Super Evil Mega Dyke @13tinysocks - Tumblr Blog

Jun 26

My Dead Girlfriend

For them, you died six months ago. Flesh wounds healed but nothing else did. For you, an alien world expanded on all sides. It meant nothing without him there to explore it.

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

[Part one] [49] [Ao3] [Chapter Index] [Outfit references]

50 * Pentimento [11.4k]

"Balada triste de trompeta, Por un pasado que murió, Y que llora, Y que gime, Como yo."

Balada de la trompeta - Raphael

Death grayed. The animal, the humanoid, the fauna, without life flowing through them, it was no surprise they neared colorlessness. The opposite came about Viltrum. Death engorged Viltrum to an overripe peach. Bigger and brighter and more colorful as days dragged to months.

There wasn't a planet anymore. Hadn't been for two months now. Viltrum was gaseous. Viltrum was pure fire. Viltrum was nothing at all.

In the early days, they searched as the ground bloomed open and magma oozed into Viltrum proper. Helmets were peeled off dead rebels, bodies were thrown into piles. You were nowhere to be found. They knew you'd be particulate, but there had been a dim hope for some miracle that you'd be whole, somewhere, somehow.

Just like you, Grayson, Sebastian, and Ollie had gone into nothing. The explosion was hot enough to disintegrate your bones, but not kill them- not by miles. Yet they were nowhere to be found.

The same way Thaedus was nowhere. The same way Thragg was nowhere. There was a theory that lasted a single afternoon- one of them, Grayson most likely, took you. But all the space suits were accounted for. Heat signatures from the battle didn't even show anyone leaving the atmosphere. Nothing made any sense.

You weren't anywhere. Not in the cruiser's debris field, not in the oceans, not scattered into the ring.

Though there was no ground to walk on or pale sky to search from, Mark searched. Again and again. Hovering just outside where it was bearable to exist. Too close to Viltrum and he'd start to blister. Staring into the fire until the shape of his birthright was burned into his retinas. When he could see nothing but light, he still saw you, burned into his mind so deeply, not even hellfire could destroy you. Too blind to fly, he'd put a hot finger to his ear and call for them.

They always came. Fetching him from under his arms, one of them at either of his sides. Markus and Gray, the only ones who understood, who saw you too when their eyelids closed.

Time could not stand still forever, there were too many colonies starving to ignore. If they could be called colonies anymore, so many of them in full-blown rebellion after the airing.

Many warships survived, imperial included. Taken off the ground by the council as Viltrum started to fatten and blister. Many things were saved. Flora, fauna, so much of it stuffed into control rooms and living quarters. Pieces of production lines deconstructed and put into another. Everything ran at half efficiency, animal populations dipped. Nothing was meant to be moved, crafted to be planted for eternity. Viltrum was never supposed to fall.

Thragg, before death, had cut off too many resources. The rebels who'd shot at your precious head, those who survived the massacre, got to live by Kregg's reasoning. "Who will provide our resources if all of our subjects are dead? Think of what you're fighting for, son."

Mark didn't have the energy to spit, 'Don't call me that.' He'd just nodded.

They were loaded into filthy squalor in the cell blocks. Mark wanted to keep them there, suffering for what they'd done. But he let them de-board on their home worlds. Left with firm words, threats that somehow felt hollow coming from his mouth. Thragg was dead, coalition leaders and soldiers dead. No danger left but the empire itself.

Mark waited, home world to home world, for them to shoot at his exposed face again. He wanted them dead, but nobody tried. They all bowed, thanked him for their lives, and promised good things. They deserved to die. For lying or telling the truth, he couldn't tell anymore.

Markus put a hand to his shoulder, "There will be others."

"Don't fucking touch me." Mark slunk back into the ship. To his rooms where he'd cry into your pillow.

Slaughter came. Often.

People thought Viltrum exploding meant there would be a power vacuum. There was not. Even with the dying colonies and the rebellions and the loss of faith- Viltrumites were still superior war machines.

