The space felt like it stretched endlessly in all directions—high, vaulted ceilings carved from seamless material both futuristic and ancient in its severity.

Massive banners bearing the Viltrum insignia hung in disciplined symmetry along the walls, their stark red cutting sharply against the muted tone.

And it was full.

Overflowing.

The sea of Viltrumites stood shoulder to shoulder, an ocean of white and grey, of hardened faces and unyielding postures.

Warriors... Generals... Citizens reborn into a second life.

Their presence alone pressed against the air, heavy, suffocating.

And at the front, on the elevated dais, stood Thragg.

No longer Grand Regent, but now Emperor.

His ceremonial cape—distinct from the brutal hide of Battle Beast—fell in heavy, regal folds from his shoulders, deep red trimmed in white fur, marking authority for all to see.

The garb beneath was pristine, sculpted to his form like it had been sewn around him rather than worn.

He stood like a monument.

And beside him, you, draped in something entirely your own.

Red and grey wrapped your form, but not in Viltrum's rigid tradition.

A strapless, form-fitting bodice clung to your torso, sculpting strength and elegance into one silhouette, flowing seamlessly into a long, floor-length skirt patterned in metallic designs that caught the light like moving constellations.

Long grey fingerless gloves climbed your arms, stopping at your biceps.

A metallic necklace draped down the length of your body, extending nearly to your knees, swaying faintly with every subtle movement.

And crowning it all, an elaborate metallic band that stretched across your forehead, accentuating the cascade of your curls—voluminous and unapologetically you.

Viltrumite in color, but not in spirit.

And yet it worked.

More than worked.

It commanded.

Your image, paired with his, was being broadcast across the entire planet—every city, every skyport, every corner where Viltrumites gathered to witness history unfold.

Thragg had already been crowned... now it was your turn.

And off to the side, bound to his knees, sat Thaedus, wrists chained and back straight as he awaited death—fully healed, as per Viltrumite tradition.

His execution was to happen in front of all of Viltrum at the hands of its new emperor, an event completely unprecedented in all of the planet's long history.

Just then, Thragg stepped forward, silencing the room instantly.

"There was a time," he began, voice deep and unshakable as his words carried through the air, "when the population of Viltrum numbered only forty."

A ripple of memory moved through the crowd.

"A dark age," he continued. "Though we remained strong... we were few. Stretched thin across an empire that demanded more than our numbers could sustain."

His gaze swept over them, measured and commanding.

"We endured not only the weakness of scarcity... but the persistent interference of the Coalition of Planets. And as Argall foretold—" his voice hardened, "—Viltrum overcame."

He turned to you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your form.

You looked so right standing by his side, so natural.

More than that, you looked radiant, utterly breathtaking, completely gorgeous.

Of course, those types of descriptors were nowhere to be found in Viltrum's vocabulary, so the man had no conceivable way of articulating it, of describing the unfamiliar things your image made him feel.

So he didn't dry, and instead turned back to the crowd.

"Even in death, Argall's wisdom guided us," he continued. "Inspired the Grand Sorceress to stand with us."

The title echoed heavy and real in the empty room.

"It was her power that secured our victory. Her strength that returned us to our rightful place."

Two Viltrumite men descended from above, silent as they presented a thick, fur-lined ceremonial cape.

Thragg took it without hesitation.

"For this," he said, voice ringing through the chamber, "she is granted the highest honor."

He stepped behind you, the weight of him at your back immediate, and settled the cape over your shoulders.

"She made us whole. Reminded us of our power," he said, slightly softer. "Returned to us the stars."

Then, he moved beside you again, firmly taking your hand and raising it high above both your heads.

"And because of her—"

His voice surged.

"All that was once lost—"

He looked out at his people.

"—is ours again."

A pause came before the palace erupted, every Viltrumite raising their fist in unison.

"All is ours!" 

The chant thundered.

"All is ours!"

"All is ours!"

"All is ours!"

But you weren't listening—not really—because your focus had locked on Thaedus.

He hadn't looked away from you once, not since you entered.

His glare was sharp and unrelenting, heavy with something far deeper than anger.

You tilted your head slightly, curious.

Then, subtly, you moved, using your free hand to discreetly twirl your pointer finger.

Orange magic seeped from the tip, barely visible, threading silently through the air, connecting.

Speak, old man, your voice echoed in his mind. What's your problem?

He scoffed, and even mentally, it carried weight.

You have no idea what you are doing.

Your brow arched, Is that so?

His response was immediate.

You are a child playing dress-up. Blind to the catastrophe you've unleashed.

A flicker of irritation sparked in your chest.

Wrong, you replied coolly. I'm a woman doing what's necessary to protect her people.

Even if it costs billions?

Your expression didn't change, but your tone sharpened.

Where were those billions when my people needed them?

Silence.

Where were they when we were suffering? When we were begging?

Your magic pulsed faintly.

I won't extend mercy that was never given. And if there's one thing I've learned these past few months, it's survival of the fittest.

You shot him a sharp sidelong glance.

If this is what it takes for me and mine to survive? So be it.

The connection snapped, clean and final.

You turned back just as Thragg lowered your hand.

His speech had ended and the air had shifted.

The ceremony was over, and now... it was time for judgement.

Slowly, he released you, his ceremonial cape sliding from his shoulders and falling away without care.

He rolled his neck once, cracked his knuckles, each sound sharp and harsh among the silence.

Then he stepped toward Thaedus, expression darkened to something cold, certain, and absolute.

"Now," he said, voice low but powerful, "let the execution begin."

.

.

.

When the ceremony ended, it wasn't long before the palace went quiet.

Not silent—never truly silent—but subdued.

The thunder of voices, the unified chants, the echoing weight of execution had all faded into something distant, something that lingered only in the walls.

Night had fallen over Viltrum, its deep, saturated orange sky stretching endlessly beyond the towering structures, casting everything in a dim, molten glow that felt almost unreal, like the the planet itself still rode on the high of the day.

And now...

It was just the two of you.

Thragg led you into his chambers without a word, his posture commanding even in the quiet.

Two servants followed behind, silent and efficient, the massive doors sealing shut with a soft, final hiss once you stepped inside.

The room was dark.

Large—far larger than the room you stayed in before—but somehow even more stripped of personality.

Cookie-cutter metallic walls, clean lines, no clutter, no decoration beyond what was necessary.

If it weren't for the hazy, dim lighting and the massive, fur-covered bed dominating the center of the room, it might've felt cold.

Instead, it hovered somewhere in between, almost intimate.

Thragg's back was to you as he moved further inside, his silhouette outlined by the glow spilling in from the balcony.

"From now on, your quarters will be here," he said evenly. "With me."

You took a slow look around, hands loosely clasped around your back as you wandered a few steps in, scanning the space.

A faint smile tugged at your lips.

"Sweet digs," you hummed with approval.

His head tilted slightly, brow arching.

You glanced over your shoulder, amused.

"I like it," you translated.

He paused a moment.

"You humans have... strange terms."

You shrugged, already drifting toward the balcony, curiosity pulling you forward.

The moment you stepped near it, the view hit you all over again.

Viltrum at night—if you could even call it night—was breathtaking.

The massive sun still cast a lingering glow over the horizon, painting the city in rich siennas and deep golds.

Buildings stretched endlessly, sleek and towering, while figures darted through the air, Viltrumites moving like streaks of light across the skyline.

For a world built on violence... it was beautiful.

You let out a quiet breath, your gaze softening.

And then you turned back, only to find Thragg completely shirtless.

Your eyes widened slightly, heat rushing to your face before you could stop it.

His upper body was totally bare—broad shoulders, defined chest, muscles carved with a precision that felt mechanically engineered.

Every inch of him radiated controlled, deliberate, and undeniable strength.

You blinked once.

Then again.

"...Okay," you said slowly, trying and failing to sound unaffected. "Where did your shirt go?"

He didn't react to your tone.

"Now that I am Emperor of Viltrum," he said plainly, "and you are Empress, it is tradition for us to mate on the day of coronation."

Your jaw nearly dropped.

Oh.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped, nerves spiking instantly.

"That would've been nice to know earlier," you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He studied you.

"It is expected."

"I gathered," you deadpanned, hesitating for a moment. "...Does it have to be tonight?"

His brow furrowed slightly, "It is tradition."

You stared at him flatly, "Yes. I got that part."

He paused, his expression smoothing just a fraction.

"Do you... not wish to proceed?"

You let out a sigh, running a hand through your thick hair.

"No, no, that's not—" you shook your head. "I do. I just... I wasn't expecting this so soon."

Regaining your composure, you squared your shoulders, steeling your gaze.

"If it needs to be done, it'll be done."

You lifted your hand, a swirl of magic flickering before your dress dissolved into nothing, leaving you standing there in simple black lace.

The shift in the air was immediate.

Thragg stilled, body going rigid at the sight.

His eyes sharpened—not in confusion this time, but something else.

Something deeper and harder to define.

You weren't a Viltrumite—didn't move like one, didn't speak like one, didn't exist like one—and yet you stood before him with the same confidence, the same certainty.

It unsettled him and intrigued him more than it should have.

He moved toward you, lifting slightly off the ground, intent clear in the way his body moved, telegraphing quite obviously that he was about to toss you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

You stopped him, pressing your palm firmly against his chest—solid and warm.

He halted immediately, and your finger lifted, offering him a small, warning wag.

"Uh-uh," you denied. "If we're doing this, we're doing it the Earth way."

His brows pulled together.

"It is Viltrumite tradition to—"

"Nothing about our situation has been traditional. And I don't intend on starting now," you scoffed. "So you can either adjust... or this isn't happening."

Silence fell.

He stared at you intensely, his presence pressing forward—intimidating, authoritative, expectant.

You didn't budge, not an inch.

You simply stood there, arms crossed, expression relaxed like you had all the time in the world.

The tension stretched.

Then, he exhaled sharply.

"...Fine," he caved, the sound coming out tight and begrudging.

But your smile returned anyway, soft and a little victorious.

"See? Was that so hard?" you teased.

He didn't answer, simply narrowing his eyes, silently warning you to take your win with grace.

And you complied, tilting your head as you changed the subject.

"Now... do you know what a kiss is?"

His nose scrunched faintly at the odd sounding word, "No."

He sighed, almost exhausted.

"Is this another human expression?"

