed it. And I hate that. I hate how good it felt. How good he made it feel.”

He pulled in a ragged breath, and continued — quietly, but bitterly.

“With everything in between, then came Conquest. Beating me, breaking me. Calling it training. Like I’m some weapon to polish.”

Kregg’s jaw flexed at that name. His arms tensed subtly — too subtle for most, but not to Anissa. She saw the flicker of irritation pass behind his eyes.

“Now Thragg’s forcing me into some… ceremony. A bloodbath just to prove I’m not weak. And now—”

Mark’s hand moved to his stomach again.

“Now I’m pregnant.”

His voice cracked.

“And I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay with it. Like I’m some brave survivor carrying the future of a dying empire. I’m not.”

Another pause.

“I just feel broken. Like this child is one more burden I’m expected to carry while smiling through it.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, and the tears quietly returned.

“I feel so… weak.”

And that was all…

The silence returned, thick and unmoving.

Anissa, Kregg, and Thula didn’t interrupt. Didn’t offer hollow reassurances. They simply sat with him in that space — bearing the weight with him, letting the honesty of it settle like dust.

Mark wept, his voice was raw, trembling — stripped bare.

“…Maybe it would be better if I just got rid of it.”

The words came out in a broken breath, barely louder than a whisper. But they struck like a hammer to the chest.

The room shifted.

Subtly, but unmistakably.

Anissa’s eyes widened, mouth parting in stunned disbelief.

Kregg’s brow furrowed, his body tensing as he cast a sharp glance toward Mark.

But it was Thula whose reaction was the most immediate — the sharp flicker of something rare passing through her eyes. Her shoulders straightened, her lips pressed into a hard line. She didn’t speak, but her aura shifted — the calm she exuded moments before now rippling with something tense and guarded.

Anissa was the first to speak.

“You can’t say stuff like that,” she said quickly, a nervous urgency in her tone.
“If Thragg ever heard anything you just said, he’d—”

“I don’t care.”

Mark cut her off, not angry — but distant. Defeated.

“I’m tired, Anissa. I don’t want to bring someone into this mess. Into war. Into being used…only to be valued as a tool.”

He scoffed bitterly.

“What kind of parent would I be, anyway? I can’t even protect myself. Can’t win a fight. Can’t go a week without bleeding out or passing out. I’m pathetic.”

His hands trembled. His voice wavered again.

“I’ve been pretending I’m strong enough to handle it all, but I’m not. I’ve barely survived… and now I’m supposed to protect a new life?”

He shook his head.

“No. I can’t. I just can’t.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before — oppressive, like a black cloud pressing into their lungs. Mark’s scent, unbeknownst to him, had slipped out. It soured into something painful: fear, doubt, self-loathing. It lingered thick in the air, coating the walls, impossible to ignore.

No one spoke.

Not yet.

But Thula...

She hadn’t taken her eyes off him. And something in her — something she rarely let surface — began to stir.

She inhaled slowly.

And then—

She opened her mouth.

Ready to speak.

To say something real.

Something she never shared.

She moved — slow and deliberate — to the edge of Mark’s bed and sat down beside him once more. Her movements were uncharacteristically careful, almost like she was bracing for something. Like what she was about to say had weight. A weight she hadn’t carried out loud in years.

Mark doesn't look at her. Anissa tilted her head slightly. Kregg didn’t say a word but his arms slowly lowered, as if sensing the shift in the room.

For a moment, Thula just stared ahead, her fingers curled loosely in her lap.

And then, in a voice quieter than any of them had ever heard from her, she said:

“…I was pregnant once.”

The air stilled instantly.

Mark's breath hitched.
Anissa's eyes widened.
Kregg blinked, stunned.

None of them had ever heard Thula speak of something even remotely personal — let alone something like this.

But she didn’t stop.

She couldn't…

Chapter Text

“A long, long time ago,” she continued, her voice calm but low, like each word had to pass through stone. “So long ago, I almost convinced myself I imagined it. But I didn’t.”

She glanced down for a second, her tone turning distant.

“I was mated to an Alpha. Not a strong one, not powerful… but cruel. Abusive in a way that left more than just visible scars.”

Anissa’s brows drew together, a flicker of protective anger flashing in her eyes. Kregg’s jaw tightens.

Thula barely seemed to notice.

“When I found out I was pregnant, I was… terrified. Not just because of him, but because of me.”

Her voice dropped further.