Mark threw himself into rebel genocide. Alone. Despite warnings he was needed at the helm.

It was up to Markus and Gray to prevent the vacuum, because it could happen.

They called back soldiers from the far reaches of the cosmos. Stationed them where they could, but resources for wider colony recovery were slim. Returns were meager.

Unchecked, Mark killed too many rebels, beings who would have been useful alive and afraid and working for the empire; reduced to bodies.

The council worked in tandem, but even then- there was no undoing what had been done. No matter how brutally Mark slashed through the rebellions, there were always two more the next day.

Mark kept bashing his head into the wall. Day after day, destroying civilization after civilization. Crushing hearts in his hand soothed him in half-second intervals. Then the agony would return, and he was at work again.

The Coalition had never seen so many outposts destroyed. Never read so many reports of minor rebellions squashed to pulp before they really started. Size made no difference to Mark, they were all the same people responsible for what happened. They all had to die.

Mark didn't sleep. Didn't eat. Didn't come back to the ship. The only one able to keep an eye on him was Conquest. Who certainly didn't discourage excessive killing and often broke off to find his own fun.

It was easier to let Mark burn himself to nothing. After days away, as reports of killing dwindled, Markus and Gray would track him down again. They always found him bloody, tear-slick with a swollen face. Crying, always crying. When he saw them, he dropped the body to cover his face, as if the tears were worse than the cloud of viscera surrounding him.

"I just want her back." He sniveled, "I just-"

"I know." Markus dusted off his skirts.

"I do too." Gray pulled him upright.

Mark let himself be escorted. Limp and whiny as a drunk. He stayed maneuverable so long as they avoided the council. If anyone but his Grand Generals saw him they would lose him again for weeks.

Markus called for food, Gray prepared the shower, a piece of technology that had been alien to him before caring for the Emperor. Mark sat, stinking on the bed. Battle Beast's headless pelt over his shoulders. Taken from the ruins by Thula for his true killers. Skinned and cleaned and treated. And they gifted it to him. Its weight, eight whole pounds, almost slowed Mark down. The warmth, the pressure, like a hug from behind. Sometimes he closed his eyes and imagined it was you. He never took it off. The thing was filthy.

"How are you both just fine?" He asked, a fist squeezed in the fur.

"We just have to get through this." Markus said. Stony as ever, never a tear shed in Mark's presence. If at all.

"Get through what? She’s dead. It's over! We can't even use Angstrom to-" He felt the heat coming to his eyes. Mark curled into himself and squealed. "Fuck, fuck, I can't do this. How are you doing this?"

The food tray came, steaming with Mark's favorites. Markus set it beside him. "You can too." Robotic, he'd said it a million times to himself.

Mark looked up, pink as a carnation. Markus and Gray looked down at him with blotchless, dry cheeks. Not sporting frowns or faraway gazes. Flat, as paper. Only he ever mourned. They took his responsibilities off his shoulders without complaint.

And all Mark did was kill and cry. Pathetic by comparison. He shrank into the pelt and growled, "Get the fuck out."

They left without question. That made it worse. The food splattered against the door. Mark wailed.

Gray stared at the ceiling, tucked into bed but still reeling. Another night he'd go without sleep, he wasn't sure the last time he had. Every three days he was scheduled to sleep for four hours, a crisis schedule made by Markus and the council to keep them going for as long as possible. They weren't sure how long this would last. Projections said two-hundred years until they returned to previous efficiency. Gray wondered if he could go that long.

His data pad pinged. A report received from Markus. Long winded, about another supply line they'd lost. Markus was meant to be sleeping as well. He wasn't alone.

You'd been in his bed not so long ago. The longer he'd live, the more of an insignificant blip you'd be. The thought made him want to run like a child, so he got up.