You laughed softly, "No... But it is better shown than explained."

He nodded once, confused but quiet as he watched you step closer.

Your hands lifted, resting lightly against his arms first, before sliding upward over his shoulders.

He went stiff as a board almost immediately, every muscle tightening under your touch.

But you continued, your one hand curling gently at the back of his neck while the other steadied on his shoulder.

"Relax," you murmured, gaze flicking up to meet his, thumb sweeping over his cheekbone, something in his stomach jolting to life at the sensation.

And then you pulled him down... leaned in close... and pressed your plush lips to his.

For a moment... nothing.

He froze completely, eyes wide, unblinking.

But the warm and gentle contact lingered, stirring something unfamiliar beneath his ribs.

It didn't make sense—not like strategy, or battle, or instinct—but by the stars did it feel so fucking good.

You eased back slightly, noticing his apprehension immediately.

A small smirk tugged at your lips.

"You know you don't have to keep your eyes open, right?" you teased.

"I fail to see the purpose in closing them," he replied bluntly. "And I fail to understand the purpose of this in breeding."

You huffed a quiet laugh.

"There isn't one," you confirmed. "Its purpose is to feel good."

He paused, considering.

"It felt... different."

You smiled, "Different's good."

Your fingers slid down to his hand, curling around it as you took a small step backward, gently tugging him with you.

"And there's more where that came from," you added, a quiet, knowing warmth in your voice.

And for once, Thragg didn't resist.

He followed.

Smoothly, you led him toward the bed, pulling him down to sit against the cool metal headboard and allowing yourself to slip into his lap, straddling him.

Thragg grunted when he felt the heat between your legs rub up against him, even more so when you leaned down and pressed your lips against his once more, his body—this time—involuntarily relaxing into your heated touch.

Instinctively, his hands moved to grasp your ass, your arms wrapping around his neck and bringing yourself closer to him, pushing your breasts up against his chest as you slowly ground your hips into his already growing hard-on.

He groaned at the same time you did, the act of you mewling into his mouth making him even harder.

You pulled away, looking dazed.

"Is this okay?" you asked, breathless.

He paused, thinking to himself.

Is he okay with this?

As fast as the question appeared in his head, the answer was there: Yes.

Sure, he knew this Earth method was primitive, redundant, and frankly full of unnecessary steps—if you two had done this the Viltrum way, he would've been halfway finished by now.

But it wasn't long before he found himself enjoying it.

And, more importantly, enjoying you.

The way your soft body felt in his hands, the way your hips swirled deliciously against his, the way your mouth suffocated his in the best of ways.

At your question, he nodded, but you weren't so sure.

"Are you sure?" you asked, worried by his hesitation. "If I'm doing something you don't like, tell me and I'll sto—"

"No," he instantly replied, roughly pulling your body closer with more power than intended. "Continue."

You jolted at the sudden show of strength, a new question suddenly popping into your pretty, little head as your lips parted at a new realization.

The awkwardness... the stiffness... the slight lack in coordination...

Oh, my God.

"Thragg... have you ever... mated before?" you asked, sounding just as surprised as you looked.

If he was a human on Earth, he would've had to beat women away with a stick.

Though his expression didn't betray him, his eyes and their dodginess told you all you everything.

"No," he answered, simply, though you recognized his albeit faint embarrassment.

"Nothing? Not even like... oral?"

"What is that?"

"Mouth stuff."

"What is mouth stuff?"

"You guys don't have mouth stuff on Viltrum?"

"I do not know what mouth stuff is. And even if I did, I once again fail to understand what it has to do with this."

"It doesn't. I just... I don't know. I expected a guy like you to have a ton of Viltrumite ladies at his beck and call," you shrugged, passively stroking his chest

"If what you are demonstrating for me is true, then it seems mating on Earth is treated as a pass-time. Something done frivolously and without structure," Thragg remarked, brow raised. "That is not so here. On Viltrum, mating is our duty. It is done only when necessary and only for as long as required."

"That sounds miserable."

"It is efficient."

Just then, two things clicked in your head, something inside of you shifting.

A fire flickered behind your eyes, the sight both confusing and partly exciting him.

"Wait, wait, wait... if you've never had sex before... then that means... I'll be the first woman to see you naked," you stated in a soft, sultry voice, lips curling in a smirk. "And see this?"

Your finger slowly trailed down his body, moving to trace his bulge and making him tense at the foreign yet pleasurable feeling of your touch.

"...Yes," he answered, unable to take his eyes off yours. 

There was a part of him that felt afraid of being so vulnerable, but he knew deep down he could trust you.

You'd had countless opportunities to betray him, to assassinate him, to fulfill any dark part of your agenda you might have hidden—were the roles reversed, he would've already done so. 

But you didn't.

And that earned you a decent amount of trust.

"This... pleases you?" he asked, brow raised.

"Yes," you grinned, cupping his cheek and leaning in to kiss him, coaxing his mouth open and swirling your tongue with his.

Thragg's stomach fluttered at the taste of you.

"Now relax and let me show you what you've been missing," you cooed into his mouth. "I'm gonna take care of you tonight."

Your words ignited sparks on his skin, especially as you began to palm him through his ceremonial skirt.

"Will you let me do that?"

He gasped into your mouth, the sound uncharacteristically soft.

Your touch was... unexpected.

"Yes," he grunted.

You smiled against his lips at the desperate tinge in his voice, giving him a peck on the chin before leaning back and flicking your hand, making your bra and panties disappear with a swirl of magic.

Thragg sat back against the headboard, legs spread and cock twitching as he drank in every part of you.

Your soft, brown skin... your smooth back... your legs, calves, and thighs...

Your breasts that jiggled after being released... the curve of your ass now free from your black, lace panties.

You were beautiful.

Snapping your fingers, you made his skirt evaporate instantly, freeing his cock from its confines.

Thragg's eyes widened instantly, but before he could say anything, you were already on him, lowering yourself eye level with his thighs.

"Jesus..." you marveled with a smirk, pleasantly surprised. "Are all Viltrumites this big or just you?"

He flushed at your reaction, unsure what to make of it.

"What are you doing?" he asked, confused.

You smiled, licking your palm before wrapping a hand around him.

"Just tell me if it's too much or if you want me to stop," you assured.

For a moment, he paused, before nodding.

And slowly, you began to stroke him, coating his dick in your spit in the process.

He couldn't articulate how good yet different your hand felt.

Yours was soft and significantly smaller than his, your brown a sharp contrast to his relatively paler skin, not to mention the grip you had, 

It felt like nothing he'd ever experienced.

Unable to help himself, he groaned, grabbing tightly onto the sheets as he desperately fought the urge to moan. 

"(y/n)!" he jolted, far louder than he intended. "What... is this?"

You smirked.

"Relax. I'm just jerking you off," you giggled, painfully amused by his surprise. "You think this is good, wait 'til I use my mouth."

You offered him a wink, and he flushed oh-so faintly.

"What is... What is that?" he stuttered, fighting to keep his composure. "And what do you mean by—Mmph!"

His questions were halted when you wrapped your lips around him and began to gently suck, getting him accustomed to your mouth. 

His mouth formed a pleasurable O as he watched you take his cock on your knees, sucking on it like your own personal lollipop.

Your warm mouth and wet tongue felt so so good against his cock, caressing every sensitive part of his shaft.

You even took your hand and fondled his balls, while the other stroked him in time, twisting this way and that as if you were trying to drain the life from him.

Unable to control himself, Thragg moved to grip the pillows for dear life, fighting desperately not to make a sound and failing miserably.

It was adorable, listening to the little mewls and moans that managed to escape his mouth.

Briefly, you pulled away to breathe, your mouth coated in spit.

It only made him harder seeing you—his newly-minted Empress—look so... salacious for him.

Then you put your mouth on him again, swallowing him whole.

"Feel good, baby?" you teased, voice muffled by his cock. "You like my mouth?"

You went deeper, taking him into your throat with ease despite his girth, and he nearly jumped off the bed at the sensation.

"(y/n)!" he barked, unable to focus on anything else.

He could feel his hips moving on their own beneath you, gently bucking into your mouth the more you gagged and flexed.

Your plump lips looked so good stretched around him, dripping in your spit as the lewd sounds of you gagging all over him filled the air.

You pulled away once again to take a breath, but not for long.

"C'mon, baby, I know you can do better than that," you taunted, smirk wicked. "Give it to me, Thragg. I can take it."

He blinked at you, unsure if he was hallucinating from the pleasure—though the eager strokes of your hand around his cock made it clear that you were very real.

You put your mouth on him again and, after ensuring you were secure, Thragg tightly gripped your hair, thrusting up into your mouth like it was his own personal toy—as if he knew such a thing existed.

He moaned, unable to keep quiet, too overcome with lust and pleasure as he pistoned into your throat again and again.

It didn't take long for him to feel that tightening in his balls, signalling his end.

"(y/n)... (y/n)... remove yourself... you need to remove yourself," he warned. "I am... I'm—"

You shook your head, and he loosened his grip to let you breathe.

"Uh uh. Do it," you ordered. "Let go, Emperor... I know you can."

Thragg nearly busted right there.

Once again, he grabbed you and thrusted into your throat, focusing on the way your tight, wet walls flexed around him until he could hardly take it.

"(y/n)!" he groaned loudly. "Do not stop... Don't... I—"

He was cut off by his own orgasm, his spend spilling out into your throat.

You moaned around his cock as he came, his sexy groans of release echoing throughout the empty room.

He spurted rope after rope of warm cum into your mouth, which you eagerly took as you slid off his cock.

You sat back and swallowed it all, some of it dripping down your chin.

Once the fog of his orgasm finally faded, Thragg looked down at you, the sight of his cum on your lips sending a sharp throb through his dick.

It pleased him.

It pleased him so much it hurt.

At the dazed look on his face, you giggled, licking your lips and wiping your chin with the back of your hand.

"No wonder you're so uptight all the time," you remarked, looking up at him with those big eyes and a warm smile. "You must've really needed that."

He faintly flushed once again, though you seemed like you enjoyed it so he didn't worry too much.

"So... how was your first blowjob?"

He didn't even have the words to describe it.

"It was... out of body," he tried, eyes thoughtful as he attempted to find the words. "I've never felt so... so out of control."

You grinned, giddy at the fact you made him feel so good, "I guess that means I did a good job."