“I was a soldier. A killer. A Beta who followed orders. I wasn’t soft, or gentle. I didn’t know how to be. And the very thought of raising something so… small, so alive, scared me more than any battlefield ever did.”

Her hands gripped her knees.

“I thought about getting rid of it. I really did.”

She finally looked at Mark then. Right at him. Not judging. Not challenging.

Just seeing him.

“But when it came down to it…I couldn’t.”

And with that, she fell silent.

The room remained frozen.

Not in discomfort — but in awe. In grief. In understanding.

For the first time, Mark wasn’t the only one unraveling. And yet, somehow…that shared vulnerability wrapped around him like a blanket.

Thula's gaze softened, her voice no longer laced with steel or caution. Now it carried a strange warmth — fragile and rare, like the flicker of a candle untouched by wind.

“But then I saw her.”

Her lips parted, not quite smiling, but something close — like a memory touched her in a place she’d long tried to bury.

“The moment I laid eyes on her, every doubt, every fear, everything I’d rehearsed in my head… just vanished.”

Her hands, so often curled into fists or crossed in guarded posture, now sat relaxed on her knees.

“She was…tiny. So small I was afraid I’d break her just by holding her. And she was mine.”

A soft breath left her.

“My daughter~”

And for the first time in any of their memories, Thula laughed.

Quiet. Reminiscent. A whisper of joy lost in time.

“She was beautiful. Not strong or fierce or anything Viltrumites boast about. Just… beautiful. And for the first time, I felt something I didn’t even know I was capable of.”

She glanced down, eyes distant, but the corner of her lips still curved upward.

“Something warm. Something that scared me, because I didn’t know how to be that kind of person. But I wanted to be. I wanted to learn. I thought maybe…maybe this was my chance.”

Her voice softened further.

“Maybe I didn’t have to be just a weapon. Maybe I could be gentle. Maybe I could be the mother she needed.”

The room held its breath around her.

“The world didn’t stop being cruel,” she said quietly. “But when she was with me…it softened. She made it bearable. She made me bearable.”

She looked at no one in particular now, just lost in memory — but the emotion was thick in the room.

“She was my peace. My reason. My life…”

And she stopped there — not because she was done, but because the feeling was too tender, too vulnerable to stretch much further in that moment.

The silence that followed was no longer cold.

It was reverent.

A stillness that wrapped around her words like hands holding something sacred.

Mark hesitated.

The question pressed against his lips, lingering like a breath on glass. It almost felt wrong to ask, but something inside him—curiosity, empathy, or perhaps something closer to fear—pushed the words out.

“…What happened to her?”

Thula didn’t answer right away.

Her jaw tightened, and for the first time, her shoulders visibly slumped beneath the weight of the question. As though the very memory pulled at her bones. The air in the room shifted again, still but dense—waiting.

Finally, she spoke.

“She was still a child.”

Her voice barely carried across the room.

“Not as strong. Not as fast. She wasn’t like the other children in her age group and her father hated that.”
Her tone sharpened with cold remembrance. “He used to call her a mistake. Said she was proof of my failure. A waste of breath and blood.”

Mark felt his throat tighten, but Thula kept speaking, her words measured and slow.

“I tried to keep her away from him as much as I could. Tried to protect her. But one day, something in him snapped. I don’t know why or how—it just… happened.”

She inhaled. The sound of it was sharp and hollow.

“One moment we were arguing—screaming, really—and the next, we were fighting.”

A flicker of hurt and anger flashes over her eyes.

“He was stronger than me. So much stronger. And I was too angry to care.”

Her hands flexed once in her lap, like a muscle memory.

“I gave him everything I had. But it wasn’t enough.”

The words began to slow.

“He had me on my knees. Bloodied. Bruised. Barely holding on. He looked down at me like I was less than nothing…like I was dirt beneath his boot.”

Thula’s voice wavered—not cracking, but trembling under the strain of control.

“All I could think about was her. I remember wondering if maybe we could still run. Maybe if I could crawl, I could get us out. Just escape. Start over. Be free.” Thula scoffs at her own nativity.

Mark’s heart beat louder in his ears. Even Anissa's usual bravado had vanished, her brows drawn, her eyes unblinking. Kregg stood like a statue, his expression subtle but understanding.

Then Thula said the words that changed the room entirely.

“But the final blow never came.”

She looked down.

“Because she got in the way.”