Markus continued reviewing the live footage of the most recent rebel attack even as his bedroom door opened. Half of Lemo wanted to help feed the other colonies, the other half wanted to burn the grain fields. Killing them would be counterproductive; the famine was too widespread. He'd have to find a diplomatic solution without Mark finding out or they'd lose them all. He typed up another strategy for Polla. Then would do the same for twenty other outpost soldiers. Then review the handful of soldiers' reports who were trying upkeep Viltrum outreach. On and on until the rest of his hair went gray.

So no, he did not turn to greet Mark.

"The Bomlie line was bound to fail." Gray's voice. Markus turned. "Between two rebel planets, I don't know why the council insisted on so much outreach. Our time would be better spent elsewhere."

"You should be sleeping, General." He said.

Gray stood stiffly in the doorway, the same way he did everywhere, arms at his back. "As should you."

Markus returned to typing, "I can't sleep. Our titles don't mean much if the one who gave them is incoherent. We have to prove ourselves again."

Exhaustion overcame Gray at the reminder. More work. No rest. No you to relax with in stolen moments between. Words bubbled up his throat. He swallowed. A man when Markus' gaze was upon him. Without it, he felt small, unsteady.

"Did you need something, General? If you wanted to go over the report we should wait till morning to discuss with the council."

"There is something wrong with me."

Markus turned back around. Gray froze, unable to continue, unsure what he even wanted to say. But as he saw Markus tired eyes, he knew they felt the same way. He spoke, for both of them. "I can't stop thinking about her."

Death too, grayed Gray. The warm-tone tan dimmed, his sharp cheeks went gaunt, his under eyes sagged. Markus looked nearly the same, aside from the new crop of grays. "Well," his touch left the keyboard, "you loved her."

"Love is an emotion humans feel because they have limited capacities. We are above such things." It came without thought, almost natural.

Gray had not loved anyone for a long time, he had said it freely as a cria, in his mother's arms as she cooed, "I love you, Mark."

She giggled at his standing at attention. Practicing to guard something important with the most serious look on his tiny face. Father came in. Spent his time, ate his food, and announced he was needed elsewhere. Mark saluted the best he could by the door with an, "I love you." Only in these quarters was he permitted to say it. Always before Father left, an easy routine they had done for years.

His mustache didn't reveal his frown. "You're coming with me today son, only cria stay with their Mothers."

He had nodded, and Mom had smiled. She hugged him as tight as she could, "Oh, don't fly too fast, my little man." It no longer felt the same, but he appreciated the sentiment.

They kicked off from the ground. Mark tried hard to stay steady. He waited for a crumb of praise. Mother would've already given it.

Father didn't so much as glance at him, "You shouldn't say that to me Mark, save it for your mother."

"Mother says it to us." On the fringes of backtalk, he would never speak to another Viltrumite in this way, but his Father was tolerant. He had never realized Father never said it back.

"Your mother is human, of course, she loves you, she can feel little else."

Mark nodded as though he understood. He did not.

Father landed on a platform, wide and white like all others on Viltrum. But this one was so far from the surface that he had only seen it from the bottom. Mark leaned over the edge, a new perspective.

"Why do you think you're able to come with me today?"

Mark snapped back to attention. "Because I'm no longer a cria."

"Why is your mother still home then? She is not a cria." Father waited, arms behind his back.

Mark kept his face blank. Confusion and revulsion were not Viltrmite emotions, he'd been told. Viltrumites were also the only species that were cria. Never humans. Asking what mother was like as a cria had warranted a punishment before. He remembered the lesson well, "Humans are never cria. They never grow out of their weakest state."

"Yes, good." Mark's chin lifted at the praise. "You feel things she never could, this is a feeling Mark-" The breath was knocked from his lungs, unprepared as his father hit him harder than he ever had.