He lifted his gaze, glancing toward you, "Do you do this often?"

You shook your head, "Not really. Only with a couple guys in the past... boyfriends," you answered, simply.

His brows furrowed.

He didn't know what a boyfriend was, but he knew he did not like that answer.

Slowly, you sat up to straddle him, gently forcing him onto his back.

"Alright," you sighed with a smile. "I think I've kept you in suspense long enough."

His eyes widened as he stared up at you, not use to taking such a backseat.

The same fire inside of him had ignited in you, too. 

"Hold onto me, okay? I'm gonna guide you in."

Wordlessly, Thragg nodded, swallowing hard as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock and guided him down to your entrance.

He felt himself getting harder as the anticipation and the sight of you on top overtook.

Finally, after running his cock up against your slit, earning soft moans of the both of you, he finally slipped inside.

He gasped at the same time you released a moan of pure pleasure.

"(y/n)..." he groaned, your soft, wet walls fluttering and squeezing around him, holding him tight like a warm embrace.

You slid up halfway, grasping his powerful shoulders for leverage.

He kept his hands on your hips to help guide you through.

"You alright?" you breathlessly asked.

"Yes," he grit his teeth, nearly moaning once again when your thumb swept over his cheek.

"I'll move slow, okay? Just feel me, Thragg. Don't fight it."

Thragg didn't.

He couldn't if he tried.

The way you wrapped around him so tight, slowly stroking him—just like your mouth did but so much more intense—was driving him further toward the edge of madness.

You began to alternate between rolling your hips and bouncing on him by balancing on your knees, making him plunge his cock into you again and again.

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your tits flush against his chest.

Thragg couldn't take it—the wetness of your pussy, the slow rocking of your hips, your soft body moving up and down against him.

Instantly, he pulled you closer, needing more.

"Faster, (y/n)... move faster," he groaned.

He felt you grin against his ear as you nibbled on his earlobe, kissing down his neck.

"You want it faster?" you chuckled.

He nodded as you pulled back, looking him right in the eyes.

"Then grab my hips and make me," you purred. "Take what you want, Emperor..."

That fire inside of Thragg damn near exploded.

You just gave him permission to fuck you up completely.

He roughly grabbed your hips and began to fuck up into you, driving himself deeper and deeper.

Your walls began to flutter intensely as lewd squelching sounds began to emit from your wet pussy.

You were loving it, arms tightening around his neck and thighs trembling from the pleasure.

"O-Oh my G-God!" you moaned, each more shaking from being bounced on his cock so much. "F-Fuck, Thragg! Sh-Sh-Shit!"

A small grin found its way to his lips, proud to have returned you to your place.

He chuckled breathlessly, grabbing your ass and giving it a smack as he drove his cock deeper, his hips slamming against yours.

You held him close, pressing your face into his shoulder.

"Yes, yes, yes! Just like that!" you sobbed. "Feels so good, Thragg! Oh, my God!"

He couldn't explain the joy your words brought him.

He was overwhelmed and flooded with waves of lust, sex, and some other feeling he couldn't name as he heard you... as he felt you... as he tasted you.

Now that he had this, there was no giving it up.

No going back.

He need to make sure you understood that fact.

"Move closer," he demanded, instantly yanking you flush against him. "Don't pull away from me."

He began to thrust up even faster, gripping your ass as you slid a hand between your thighs to frantically rub your clit.

"You are mine now, (y/n)," he growled in your ear. "Mine. There are no more guys... no more boyfriends... I do not want to hear of them ever again, do you understand?"

He gripped your face between his large hand, staring sharply into your pleasure-ridden, lust-blown eyes.

Biting your bottom lip, you nodded your head, gripping his wrist and pressing his hand closer to your cheek.

"Yes!" you whimpered.

"Yes who?"

"Yes, Emperor!"

"Good," he nodded. "Now... I will explain your future to you... I am going to breed you, witch. I am going to fill you with my spawn and you are going to grow round with my heirs, yes?"

"Yes, Emperor!"

"Our progeny will be the strongest in the galaxy... and our bloodline will lead Viltrum as the rightful rulers of the universe, yes?"

"Yes, Emperor!"

"And from now on, we are to mate the Earth way."

"Yes, Emperor!"

You began to push yourself down against him, slamming your pussy down onto his cock again and again to bring you both closer to the edge.

Thragg pressed a rough, passionate kiss to your lips as he rammed into you, pulling you closer to him.

You both swallowed each other's shallow breaths and desperate moans as you moved in sync, the man himself already feeling the edge fast approaching.

"Tell me you're mine," the demanded. "Now"

You sank your nails into his pecs, your strength giving him a bite of pain that sent his cock into a frenzy.

"I'm yours!" you damn-near screamed. "I'm... fuck!... I'm all yours, Thragg!"

You stared into his eyes, pleading for him to give you what you crave.

"Please cum with me!" you begged. "Please, please... hck!... please!"

Finally, he felt your walls tightening, signalling your end was near, too.

He groaned, both your jaws falling slack as the pleasure built to a head.

And when the dam finally broke, neither of you could hold back.

Moans, cries, and gasps filled the air as you both came at the same time, you gushing around his cock and him filling you up.

Thragg growled, sloppily thrusting his cock into you again and again as he rode out the rest of his orgasm with you.

You fell limp in his hold, your moans trailing into soft gasps and tiny whimpers as your pussy twitched around him.

Finally exhausted, Thragg's thrusts grew sloppier and slower until he finally came to a stop, letting your mingled cum drip down his balls.

He felt you twitch slightly against him, but he held your body close anyway.

Typically, once the mating act was done, two Viltrumites simply pushed themselves off each other and went their separate ways.

But that felt... wrong in this scenario.

And more importantly, he didn't want to.

Silence fell as he watched you lay in your afterglow, your cheek pressed softly into his chest.

He stayed inside of you, his cock growing soft and basking in the warmth.

You were so comfortable.

He breathed in your scent, one arm still lazily curled around your waist while the other rested behind his head.

His eyes grew heavy with the sedation of sex, though your voice gently woke him up.

"So..." you gently asked, tracing a finger over his pec. "How was it? Your first time?"

He lifted his head to look down at you, taking a moment to think about it, wondering what words would satisfy you—he'd learned over these past few months that words meant a great deal to humans, and he had to choose his carefully when it came to you.

"It was... pleasurable," he answered, earning a pleased smile from you.

From Thragg, that was high praise.

"Very," you grinned, pressing a soft kiss against the skin of his chest.

It made his cock twitch against your thigh.

Noticing, you giggled, tilting your head to glance at him.

"Again?" you teased, raising a brow.

"I need to ensure you are properly bred," he stated as if it were the simplest thing in the world—though the underlying need in his voice let you know better. "The future of Viltrum depends on it."

You snorted at the poor excuse, utterly tickled as you sat up in his lap.

"Whatever you say, tiger," you smiled, nodding toward the bathroom. "Since we're getting all your firsts out the way, let's tackle shower sex."

"Shower... sex?"

"You're gonna love it, you get to show off your strength and mate at the same time."

"...Show me."

.

.

.

@lettucel0ver

@just-simpins-blog

@lunatguard

@kellhems

@headofhonnouji

@aliceattheart

@obsessiveslug

@cherrymxxlight

@thebumbqueen

@empress84

@bookcrazybby

@twdhtgawm

He's genuinely one of the finest men i have ever seen

Textbook best friends to lovers

You and Zeke met in Honors French, you a transfer freshman, he a returning sophomore. The teacher sat you next to him in hopes you would contain his disruptions.

Obviously, it didn't work... but he took a liking to you the moment you snapped and chewed him out for running his mouth all class.

Noticed off the bat that you were incredibly smart, which severely intrigued him.

He secretly LOVES nerdy girls, despite their contrast to his "bad boy" brand. (school nerds, sci-fi nerds, book nerds, he doesn't discriminate)

He lives for banter and witty barbs, so he needs a girl smart enough to keep up. Can and will get bored if she can't.

But now that he knew, he made it his mission to win you over, which, if we're being honest, he did with relative ease.

He's a funny, charismatic, hot guy, and it wasn't long before the two of you were thick as thieves.

You both commiserate over the awfulness of Harrington. The meathead jocks, the cheerleading bitches, the obsession with football, the barely working... anything. It's tough having aspirations in an underfunded town with an underfunded school system.

Regardless, he appoints himself as your guide and insists on "showing" you where everything is by walking you to class, driving you to school, insisting you do your homework at his house. They're all just his excuses to spend time and get to know you better, and you see right through it, but play along anyway.

Your friendship always teetered on the edge between platonic and romantic because of your shared flirtatious teasing. And it only got worse when he began to drag you out to places like movies or the county fair, going out of his way to buy tickets to the scariest flick so you could latch onto him, or win you the biggest stuffed prize after showing off his strength.

Hell, he even started sneaking in through your bedroom window (on the 2ND floor) to see you, always hastily ducking into your closet or under the bed whenever your parents came thumping up the steps when he got too loud.

The two of you were good for each other.

You were his moral compass, keeping him grounded and preventing him from going off the deep end about his parents.

He was your release, helping you let loose and have fun despite the glum circumstances and your strict parents.

You two went on like this all the way until your senior year, where he repeated in order to keep his business going.

Speaking of which, you voiced early on in your friendship that you weren't exactly a fan of the drug part of his business, but promised not to say anything so long as he kept it far away from you and kept smart about it.

"I don't support it but if you're gonna do illegal shit, then at least be discreet"

"You worried about me, shortie?"

"Not at all. Get arrested. It'll keep me from having to look at your ugly mug"

"I am anything but, sweetheart"

Anyway, it wasn't until the alien invasion that he finally grew a pair and told you how he felt, promising that if the two of you made it out alive, you were totally going to be his girlfriend (and even then it was at the 11th hour when the lot of you were locked in the gym)

Of course, you accepted.

And when all was said and done, he held true to his promise.

Now my favorite part...

A really good boyfriend, despite what many might think.

Very protective.

Harrington's a pretty rough place to live, especially for someone who didn't grow up there. So he makes a point to drive you to and from school, and anywhere else you want to go. Even if you have your license, he's old school like that. It makes him feel manly and chivalrous.

In school, he walks you to class with a hand shoved in your back pocket, a finger in your pants loop, or an arm around your shoulder while he caries your books in his other hand.