The silence grew colder, tighter—every breath felt wrong.

“Everything happened so fast…” She exhaled shakily.
“All I remember is looking up and seeing her there. Standing in front of me.”

Half a second passes.

“And his fist… going straight through her.”

No one moved.

No one could.

Not Mark. Not Anissa. Not Kregg.

What could anyone possibly say?

There were no words heavy enough. No comfort is strong enough. Only the sound of breathing and the weight of a memory no one in the room would ever forget.

Thula's voice had steadied for most of her story but now…now it cracked.

Not loud. Not sobbing. Just a small, tremorous shift in her breath as her memories peeled back the final veil.

“I… I couldn’t move.”

Her voice was almost a whisper.

“My mind just…stopped. Like time had frozen. I watched him—”
Her words caught in her throat.
“I watched him pull his fist out of her chest.”

No one in the room dared move.

“And then…” she continued, eyes glassy and far, far away, “he threw her like she was nothing. Like some broken doll.”

Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles paling.

“I still remember the sound her body made when it hit the ground…I still hear it sometimes…”

Her voice trembled again.

“Then he dragged me by the hair… across the ground. I couldn't stop him. My body was already giving out...”

She blinked slowly, the words spilling out almost mechanically now—detached, as if that was the only way she could say them at all.

“He made me look at her. Said I needed to remember the face of failure. Said that—”
Her voice broke harder now.
“That she was the price of weakness.”

A soft, wet sound escaped her. A whimper—fragile, aching—cutting through the silence like a blade.

But she caught herself. Snapped her mouth shut. Pulled the emotion back under iron will. The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, with eerie calm, she continued.

“He told me to never forget. That every time I closed my eyes, I’d see her. That the echo of my failure would never leave me.”

She exhaled—shaky, ragged.

“And then he left.”
Her voice faded to ash.
“Flew off. Like she didn’t mean anything.”

And just like that, it was only her and her daughter.

Just silence and death.

Thula’s voice wavered again—no longer sharp, no longer even steady. What remained was something quieter, more fragile than anyone in the room had ever imagined her capable of.

“I don’t know how I did it…but I crawled to her.”

She stared at the floor now, as if she could still see her daughter’s small form lying there.

“I was barely breathing. Bones shattered. Blood pouring from my mouth. But I needed to hold her.”

She closed her eyes.

“I kept whispering: I’m here… mommy’s here. Please—please stay with me, baby.”

Mark swallowed hard, his own tears threatening to rise again.

“I begged her to hold on. Just hold on.”

Thula’s breath hitched—more raw this time.

“But we both knew… we knew she didn’t have much longer.”

Silence.

“And she…” Thula’s lips trembled, her voice thinner now. “She looked at me with the softest eyes. Like she wasn’t scared at all. Like she was proud.”

Her jaw clenched, fighting to keep control, but the emotion was spilling through every crack in her armor.

“She said, " See? I’m not weak…I saved mommy”.”

The quiet in the room was absolute.

“I told her not to talk. I was begging her to stop—to just save her strength. But she wouldn’t. She just kept smiling.”

Thula’s hands gripped the edge of the bed now, knuckles pale, trembling.

“She said… You’re not weak, mommy. You’re nothing like he said you were. You’re the strongest person I know...”

Tears finally began to stream down her cheeks.

“She said… If I had the chance to live in another life, I’d choose you to be my mom every time.”

A sharp, broken sound escaped Thula’s throat. She didn’t even try to stop it this time.

“She reached up…with everything she had left. Just to touch my face.”

Her hand lifted instinctively, brushing the air near her cheek as if she could still feel her daughter's hand.

“And she said…I love you.”

Thula’s voice collapsed into a whisper.

“And then she was gone.”

Her breath caught in her chest, then broke into something ragged. Not a scream. Not a loud sob. Just a sound—the kind that lives in your bones for the rest of your life.

She hunched forward, finally unable to keep herself together any longer.

Anissa was the first to move—slowly, gently—releasing her scent into the air, subtle and grounding.

Then Kregg followed, his own scent wrapping around them with a quiet firmness, anchoring Thula in the here and now.

Letting her know that she wasn’t alone.

That this space… this memory… this pain… could be held, accepted and grieved without being ridiculed.

Thula sat in silence for a long moment.

The tears still welled in her eyes, but her jaw had firmed again, the tremble in her voice replaced by the cool edge of someone who had survived. Someone who had endured, and endured, and endured—and was still here.