Doesn't mind PDA in the slightest. Will eat your face at 7:30 in the morning if he feels so inclined.

NOBODY messes with you in the slightest

The boy has size on his side, and has been in and won enough fist fights to garner a reputation

It's common knowledge that Zeke Tyler doesn't play about you

Which is only worsened by his possessiveness.

All the people in his life have found some way to walk away from him, and he is deathly afraid of you doing the exact same thing, so he attempts to hold you close as much as he can.

When he joins the football team, he requires that you wear his spare jersey on game day, won't take no for an answer.

Uses his eye black to paint his numbers on your cheeks and, in turn, insists you leave a lipstick/lipgloss stain on his cheek for good luck before every game. He refuses to play without it. Calls it his lucky charm.

Loves leaving hickeys all over your neck, no matter how much you scold him since you're the one that has to cover them up. He, on the other hand, is happy as a clam when you mark him up. Walks around school with bite marks and kisses on display like it's nothing. He has no shame.

Moderately jealous, depending on who it is

Takes the jokey route when he knows the other guy isn't a threat.

Takes the serious route when he "knows" the other guy actually stands a chance

Very passive-aggressive, and sometimes even a little mean.

"Hey, man! I got that thing you were asking for"

"Thing? ...What thing? I didn't ask for anything"

"Y'know, man... the thing"

"The what?"

"The ERECTILE DYSFUCTION pills, man. You told me you needed the hookup, and I got you"

You didn't talk to Zeke for the rest of the day for that

The boy was made fun of for weeks

Zeke made up for it by buying your favorite takeout and promising that if the boy ever came around again, he'd apologize

(obviously, he didn't)

If I didn't make it obvious before, your parents HATE him

They think he's a degenerate nobody who's wasting your time, and will grow up to amount to nothing

He doesn't mind. Says he'll win them over eventually

(you aren't too sure, but you never tell him that)

Genuine sweetheart

Loves to cuddle you. Loves it even more when you sit on his lap, forward or backward, and let him nuzzle into the crook of your neck or the plush of your chest.

Very touch starved

If you can't handle frequent and intense kisses then this is not the boy for you

Your fights are few and far between, but when they happen, they're bad ones

Completely shuts down when things get really heated. Will just stop mid-sentence and walk out of the room without saying a word (a trauma response from watching his parents fight over the years) which is your sign to dial it back

The fallout lasts a day or two at most before he's back to pawing at you, listening and responding intently as you attempt to articulate yourself in a much calmer way

Honestly has every intention to pop the question after graduation, as he is a firm believer of "when you now, you know"

You completely changed the trajectory of his life for the better, and he wants nothing more then to spend the rest of it with you

The morning sun spilled gold across the gravel drive, catching the iron gates and the old stone of the estate beyond.

Cypress trees stood tall, unmoving, dignified—much like the man who now stood rigidly at the foot of the entrance.

"Stand up straight."

Luca's voice cut low and sharp, his elbow jabbing into Cesare's ribs with practiced precision.

Cesare exhaled hard through his nose, dragging his posture upright with theatrical exaggeration.

His shoulders rolled back, chin lifting just a touch too high, as if mocking the very idea.

"I am standing straight," he muttered, eyes drifting skyward in a slow exaggerated arc.

His hands remained deep in his pockets.

Another jab—harder this time.

"And take your hands out of your pockets," Luca added, voice tightening. "Sembri un teppista."

You look like a hoodlum.

With a long-suffering groan, Cesare yanked his hands free and let them fall limply at his sides, fingers twitching with relentless irritation.

"There," he said flatly. "Perfect."

Luca didn’t even look convinced.

“You’re slouching.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Cesare turned his head just enough to glare, “You worry too much.”

Luca inhaled slowly through his nose, pinching the bridge of it between his fingers as though holding himself together by sheer will.

“This needs to be perfect,” he said, quieter now, but far more serious. “Do you understand? A lot is riding on this meeting.”

Cesare waved a dismissive hand, already bored.

“All we’re doing is greeting some stuck-up principessa.”

Luca’s head snapped toward him.

“She is not a princess,” he corrected sharply. “But her family is noble. Respected. And your uncle has made it very clear she is to be welcomed and treated as an honored guest.”

Cesare rolled his eyes again, slower this time.

“Honored,” he echoed dryly.

Luca’s expression hardened.

“And you,” he added, stepping closer, his voice dropping, “have the responsibility of being her chaperone.”

That earned him a pause.

Cesare’s brow furrowed, just slightly.

“If anything happens to her,” Luca continued, each word measured, “your uncle will have your hide.”

A beat.

“And so will Don Medici.”

That did it.

Cesare’s spine straightened—not dramatically this time, but for real. 

A faint shiver slipped down his back before he could stop it.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

Luca watched him for a moment longer, then gave a small, satisfied nod.

“Good.”

The distant clatter of wheels against stone broke the tension.

Both their heads turned.

A carriage—polished black, trimmed in gold—rolled slowly through the gates, drawn by a pair of steady, gleaming horses.

 Gravel crunched beneath its weight as it approached, unhurried, inevitable.

Above them, a set of double doors opened onto the balcony.

Don Torrisi stepped out, hands resting behind his back, his presence alone enough to command the space below. 

His gaze swept the drive, sharp and assessing, before settling on the arriving carriage.

Luca straightened.

Cesare followed suit—this time without being told.

Inside the carriage, the world felt smaller.

You sat close to your father, your fingers curling into the fine fabric of his sleeve as the estate loomed larger through the window.

“Papa…” Your voice was small, hesitant. “Why do I have to come here?”

He glanced down at you, already smiling as though he’d expected the question.

“Because,” he said lightly, adjusting your collar with careful hands, “you have been spending far too much time buried in those books.”

Your grip tightened just a little.

“I like my books.”

“I know, stellina," he chuckled softly. “But you need air. Sunlight. Space to run.” 

His hand came to rest gently over yours.

“Some time in the country will do you good. Like when I was your age.”

Your bottom lip pushed forward, stubborn and uncertain.

“I want to go home,” you admitted, the words soft and  fragile, “…I’m scared.”

His expression softened instantly.

“Ah,” he murmured, turning toward you fully now.

His hand rose to cup your cheek, warm and steady.

“There is nothing to be afraid of, amore mio,” he said gently. “You hear me?”

You hesitated.

“I am here,” he continued, his voice firming just enough to anchor the promise. “Your papa is here to protect you. Nothing will happen while I am around.”

That… helped. 

A little.

You nodded, even if the knot in your stomach hadn’t fully loosened.

Outside, the carriage slowed.

Then stopped.

Your father stepped out first, boots landing firmly against the gravel. 

A moment later, the door opened again, and his hand reached inside—waiting for yours.

You placed your small hand into his.

He helped you down carefully, steadying you as your shoes touched the ground.

Across the drive, Cesare’s nose wrinkled.

“…That’s her?” he muttered under his breath.

You were small.

Smaller than he’d expected—dressed in a white, ruffled dress that looked like it would tear if you so much as breathed wrong. 

Your hair was pinned neatly, not a strand out of place.

You didn’t look like someone who could do anything.

What was he supposed to do with you?

Talk about flowers?

He suppressed a groan.

A sharp elbow struck his side.

“Fix your face,” Luca hissed.

Cesare smoothed his expression instantly.

Don Torrisi descended the steps with open arms.

“Vincenzo!” he called, warmth blooming easily across his features.

“Amico mio!” your father greeted in return, stepping forward.

The two men embraced firmly, laughter threading between them like no time had passed at all.

“It has been too long.”

“Far too long.”

They pulled back, hands still clasped at each other’s shoulders.

Then, Don Torrisi’s gaze shifted to you.

“Well,” he said, a pleased smile tugging at his lips, “look at you.”

You instinctively pressed closer to your father’s side.

“You have grown,” he continued, voice softer now. “The last time I saw you, you barely reached my knee.”

The men chuckled, slipping into easy reminiscence—stories of years past, of youth, of things you only half understood.

Luca stepped forward then, offering you a polite nod and greeting you with careful respect.

And then, Don Torrisi gestured behind him.

“This,” he began, “is my nephew, Cesare. He will be looking after you during your stay.”

Before either of you could react, hands pressed lightly—but firmly—against your backs.

A shove from both sides.

You stumbled a step forward.

So did he.

And suddenly, you were standing in front of each other.

Too close... too aware.

Your eyes met, then immediately darted away.

Silence stretched.

Luca cleared his throat.

Cesare didn’t move.

Another, harsher nudge.

“…Ciao,” Cesare muttered, not bothering to hide the lack of enthusiasm. “I’m… happy you could come.”

It sounded like a lie even to him.

You shifted your weight, fingers twisting together for a moment before you answered.

“I am… very happy to be here.”

Also a lie.

Another silence.

He glanced at you.

You glanced at him.

Then both of you looked away again.

The adults exchanged subtle looks.

This was going poorly.

Very poorly.

Luca clapped his hands together lightly.

“Perhaps,” he suggested smoothly, “the two of you would like to spend some time in the garden.”

He gestured toward the sprawling grounds beyond.

“The flowers are in full bloom.”

Your head lifted instantly.

“…Flowers?” you echoed.

Your eyes lit up—bright, sudden, unmistakable.

A smile broke across your face before you could stop it.

The shift was so quick, so genuine, it caught all three men off guard.

"Yes,” Luca said, softer now.

You turned toward the garden without hesitation.

Behind you, Cesare sighed.

Of course.

Flowers.

Perfect.

He turned on his heel, jerking his head slightly in the direction of the path.

“Come on,” he muttered. “I’ll show you.”

You followed immediately, small steps quick and eager to keep up.

And as the two of you disappeared into the winding garden paths, Cesare dragged a hand down his face, already exhausted.

This was going to be a very long summer.

.

.

In the golden cradle of Florence, where marble saints watched from cathedral walls, there came a prince touched by both sunlight and shadow—Alessandro de' Medici.

They called him Il Moro, for his dark skin whispered of distant lands and set him apart among silk-clad courtiers.

When Florence trembled between republic and rule, Alessandro stood at the heart of its unrest, crowned not only with power but with expectation.

He ruled with both indulgence and iron, a man of passions who loved fiercely, governed boldly, and lived as though time itself were fleeing.

Yet even in splendor, shadows gathered close, weaving betrayal into the fabric of his court. 

Among those shadows stood Lorenzino de' Medici, a cousin whose smile concealed a dagger and whose loyalty quickly fell to treachery.

One fateful night, beneath the hush of velvet, Alessandro met his end not on a battlefield, but in an intimate quiet. And therein fell the duke who had carried with him the echo of Africa and the grandeur of Italy, his life extinguished at only twenty-six years.

And yet, his story did not vanish.

It lingered, a haunting melody woven into  Florence's ancient stones.

For in every sunlit piazza and shadowed corridor, there remains a ghost of a prince who dared to embody two worlds at once, and ruled as though they were his birthright.

.

.

Faint at first—distant—the soft hum of something sterile and empty pressing against your senses before your body even caught up.

Light filtered in behind your eyelids—too bright, too artificial—fluorescent and unyielding.

Your lashes fluttered.

Once.

Twice.

Then opened.

The ceiling above you was smooth, metallic, and seamless—utterly Viltrumite in design.

No imperfections, no comfort, straight to the point.

A soft weight hit your chest, and a familiar sound followed.

You barely had time to process before a warm, damp sensation brushed your cheek.

You blinked, and there she was.

Iris.

Her eyes were bright, wide with delight as she meowed again, nuzzling into your face and licking your cheek with unabashed affection.

A breath left you—half laugh, half relief.

"Hey, you..." you murmured, voice hoarse but warm, your hand lifting instinctively to scratch behind her ears. "Miss me?"

She purred loudly, pressing into your touch.

You smiled, rubbing her head.

"What'd I miss?"

The question came light and playful, but in your mind, it didn't stay that way.

Fragments surged back in pieces.

The heat... the pressure... the burning... magic tearing through you like a wildfire in dry brush.

Your breath hitched.

The shield... the wave... the Viltrumites.

Your eyes widened.

You had brought them back, every last one.

Instantly, you shot upright, fast and sudden.

Iris yelped softly as you moved, but adjusted quickly as you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood.

The surface beneath you hovered—sleek, suspended a few inches above the ground.

You barely noticed.

Your gaze dropped to yourself.

You were dressed in a female Viltrumite's uniform—white and grey, sculpted to your frame, the fabric unfamiliar yet fitting.

But before you could process, the doors hissed open and three Viltrumite scientists rushed in.

All three bowed their heads in unison.

"Grand Sorceress."

The title hit like a brick to the face.

"We must insist you return to bed," one said quickly. "Your condition has not been fully assessed."

You blinked.

"...I feel fine," you stepped forward. "I need to find the—"

"The Grand Regent will be retrieved for you," another interjected, still bowed. "But you are to remain under observation until your recovery is confirmed."

Your brows flattened as a deadpan settled over your face.

"I said I'm fine."

They surged forward, hands reaching, trying to guide you back.

Iris let out a low and sharp hiss, swiping at one of them with a warning claw.

You patience thinned.

At the flick of your fingers, orange magic spiraled outward and froze them mid-step like mannequins.

When they went completely still, you exhaled.

"Sorry," you muttered, stepping around them as you lifted off the ground, hovering easily now. "But I really don't have time for this."

You drifted toward the door.

"Iris, c'mon."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Leaping from the bed, she darted after you, falling into step beside your flight.

.

.

.

The moment you left the science wing, everything changed.

The palace was... alive.

Where once there had been emptiness, there was movement, purpose, and energy.

Minimal decorations lined the halls—Viltrumite in their restraint, but present nonetheless.

Banners... metallic insignias... structured arrangements that hinted at something larger.

People moved with intent—guards, council members, Viltrumites of every rank—and every single one stopped when you passed.

"Grand Sorceress."

Again.

And again.

And again.

Your brow climbed higher and higher.

"...What the hell?"

You glanced down at Iris, who trotted confidently ahead.

"You know what's going on?"

She meowed, unhelpful, then surged further forward, taking the lead.

You blinked.

"You got his scent?"

Another enthusiastic meow.

A grin tugged at your lips.

"Good girl."

You followed, through corridors you now knew by heart, past open terraces where Viltrum stretched wide and bright beneath its massive sun.

And you noticed it then—really noticed—that Viltrum had changed.

Ships moved through the sky in steady streams... figures carried cargo... others adorned structures.

And in the courtyard below, children partook in rather violent sparring.

Your chest tightened.

"...damn..."

It was beautiful, almost unexpectedly so.

Iris slowed, then stopped, at a door you knew well.

The War Room.

You descended, landing softly.

She leapt into your arms, and you caught her easily, pressing a quick kiss into her fur.

"Good girl," you murmured.

With a swirl of your hand, the door opened.

Inside, Kregg and Thragg stood over a holographic display, deep in discussion.

Kregg was in his usual white-grey uniform—rigid.

But Thragg was different—red and grey ceremonial garb wrapped in his massive frame, intricate yet severe in design.

Draped over his shoulders, the unmistakable hide of Battle Beast, hung like a declaration and a warning.

He noticed you instantly, and shut down the hologram with a quick press.

"(y/n)..." your name left his lips, softer than you had ever heard it.

His gaze dropped to Iris, and his expression flattened.

"Creature."

Iris narrowed her eyes, the two staring at each other like rivals.

You exhaled, relief flooding your system as your shoulders dropped.

"Finally... I've been looking everywhere for you."

His brows furrowed immediately.

"I instructed them to inform me the moment you awoke," he muttered, irritation threading through his tone.

Kregg straightened, taking his cue.

He bowed to Thragg.

"Grand Regent."

Then, to you.

"Grand Sorceress."

And left, just like that.

You stared after him, brows near your hairline.

"...Okay, what?"

You turned back to Thragg.

"Why is everyone calling me that? And why is the entire planet preparing something?"

"It is my coronation... and the execution day of the Betrayer," he answered, plainly.

A beat passed.

"I am to be made the ruler of Viltrum."

The weight of his words settled heavy and real.

You blinked, then smiled.

"That's great!" you dipped your head slightly. "Guess I should start calling you Emperor now, huh?"

He paused for a moment.

Something in your tone—your support—settled somewhere unfamiliar in his chest.

Warm.

He ignored it.

"I have something to discuss with you."

Your smile faded slightly as he rose into the air.

"Come with me."

.

.

.

The grand terrace of the palace overlooked everything, the entire capital city of Viltrum stretching beneath you—alive, vibrant, and reborn.

Thragg stood with his hands folds behind his back, gaze fixed outward.

"I have a proposition."

You raised a brow, "...okay?"

"What do you remember?"

You crossed your arms lightly.

"The shield. The wave. And then... a whole lot of Viltrumites suddenly waking up."

He nodded.

"Your power resurrected those that had died at the hands of the Scourge virus and allowed us to overwhelm the Coalition and its forces completely," he confirmed. "Because of you, Viltrum has been restored to its rightful place in the galaxy."

He turned to you, his expression one you'd never seen on him before.

Gratitude.

"You saved my people. And for that, they have given you title, and will revere you for generations."

He slowly moved forward, closing the distance, just a mere foot away. 

"It was your strength that brought us back from extinction," he continued. "Your knowledge that armed us. Together—"

His voice lowered.

"—we are a force that cannot be denied."

His hand moved, and for the first time ever, he touched you, taking your hand in his.

His grip was firm, calloused and warm, heavy like it was meant to ground you.

"I want you to become Viltrum's Empress, (y/n)."

The words hit like thunder, sharp and instant, your jaw nearly falling to the floor as they passed your ears.

Was he... was he serious?

You waited a moment, giving time for Kregg to hopefully jump out the bushes with a camera.

"You're kidding, right?" you asked, heart thudding hard against your ribcage.

Thragg arched a brow.

"Kidding?" he questioned, unfamiliar with the word.

"Playing a prank... getting my goat... pulling my leg—"

"But I am not pulling anything... or playing... or getting this... goat?"

"It's something we say on Earth to see if someone is joking."

"I do not joke. What I say is the truth," he answered, slightly confused. "If it is your lineage you are concerned about, it will be taken care of. I will give you as many heirs as required to preserve it."

Heat rushed to your cheeks in an instant, your face erupting like a volcano at his candidness, while your stomach swirled at the thought.

Bearing his children.

"Oh—wow, okay—thank you—that, uh, wasn't my concern—"

"If it is your people on Earth," he continued. "You may choose any planet you wish. They will be relocated and live free. Untouched."

Your mind reeled.

He was saying so many things.

Your life... your future... your people... your purpose.

He stepped closer, grabbing your other hand and pulling you in.

Your bodies pressed together, his presence overwhelming and dominant, yet...

His expression shifted to something close to pleading beneath his steel.

"Together," he said, voice nothing short of certain, "we will be unstoppable."

His eyes gazed deeply into yours, sincerity pouring out of his iris.

"You will never want... never fear... never know pain," his grip tightened—not harsh but insistent. "Your life will be one of strength... of purpose."

He pulled your hands into his chest, allowing you to feel the strength of him, feel the reality of what you could have.

"Join me, (y/n)... and we will rule the universe side by side."

And you... you paused.

Not because of the offer, or the power, or his promises.

Because of him.

The way he held you.

The way he looked at you.

The certainty in his voice.

The sincerity.

The impossible, overwhelming feeling of—

Safety.

For the first time in your entire life, you felt perfectly safe.

And it was in his arms.

Slowly, you splayed your hands over his pectorals—solid, unyielding—and looked up into his eyes—they were dark and endless, far more expansive than any amount of cosmic space.

And against every instinct... every warning... every piece of logic you had ever held—

"I accept your proposal... Grand Regent."

He paused for a moment, gaze flicking over your face as if he was committing the details to memory.

"...Thragg," he softly corrected, something faint in his voice. "To you... I am Thragg."

At his words, you nodded, a small smile curling on your lips.

The name suited him.

"I accept your proposal... Thragg."

.

.

.

@lettucel0ver

@just-simpins-blog

@lunatguard

@kellhems

@headofhonnouji

@aliceattheart

@obssessiveslug

Viltrum loomed beneath you—massive, radiant, its surface glowing faintly under the immense burn of its over-sized sun.

And encircling it, a ring of countless Viltrumite bodies, each suspended in orbit like a silent, eternal graveyard.

Limbs frozen mid-drift, garb torn, faces locked in final moments of agony.

They stretched as far as the eye could see, a macabre halo around the planet they had once faithfully served.