“Years passed.”
Her voice was low. Steady again.
“I got stronger. I had to.”

She didn’t look at anyone now. Her eyes were fixed on something no one else could see.

“But so did the grief. It didn’t fade. It didn’t soften. It just…grew quieter. Heavier.”

There was no shame in her tone—just truth.

“And then came the purge.”
The Viltrumite war against their own—the slaughter of the “weak.” We were told to find and eliminate those deemed unworthy. The defectives. The liabilities.”

Her lips twisted slightly—not quite a sneer, but the ghost of one.

“That’s when I saw him again.”

The air around her chilled.

“The same monster who took everything from me.”
Her fists clenched in her lap.
“I almost didn’t believe it. But there he was, bold as ever. Still breathing. Still smug.”

Her voice dipped lower.

“We fought. Brutally. Just like before. But this time…this time, I won.”

She didn’t say it with pride. She said it like a fact. Like a stone being dropped in water.

“And when he fell…he begged.”

A flicker of something icy crossed her face.

“Begged me to spare him. Said we could always try for another child, as if—”
Her throat tightened again, fury tightening her words.
“—as if she meant nothing.”

Mark felt his gut twist, a quiet sickness rising in his chest.

“He didn’t deserve mercy.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“He deserved to suffer.”

And suffer, he did.

Thula didn’t go into detail—but she didn’t need to. The silence that followed spoke volumes.

“By the time I was done, he was barely recognizable.”

She finally exhaled, her shoulders sinking.

“He never cared about me. Never protected me. Never loved me.”

Her voice softened, but not in a gentle way. It was hollow.

“And as I watched him take his final breath, I didn’t feel triumph. I didn’t feel closure.”

She looked down at her hands. The same ones that had brought down a monster.

“I just collapsed. Right there. Everything I’d held together for so long…all of it came crashing down.”

And for a moment, she didn’t look like a warrior.

She looked like a mother who never stopped grieving.

Despite the weight of what she’d just shared—despite the pain that still echoed in every word—Thula’s voice remained steady as she looked at Mark.

“I know what it’s like,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “To be scared. To feel weak. To question if you're even capable of surviving, let alone protecting something so fragile...so innocent.”

Mark didn’t respond, not right away. His breathing was shaky, his eyes wet, lips parted as if searching for words that wouldn’t come.

“Carrying a child,” Thula continued, “it’s not a straight path. It’s dread. It’s exhaustion. It’s waking up every day terrified that you’re not ready.”

She reached forward and gently placed her hand over his.

It was a quiet, rare act of tenderness—from someone who had always seemed forged from steel. Her eyes still shimmered, but her smile was soft.

“But that child...will give you a strength you’ve never felt before.”

Mark’s throat tightened.

“They’ll be your reason. Not a burden. Not a weakness. A purpose. A kind of love that doesn't ask you to be perfect, just present. Just real.”

Thula’s hand squeezed his.

“Even if you can’t see it yet...I do. I see it in you.”

The room was heavy again—but not with despair. With something warmer. Something fragile, but whole.

And in that moment, without even realizing it, Mark’s scent shifted again subtle but unmistakable. That sweetness, that quiet vulnerability… a scent not drenched in fear or rage, but something far more human.

Hope.

He pulled her into a hug, tight and silent. Clinging to her as if the gesture alone was keeping him tethered.

Thula didn’t hesitate. She returned it, arms strong around him, her chin resting lightly atop his shoulder.

Anissa watched from nearby. Her lips curled into a small smile. She remembered not long ago when Mark had held her the same way—soft and wordless after she'd cracked open her own past to him.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Kregg leaned quietly against the wall, his arms crossed—more reserved, but his stance said enough. He was staying. He wasn't going anywhere.

And for a moment… just a moment…
Mark felt safe.

Mark pulled back, embarrassment flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry…I gotta stop doing that so suddenly.”

Thula blinked at him, taken aback for a moment—but then she smiled. It wasn’t sarcastic or smug. It was soft. Real. Bittersweet. “You’re lucky it’s you,” she murmured. “if it was anyone else, they would’ve left this room in pieces.” Her thumb gently brushed over his cheek. “But you? You get a pass.”

Mark gave her a faint, remorseful smile, but the warmth between them fractured the moment the door hissed open behind them.

A shadow swept across the room.

Conquest.