Waiting.

You floated beside Thragg.

For once, he was without his cape.

It made him look sharper, more dangerous.

Nothing softened the brutal precision of his frame now—arms folded firmly behind his back, posture straight, gaze fixed outward into the void like a blade.

You, by contrast, were wrapped in a soft, sunset-orange glow—your magic forming a protective coating around your body.

It shimmered faintly, thin as paper but stronger than anything forged by hand, feeding you air and shielding you from the vacuum.

At the back of your neck, Iris rested comfortably, tail flicking lazily as she licked her paw, utterly unbothered by the fact that you were suspended in endless dark.

For a moment, nothing moved, nothing spoke.

Until Thragg's gaze shifted to you.

It lingered.

And a question that had been circling his thoughts for months finally pushed forward.

"What is your name... Earth witch?"

His voice was different this time—not barked, not sharp—but not soft either.

Your eyes didn't leave the horizon.

"(y/n)," you answered, simply.

He repeated it under his breath, testing it.

His nose scrunched faintly at the unfamiliar shape of it, the syllables foreign on his tongue.

You caught it, and a small laugh slipped from you before you could stop it.

He was unintentionally adorable.

His eyes narrowed.

"It is unusual," he said. "Yet it is... fitting."

You arched a brow, a hint of amusement curling at your lips.

"That supposed to be a compliment?"

He shot you a sharp look, almost offended by the implication.

You raised both hands in surrender, grin widening just slightly.

"Alright, alright. I'll take it anyway."

Instantly, the moment passed.

Breaking through the ring of the dead, the Coalition of Planets arrived.

Thaedus.

Battle Beast.

Allen the Alien.

Tech Jacket.

Omni-Man.

Invincible.

Oliver Grayson.

Your smile vanished instantly, body tensing.

Without hesitation, they charged, the ring erupting with the remaining Viltrumites, each one bursting from their hiding place it like bullets and intercepting the enemy forces mid-flight, turning the stillness into chaos in less than a heartbeat.

You ignited your palms, twin flames roaring to life in your fists—bright, volatile, alive.

You turned your head slightly.

"Iris."

Your two fingers—flaming—tapped against her forehead.

A rune flared.

She meowed once, then leapt.

And grew.

Midair, her body expanded exponentially, fur thickening, muscles swelling, teeth elongating into massive, saber-like blades.

By the time she landed—if space could even be called landing—she was the size of a double-decker bus.

Her tiny meow became a guttural, bone-rattling roar.

You dropped onto her back, and she ran across the stars straight into the fray.

Your presence shifted everything.

Rognarrs lunged—you flicked your wrist and they became bubbles.

Space Racer fired—you twisted your hand and his gun writhed, becoming a snake, snapping uselessly in his grip.

His helmet unraveled into petals, drifting away into the void.

His body followed, lifeless.

The battlefield warped around you—reality bent, folded—while the other Viltrumites engaged in the rest.

Thaedus clashing with long-awaited fury, Allen barreling through bodies, Battle Beast reveling in carnage, Tech Jacket firing relentlessly.

And at the center... Thragg.

Effortless, he dismantled Nolan and his sons with brutal efficiency, movements precise, calculated, devastating.

You supported the others, careful not to overextend.

But then something shifted.

Nolan, Mark, and Thaedus broke formation, and shot straight toward Viltrum.

Too fast, too deliberate.

Your eyes widened.

Thragg saw it, too—and instantly, his expression changed.

For the first time since you'd known him... emotion broke through... raw and unfiltered fear.

They were going for the core.

To destroy the planet.

To end everything once and for all.

Thragg moved like a blur, but even at his speed, they had the lead.

They would reach it first.

Your breath hitched.

No time, no room for thought.

You pushed off Iris, floating alone now, hands outstretched.

You inhaled deeply... and pushed.

Magic surged—violent, overwhelming, agonizing—from your palms.

Your lungs screamed as power flooded through you, far beyond what your body was meant to hold..

Orange light burst forth—expanding, stretching, reaching—to create a shield around the planet.

Too big.

Too much.

Your vision blurred almost instantly as sharp, stabbing pain tore through you.

Behind you, Kregg and the other Viltrumites closed ranks, forming a barrier around your vulnerable form as Coalition forces surged to stop you.

Your skin cracked, flecks of it turned to dust, drifting off your shoulders into the void.

Just like you'd predicted it would.

You roared, forced more.

And with a shocking speed, the dome closed just in time, the three of them slamming against it.

You screamed, clapped your hands together, and in an instant, the shield exploded outward.

A wave of orange magic detonated from it, blasting everything back—Viltrumites, Coalition, debris—all of it swallowed in the surge.

And then... silence... stillness...

For one impossible second, nothing moved.

Until the bodies in the dead ring twitched.

Once.

Twice.

Then... they moved.

Billions upon billions of Viltrumite corpses rose, eyes opening, limbs stirring, bodies righting themselves as if waking from sleep.

Confusion spread across their faces, life for them having been restored—even if accidentally.

The battlefield froze, shock rippling through every being present.

Some stared in awe.

Others in horror.

But Thragg...

He watched in wonder.

Pure, unrestrained wonder.

For centuries, he had carried the weight of extinction—so few souls, so few remnants of a dying empire.

And now, before him, an army—a civilization—returned, stronger than ever.

If the universe did not belong to Viltrum, why would it fight so desperately to preserve them?

A single tear broke free, drifting from his eye into the void as a grin curled on his lips for the first time in centuries.

The resurrected Viltrumites moved instinctively—forming ranks, falling into place, flying in sync like a single, living body.

Then, as one, they bowed.

"Grand Regent Thragg."

The words came in a deafening and absolute unison.

Your vision swam, blood pouring freely from your nose and mouth.

Your eyes widened, unfocused and disbelieving.

"...holy shit..."

It came out garbled.

Weak.

And then, everything went dark.

You fell into nothing.

.

.

.

Two weeks later, the galaxy still hadn't recovered from the shock.

What had once been whispered as a fading threat... a dwindling empire reduced to scattered remnants... had become something else entirely.

Something biblical.

The resurrection of Viltrum was not seen as a victory.

It was seen as a catastrophe.

The single worst possible outcome realized in a violent instant.

Across systems, across stars, across every corner of intelligent life—the same conclusion echoed:

The Coalition had lost.

Completely.

The fragile balance that had once existed had collapsed under its own weight, tipping so far in Viltrum's favor that resistance no longer had purpose.

Allen the Alien—executed.

Tech Jacket—executed.

Battle Beast—executed.

They were ended swiftly, efficiently—like pencil marks being erased.

Thaedus—captured.

Nolan—captured.

Mark—captured.

Broken, restrained, alive only because they were needed to set an example.

Oliver Grayson—left floating and morbidly injured, adrift in the cold void of space.

And at the center of it all...

You.

Unmoving and unconscious.

Your body laid suspended between life and death, stretched thin by a surge of power that should've killed you outright.

The strain had carved its toll on your form—those once smooth shoulders now marked with strange, uneven scars, jagged and unfamiliar, as reality had failed to peel you apart.

You didn't stir. 

You didn't dream.

You simply... were.

When Thragg realized this, something inside him had dropped—sharp, sudden, and unwelcome.

It had cut clean through the overwhelming surge of victory.

He hadn't hesitated for a second.

While others turned to secure prisoners, to celebrate, to reassemble, he moved, catching you before your form could drift too far into the abyss and cradling you in his arms, holding your fragile body with a precision that bordered on something else entirely.

He returned to Viltrum with you himself—didn't delegate it, didn't allow another to take you from his grasp.

And behind him, Iris followed, worried by the state of her master.

The two weeks that followed were chaos.

Viltrum, once hollow and echoing with absence, was alive again.

Overcrowded and overwhelming.

The resurrected spoke of their return with eerie consistency—one moment, agony, the Scourge Virus tearing through their bodies, reducing them from the inside out.

The next... sleep.

And then... awakening.

It was seamless, if albeit unnatural.

And though Viltrumites were not known for sentiment, reunions occured—brief, subtle, but there.

A son pausing half a second when he saw his father alive again.

A sister glancing twice at a brother she'd watched die.

No embraces, no tears, but recognition.

Still, all of it paled in comparison to the whispers.

You had become something—not just known or revered, but a living legend.

You were the one who saved them, the one who denied their extinction, the one who brought Viltrum back from ruin.

Rumors spread like wildfire across the planet:

That you were a Viltrumite, born with special gifts.

That you were something older than Viltrum sent to ensure it reclaimed what was always meant to be theirs.

Thragg didn't correct them, not once.

He allowed the myth to grow unchallenged because it served a purpose.

And because he had not yet decided what truth you would belong to.

Despite everything—the reformation of councils, the reassignment of entire planetary systems, the reestablishment of an empire that had once spanned galaxies—he found time for you.

Every day.

Without fail.

At least an hour, though sometimes more.

He would sit beside you in the chamber assigned for your recovery—quiet, controlled, sterile in design, yet softened by your presence within its walls.

You.

He monitored every detail, every fluctuation, every microscopic sign of change in your condition.

Viltrum's best healers and scientists worked tirelessly, applying knowledge refined over millennia.

But even they approached you with a degree of caution, as if unsure whether they were treating a patient, or someone infinitely more important.

He allowed no negligence, no oversight.

And Iris—having returned to her smaller form—stayed, often curled beside you, sometimes watching him, sometimes not.

Thragg ensured she was fed, cared for, and unharmed.

He did it himself, though he had no reason to.

Though he had every reason not to.

There were more important things.

Always more important things.

An empire to rebuild, a galaxy to reconquer, enemies to annihilate.

Yet... that feeling, that persistent, infuriating pull in his chest, refused to yield.

It anchored him there at your side, day after day.

A protectiveness had taken root, deep and unshakable.

You had come to him as a human with a bargain, a witch with a proposition, and in return, you had given him everything he'd ever wanted.

His people.

His future.

His purpose.

He thought often about your words, about the universe being fickle.

Now he understood.

Because the path ahead of him had never been clearer.

The Coalition would be dismantled—systematically and brutally.

Their resistance would become an example.

Their defiance—history.

Viltrum would not merely return, it would dominate.

Unquestioned and unchallenged.

And you—

His gaze drifted to your still form, to the rise and fall of your chest—faint but present.

You would not remain what you were, not after this.

Not after what you had done.

He knew exactly where you would stand, exactly what place you would hold in the universe he was about to shape.

It was no longer a question... only inevitability.

His hand rested firmly over yours—gentle yet immense with weight—and for a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, quietly...

Almost imperceptibly...

"(y/n)."

Not a command, but something heavier.

Something certain.

When you finally awoke... everything would change.

.

.

.

@lettucel0ver

@just-simpins-blog

@lunatguard

Interrogation and counsel.

Interrogation and counsel.

Interrogation and counsel.

It became rhythm... routine... ritual.

Every day, you sat across from Thragg in that cavernous war room, laying bare the inner workings of Earth piece by piece—its defenses, its weaknesses, its ingenuity, its desperation.

You spoke of weapons still in prototype, of contingency plans, of heroes who would die before they bent, and villains who would burn the world before they let it be taken.

You unraveled it all.

Perfectly.

Too perfectly to be fabricated, too intricate to be false.

It helped that—though he would sooner tear himself apart than admit it—Viltrum needed this.

Needed you.

Their numbers were thin, their margin for error thinner.

And so, he listened.

And as you supplied him with the blueprint of your world's destruction, he endured something far more insidious.

Something he could not strike down.

Something that did not yield to strength.

It began as a faint, unwelcome presence.

A tightening low in his abdomen—a pull.

Then it grew day by day.

Morning by morning.

Every time he retrieved you from your quarters, every time you spoke, every time his gaze fell upon your form—he felt it deepen.

He thought understanding your power would end it.

It did not.

It made it worse.

His attention—already sharp enough to split atoms—turned microscopic.

Unforgiving.

He noticed everything.

Every spiral of your hair, coiled and defined with a precision nature seldom afforded.

The placement of each mole, each mark along your exposed skin—random, yet memorized.

The way your lips moved when you spoke—the stretch, the curl, the shaping of sound.

He had studied battlefields with less intensity.

It was intolerable.

He was Thragg, Grand Regent of Viltrum, a being above all others.

You were meant to be insignificant, a means to an end, a tool.

Less than a worm.

And yet you occupied space in his mind with a blatancy that bordered on arrogance.

He hated it.

Yet he cataloged it anyway.

Which is why when he entered your quarters that morning, he felt instantly that something was wrong.

He didn't hover and watch anymore, not after you'd earned a measure of trust.

He entered as he always did—direct, commanding, absolute.

"Awaken, Earth witch."

Silence answered him.

His eyes moved to the bed.

Empty.

No protection spell, no faint orange glow, no bonnet sticking out under the covers.

Nothing.

Just... Iris.

She curled lazily atop your pillow, stretching with a soft, contented sound as if nothing at all was amiss.

Thragg's brows drew together sharply.

His gaze hardened.

"Where is your master?" he demanded, as if she could respond.

Iris blinked at him, then meowed—soft, sweet, and entirely unhelpful.

He scoffed, a low sound of irritation.

"Useless creature," he muttered under his breath.

His eyes scanned the room again, then... something.

A piece of parchment resting atop the covers.

He moved closer, lifting it with two fingers.

One word.

SKY.

That was all it took.

He was gone in an instant.

The palace blurred beneath him as he shot upward, cutting through the air with impossible speed until he rose above it—above the towering structures, above the vast, gleaming expanse of Viltrum itself.

The sky was shifting, night giving way to day,

And there was you.

Floating. 

Still. 

Watching.

Viltrum's sun crested the horizon—massive, overwhelming, easily ten times the size of Earth's.

It's light wasn't gentle, but rather potently saturated, burning a deep orange that painted the entire sky a molten color.

It was beautiful, and violent in its beauty.

Thragg slowed as he approached you.

And the moment his eyes landed on your form, that faint, unwanted thrum in his chest rang again.

He hovered beside you, close but not touching.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The silence was full, heavy with presence, with awareness, with something neither of you named.

Because he wasn't the only one who noticed.

You had, too.

From the moment you arrived, you had felt it.

His presence.

It wasn't just physical—though that alone was overwhelming.

The sheer scale of him, the density of muscle layered across his frame, the way power seemed to sit naturally in his posture like it belonged there.

But it was more than that.

It was the way he carried himself.

Every movement deliberate, every word chosen, every look precise.

He didn't demand obedience, he made it inevitable.

You had never respected authority—never bowed to it, never trusted it—but this...

This was something else entirely.

A force of nature given form... a lion at rest, knowing nothing around him could hope to compare.

It was... compelling.

"The Coalition of Planets will arrive tomorrow,"  Thragg said, voice cutting cleanly through the air. "With Nolan in their company."

Your gaze didn't shift from the sun, though the words hung heavy.

"They intend to kill me."

Another beat.

"All active Viltrumites have been recalled."

Still... you didn't look at him.

"Do you know what it's like," you asked softly, "to be the last of your kind?"

That wasn't what he expected.

Not even close.

His brows flared just lightly.

You continued anyway, voice distant and thoughtful.

"Being the last whisper of something that used to be... everything," you breathed. "Your culture... your traditions... the old ways... They all sit on you. Rely on you for survival."

The sun climbed higher.

"You wake up every day knowing that when you die... it will be gone. Forever."

You let out a small, humorless exhale.

"The universe is fickle like that... One minute something exists, the next... nothing."

A pause.

"I just..." you murdered, quieter now, "wonder sometimes what will become of my kind without me to carry it on."

Silence followed, but it wasn't empty.

Thragg stood completely still.

For the first time, he felt something he had not anticipated.

Recognition.

Deep, unbridled recognition.

He had known you were the last of your lineage, but he had never considered what that meant.

Not like this.

Not in a way that mirrored his own.

Viltrum—once vast, once unstoppable—reduced to forty.

Forty living beings carrying the weight of an empire, of a species, of a legacy that refused to fizzle out.

You were the same.

Different scale, same burden, same inevitability.

Two sides of the same coin.

The realization settled heavily, and with it, something shifted. 

Respect.

You let out a small, awkward chuckle suddenly, shaking your head.

"Sorry," you muttered. "That was... a stupid question."

You rubbed the back of your neck lightly.

"Just woke up with a lot on my mind."

For a moment, Thragg remained silent.

Then—

"Forty," he said.

The words came without warning

Even he did not know why he said them.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide.

"...What?"

His gaze remained fixed ahead on the rising sun.

"Forty Viltrumites remain."

Your expression shifted—shock, understanding—you had known their numbers were low.

The emptiness of the planet made it clear, but...

Not that low.

"Our emperor, Argall, was betrayed," his tone didn't waver, but something beneath it hardened. "A member of his own council assassinated him. Then released a biological weapon called the Scourge Virus... which eradicated 99.9 percent of our population."

A pause.

"Kregg and I... and those returning now... are all that remain."

Your face softened just slightly as you turned to look at him fully now.

And for the first time... you didn't just see the Grand Regent.

You saw what he carried.

He did not return the look.

His gaze remained fixed on the sun.

"It is of no consequence," he said flatly. "Viltrum endures... We are without end."

The words sounded like an affirmation, something to be repeated until it became truth.

"Once the Betrayer and his coalition are destroyed, order will be restored.

Then, he turned to you.

His eyes locked onto yours, sharp.

"There will be a place for you in that order... if... you fight alongside us."

The air stilled.

You looked at him.

Really looked.

And then, you smiled, soft but certain.

Something in his chest stuttered just once, before he could stop it, before he could understand it, before he could crush it.

Against your better judgement, you moved, lifting your hand and resting it on his shoulder—warm, solid, and real under your finger tips.

And against all logic, he allowed it.

You met his gaze.

"For now," you said quietly, "your cause is mine."

The sun rose higher.

For the first time since you arrived, something unspoken passed between you.

Not alliance.

Not trust.

Something deeper.

Something far more dangerous.

.

.

.

@lettucel0ver

@just-simpins-blog

Pale light from the four moons faded into a stark, silvery dawn that felt almost clinical.

High above the vast bed, Thragg hovered in absolute stillness.

Arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable, eyes sharp and critical.

You slept below him, peaceful, soft in a way that did not match the woman he had seen the night before.

Your body curled slightly into the sheets, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, your breathing slow and even, unbothered.

Unaware.

Atop one of the pillows, a small, unfamiliar creature lay curled into itself, fur rising and falling faintly with each breath.

Thragg's gaze lingered.

He did not understand it.

You were on a foreign planet, surrounded by beings that could end your life in seconds, and yet, you slept like a newborn.

Did you truly believe yourself to be so strong?

Or did you believe him and his people to be so weak?

His eyes shifted toward a faint glow—a dome encapsulating the bed entirely.

A translucent barrier of soft orange energy, humming faintly, almost imperceptibly unless one was looking for it.

A protection.

So... not naive.

He had been there for over an hour—watching, observing, studying, turning over every detail in his mind.

Your power... its nature... its limits... the way it did not behave like anything he had encountered before... the way it ignored the laws of reality.

It intrigued him more than it should have.

More than anything had in a very long time.

Was it your strength?

The mystery of it?

The controlled way you wielded it?

Or—

His gaze lowered slightly.

—your appearance?

Viltrum did not subscribe to human concepts of beauty.

Strength was the only standard that mattered.

And yet you were not... unpleasant to look at.

There was something in the way you carried yourself.

Even in sleep, it lingered—an ease. 

A confidence that did not demand attention.

He had gleaned all of that from a single conversation.

Which meant it was not surface-level... it meant it was real.

A shift—subtle but immediate—snapped his attention to the side, then back to you.

Your lashes fluttered.

The low hum of your own magic stirred you awake before his presence.

Your brows knit faintly as consciousness returned, your body shifting beneath the covers.

Slow and unhurried, you blinked your eyes open.

They adjusted, focused, then landed on him floating above you.

Watching.

There was a beat.

Then, with a slow exhale, you pushed yourself upright, one hand sliding over your face as a yawn escaped you—unbothered, causal, like waking up to find the most powerful man in the galaxy hovering over you was the most normal thing in the world.

"You always watch people sleep?" you muttered, morning voice rough, "Or am I special?"

He ignored your question entirely.

"What is this?" he asked instead, tone firm, chin tilting slightly toward the glowing dome around your bed.

You glanced at it.

Then, without ceremony, snapped your fingers.

The barrier vanished instantly.