He stepped inside with the kind of presence that didn’t need announcing. His voice cut through the silence, dripping with disdain.

"Hmph... this room reeks of weakness and sentimentality…pitiful if I do say so myself."

He stepped in like he owned the place—shoulders loose, posture relaxed, but every step deliberate, heavy with the weight of dominance. His eyes scanned the trio surrounding Mark, and his lip curled with amusement.

"Awww.” he drawled. "Are we having a little therapy circle now?"

The atmosphere snapped taut.

Anissa immediately stepped in front of Mark, her posture guarded. Thula’s hand tightened around his. Kregg placed himself between them and the approaching figure—internally shitting bricks.

Conquest’s heavy boots echoed with each step as he moved closer, his presence said everything. Suffocating and dominating. A silent threat that made the hairs on their necks stand on end.

“Out.”
His eyes didn’t waver from Mark. “All of you—except him.”

They didn’t move, not right away.

Was it dangerous? Yes.

Was it stupid? Oh, 100%

It wasn’t disobedience out of spite. It was something else. It was protective. It was fear—not of what Conquest would do to them, but what he’d do to Mark.

The silence stretched.

“Oh? Are we feeling a little brave today?” Conquest’s nostrils flared, irritation radiating from him like heat from a wildfire. He didn’t roar. He didn’t yell. Instead, he released something far worse—a sliver of his scent, dark and suffocating like iron and fire. The kind of scent that coiled into the lungs and made the chest cave in.

Mark gagged, his stomach twisting violently. Thula groaned, clutching her forehead. Anissa let out a soft gasp, dizzy from the sudden weight in the air. And Kregg…he stood still, trying—and failing—to keep his hands from trembling.

Yet, still, no one moved.

Not until Mark—sweating, pale—spoke up through the nausea. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll be fine. Please—just go.”

His voice broke the spell.

Thula hesitated. Then, slowly, reluctantly, swaying slightly as she stood. Her fingers brushed his one last time. “We’ll be close by.” she said quietly.

Anissa followed, but not without one last cold, cutting glare toward Conquest. “I swear if you lay a finger on him, I'll—” she began, only to be cut off.

Conquest tilted his head with a mocking smile. “Save it. You’ll still piss yourself the next time I breathe too hard.”

Just as Anissa was about to retaliate, Thula grabs her by the arm and guides her out of the room before she has the opportunity to make things worse.

Then only Kregg remained.

Still.

Unusually quiet.

Conquest noticed.

A slow, taunting smile spread across his face. He stepped forward—not threateningly, not loudly. But with that same cold confidence that made blood run cold.

"You’re still here," he said, lowly. "Still pretending you’re not trembling beneath that bravado."

Kregg’s jaw clenched.

Conquest leaned in just a little closer.

“I’d suggest you stand down,” he murmured, “before you end up right where you were not too long ago…”
He let the words hang there—calm, quiet, and dripping with implication.
“…under me. Breathless. Begging. Making those pretty little noises I like so much.”

Kregg’s entire body tensed, unable to hide the reddening of his face.

Conquest chuckled—delighted by the reaction.

“You can pretend all you want, little Alpha…” he whispered. “But I remember…your body remembers—”

Conquest reached out and gently took hold of his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Not rough. Not violent. Deliberate. Possessive.

The room seemed to shrink.

Conquest leaned in close, voice low, thick with mocking affection.
“You really think you can protect him?” he whispered, lips brushing the edge of Kregg’s hearing. “That’s cute.”
He chuckled. “Tell me, Kregg. How do you plan to defend him…when you couldn’t even protect—”

“Fuck you,” Kregg snapped. His voice wavered—shaky, but sharp.
Conquest’s grip tightened just slightly, fingers pressing into Kregg’s jaw until it strained. But he was grinning, eyes glinting with twisted pleasure.

“There it is,” he said quietly. “That fire. I missed it.”, he mused, letting his hand fall—only to plant it firmly on Kregg’s shoulder, pulling him close until their bodies nearly touched.
A whisper in his ear followed, low and smooth, with a dangerous sort of finality:
“I’ll be seeing you tonight~”

Kregg froze. For a moment, his breath hitched. His glare faltered—but only for a blink. He yanked away without another word, shoving past Conquest as he left the room. His face burned with barely-contained rage and shame.

Conquest grinned, watching the door seal behind him.

“Now,” he said, turning to Mark, “where were we?”

And suddenly, it was just the two of them once again...