"It's a protection spell," you said simply. "Makes sure no one tries anything funny while I'm asleep."

His gaze flicked sharply.

Not to your face, but to your head.

Specifically the bonnet neatly tied around it.

"What is that?" he asked.

You blinked once, still waking up.

"...A bonnet."

"For what purpose?"

You shrugged, shifting the covers aside slightly.

"To protect my hair at night."

 His brow furrowed.

"Why would your hair require protection?"

Another shrug.

"I move around a lot in my sleep. Don't feel like waking up looking crazy."

A pause.

"Where did it come from?"

You gave him a look, then snapped your fingers again.

The bonnet disappeared.

Your hair fell free—coils cascading down naturally, settling around your face and shoulders with effortless volume.

"I can conjure anything I want," you reminded him.

A small sound interrupted.

The creature atop your pillow stirred, stretching languidly, its back arching as its tail lifted into the air.

Thragg's expression shifted instantly but unmistakably with displeasure.

"What is that?" he asked.

You smiled faintly, reaching out to scratch behind its ears.

It leaned into your touch with a soft, please rumble.

"That," you said, "is a cat. My familiar, Iris."

The creature blinked up at him, unimpressed.

"She assists me," you continued. "Warns me if something's off. Keeps me company."

Silence.

Thragg glared at it.

It glared back, unflinching.

The audacity alone was... notable.

"I did not grant you permission to bring this... familiar into my palace," he said flatly.

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

"She's not here to cause problems," you assured. "She's strictly for my safety. You won't even notice her."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, annoyed.

But not enough to press it further.

"Regardless," he said. "It is time to begin your interrogation."

You yawned again, stretching your arms overhead as you rose to your feet.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered. "Give me a second. I need to change."

You waited a beat.

Then two.

He didn't move.

Didn't turn.

Didn't even blink

Your brow arched slowly.

"...You planning on watching?" you asked.

Silence.

He continued to stare.

You shrugged.

"Alright. Suit yourself."

Your hands lifted, magic swirling instantly into existence—soft and deliberate.

A dressing screen materialized between you and him, old-fashioned in style.

You slipped behind it, tugging off the nightgown you had conjured the night before without hesitation.

Fabric dissolved into nothing as your magic moved again, forming something new.

More fitting.

The material wove itself around you seamlessly—a halter-neck gown, backless, flowing in soft layers of Viltrum white and gray.

The fabric moved like liquid, light catching against the subtle shifts.

Detached sleeves formed next—long, wrapping delicately around your upper arms and trailing down to your wrists.

Silver metallic accents settled at your neck and arms, sleek and minimal.

You hair lifted, guided by unseen hands, twisting and gathering into a structured updo, while a few curls were left loose to frame your face.

You conjured a sink and a mirror, brushed your teeth, washed your face, smoothed your hands over your skin.

Then, with a snap, it all vanished.

The screen disappeared, and you stepped into view again.

"Alright," you said with a soft, satisfied huff adjusting the fall of the fabric slightly. "Let's get this over with."

For a fraction of a second, Thragg's composure slipped.

His brows lifted, eyes widening just slightly.

Something unfamiliar curled low in his stomach.

Warm.

Immediate.

Unwelcome.

Viltrum had not had an empress in over fifty millennia.

He had never seen one, never needed to.

And yet, looking at you now, there was a certainty that rose, unbidden, unwanted, undeniable:

This is what one would look like.

Effortless.

Powerful.

Regal.

The colors of Viltrum... they suited you.

Too well.

When the thought struck, Thragg crushed it instantly.

Buried it.

Rejected it with sharp, internal force.

It had no place here, no purpose.

It was irrelevant, and he despised that it had formed at all.

His expression hardened immediately.

Tearing his gaze away, he turned sharply in the air.

"Follow," he said, voice cutting through the space with renewed edge. "You have wasted enough time."

The shifted was abrupt and noticeable.

You blinked once, brow arching slightly as you glanced toward Iris, who not sat upright on the bed, tail flicking lazily.

"...The hell is his problem?" you muttered under your breath.

Iris blinked slowly.

Unhelpful.

You pushed off the ground anyway, your body lifting into the air with smooth ease as you followed after him.

Whatever that was, you'd figure it out later.

For now?

You had bigger fish to fry.

.

.

.

The war room was long, expansive, and severe in its design.

The table alone stretched nearly the length of a school bus, forged in the same smooth, pale material that seemed to define all of Viltrum—reflective and mercilessly clean. 

You sat at one end.

Thragg sat at the other.

Between you... distance—every word had to travel, every glance held weight.

To his side and further back stood Kregg, posture straight, silent but watchful.

Thragg leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against his thighs, hands loose but ready.

His gaze moved over you with deliberate precision, taking in everything—your posture, your expression, your breathing, searching for any crack.

There was none.

You sat cool, composed.

Your face gave him nothing.

"Begin," he said firmly. "Explain the generalities of what you know of Earth. Details will come later."

You nodded.

"Earth isn't unified," you said. "Not even close."

Your voice carried cleanly through the room.

"It's divided into regions called countries. Each one governs itself differently. Some have presidents. Others have kings, queens, ministers, dictators. A handful operate independently."

Thragg didn't interrupt.

"They function separately for the most part. Occasionally, a few form alliances. Treaties. They meet, negotiate, pretend to cooperate."

A faint, dry note slipped into your tone.

"But it's not real diplomacy."

You leaned back slightly.

"Each country has its own military. Land. Sea. Air. Millions of trained soldiers across the planet if you count them all."

You paused.

"But that's not your problem."

Thragg's brow quirked.

You met his gaze.

"The real obstacle... is the GDA."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"What is this... GDA?"

"The Global Defense Agency. They're the only ones actually preparing for you," you said. "Their entire purpose is to defend Earth from threats like Viltrum. They're the ones I mentioned. The ones building weapons designed specifically to kill your people."

Kregg shifted faintly behind Thragg.

Thragg's gaze sharpened.

"What weapons?" he asked.

You lifted your hands, and orange light spiraled outward, forming a rectangular pane in the air—a window into something else.

Footage flickered to life.

A boy... flying... breaking into a facility.

Invincible.

Then, a sound.

His body seized in midair before crashing into the ground.

You gestured lightly.

"That's Invincible," you said. "Half Viltrumite. Half human. Nolan Grayson's son."

Both Thragg and Kregg stilled, just slightly.

You noticed.

"They found a specific sonic output that disrupts Viltrumite equilibrium," you continued. "It's not just disorienting. It's painful. Severely. It incapacitates you, and only stops when the sound does."

You swiped your hand.

The image changed.

A cold, sterile lab appeared with a man working methodically over cadavers.

D.A. Sinclair.

You leaned forward slightly.

"A few months ago, Earth was attacked by multiple versions of Invincible from alternate dimensions," you said. "When they were defeated, the GDA collected the bodies and gave them to him."

Sinclair continued his work in the projection—metal, flesh, machinery blending into something unnatural.

"He turns them into Reanimen. Undead puppets under complete control."

Kregg's jaw tightened.

"They're weak individually," you explained. "But in numbers? They can overwhelm. Damage and even potentially kill a Viltrumite if given enough time."

Another swipe.

Darkness swallowed the projection, then a figure moved.

Night Boy... dragging a screaming criminal into a void.

"This is Night Boy," you said, tilting your head slightly. "His mentor was murdered by Nolan."

The void pulsed, endless.

"He controls something called the Shadowverse. It's not fully understood, but it's a pocket space. Pure darkness."

Your tone lowered just slightly.

"If you're pulled in... there is no known mode of escape. Not unless he lets you out."

You paused a beat.

"You can imagine the problem that presents."

With a snap of your fingers, the projection vanished.

The room returned to stillness.

"That's just surface-level," you said with a slow exhale. "There's more. A lot more. B—"

Thragg raised his hand, and you stopped immediately.

"You describe these threats," he said slowly, "and expect me to believe your... magic can counter them all?"

There was no mockery in his tone, only scrutiny.

"I have a hard time believing this when I do not understand how it functions."

You sighed lightly.

Fair.

"I figured you'd ask."

You shifted slightly in your seat. 

"I come from a long line of sorceresses. Women born with a natural affinity for high-level magic," you explained, fingers tapping against the table. "It requires concentration. Willpower. Physical strength. And with enough of it, I can do anything I imagine."

His gaze didn't waver.

"But..." you added, "there are limits."

You leaned forward slightly.

"The bigger the spell, the more it costs. I push too far, my body starts to break down," you gave a faint shrug. "That's why I can turn people into snakes... but I can't turn a planet into an egg. I'd disintegrate before I got halfway through the spell."

Kregg's brow furrowed.

Thragg's eyes narrowed slightly.

"To reach that level, I'd need at least ten thousand more years under my belt."

Thragg spoke again, "How long does your kind live?"

"I've never met one older than five thousand," you answered. "Most don't make it that far."

A pause.

"But when I was a kid... I heard stories. About one who lived to twenty thousand."

His gaze sharpened.

"Are you the last of your kind?"

You nodded.

"On Earth? Yes. There are others out there. Different species, different universes. But in this galaxy, I'm it."

Silence fell again, longer this time.

He blinked once—processing, weighing—then his eyes opened again and settled on you with renewed clarity.

"What you have told me," Thragg said, voice steady, "if true... will be useful."

He paused.

"You have demonstrated value."

Your shoulders eased, barely.

"Further discussion will continue tomorrow."

You nodded, rising smoothly from your seat.

You bowed your head, "Thank you, Grand Regent."

He inclined his head once in acknowledgement.

You turned, and lifted effortlessly into the air, gliding toward the exit.

The soft fabric of your gown shifted with the movement, exposing the smooth line of your back as you disappeared into the corridor beyond.

Thragg's gaze followed unintentionally, lingering for half a second longer than necessary before he tore it away, sharply.

Behind him, Kregg stepped forward slightly.

"Is all of this truly necessary?" he asked, tone edged with skepticism. "We could simply go to Earth and take it by force."

"No... we are already few. We cannot afford any more loss," Thragg shook his head once, voice carrying firm and measured. "If what she says is true, these weapons pose a legitimate threat."

Kregg's expression tightened.

Thragg's gaze shifted back toward the doorway you had exited through.

"We will continue to question her," he said, calm and certain. "And the information she provides will lead us to victory."

.

.