Father had only hit a few times, his powers were still new. Jabs before, but this was the closest to battle he'd ever been. "A human couldn't handle those feelings." Pain. Spasming muscles. Rattling bones. Mark's eyes bulged as he tried not to cough and sob. Another thing he was no longer allowed to do as a Viltrumite. Father had told him if he cried during official training, he would be as good as dead. "They'd blow apart, but you..." He almost skittered off the edge, catching himself as one leg dangled off the platform. "You're perfectly fine, even if it hurts."

Father blurred in his teary vision. Mark blinked fast, so the tears stopped growing.

"I don't love you, Mark, I can't. This is what I can give you as a Viltrumite. Show me how that makes you feel."

Mark punched him back.

Markus was silent for a moment, as though he too was reliving a memory. "Father told you that?"

They both knew he had.

"We're half human." Markus hovered toward his bed. Too tired to stand even a moment. Thighs sunk into the mattress, shoulders drooped to half-mast. Around anyone else, he'd force them straighter.

"Genetically, less than one percent of our genome is unique to humans." The doctors had told Father, shame in their voices. They wished he didn't have his Mother's eyes and lips.

"You know that's not true."

"Mother cried when she missed home and when she missed Father. I didn't understand missing a place she chose to leave, and she told me-"

"It's a silly human thing. We get older, a little wiser, we miss things we take for granted, but I'm going to live a long, long time. Probably longer than any human ever has. Viltrum medicine is... I have everything I need here. But I still miss it. I hope you don't feel that way about me when you're older. I don't want me to hold you back. That way you make your Father proud, for the both of us."

"I never felt like that, not until..." Gray sat beside him. "I hadn't considered we could love, even as Viltrumites."

It wasn't quite a question.

"I..." Wording his viewpoint wasn't something Markus had ever done. Father had done it plenty. He said Viltrumites take, hoard, and redistribute as they see fit, and they saw little fitness outside the empire. His mother was an asset as was he, and nothing more. "I think we love because we're human." There was no question he loved her. What had begun as a quest at Father's word, something he went about with complete apathy, morphed. A soft heat in his belly that melted the flesh around it. She left him dethawed. "But harder than any human can because of what we are. That's why so many of us came for her."

"I barely knew her." It was the softest he had heard Gray's voice.

"She was easy to love."

He watched Gray's face shift at that.

"I'm not a human being the way you or Mark are. I should be enraged. Where is my Viltrumite heart? I-" His lips twisted down with such a force he couldn't stop it. "What is this?"

Markus saw the first tear slip down Gray's cheek, and simply said, "Grief." Body completely still. Everything inside him packed so tightly, if he let anything slip he'd combust. One of them had to stay afloat.

"Grief," Gray repeated. He remembered your hands in his guts, your eyes teary for him, "It hurts."

"I know."

"Does it..." He swallowed, this couldn't be permanent. "When does it stop?"

"I don't know."

Gray's lips twisted in as he hunched over himself. Cheeks red and eyes squeezed shut as he tried to prevent tears from falling. He sniffled in breath and sounded like a dying motor. Pathetic. Human. He needed something good to hold onto. He reached for Markus. Gripped his forearm hard. "I don't know what to do."

Markus wanted him to let go. To walk away. To leave him to his own quiet, more dignified grieving because that's what men, what Viltrumites were supposed to do.

Instead, he pulled down the sheets of his bed. "You need to sleep."

"She's there when I sleep. I never even shared a bed with her, I never-" Gray hitched. "I can't."

"We work less efficiently when we don't rest." Markus guided Gray to lay. Not a word between them about how it was his bed.

They laid, side by side. Markus on his side of the bed. Gray on the side that would've been yours if you'd ever gotten to sleep with him. His eyes stung. When he closed them, Gray's hand on his arm, still there, it almost felt like yours.

The next morning, they escorted Mark out of his quarters. Mark couldn't be trusted to go to his office alone. Too often, he'd flee the ship to go kill something and cry about it. It'd be up to them again to pick up the slack.

They were passing through the announcement hall. Where once, they'd stood with heads in their hands and you'd watched from behind the camera. Everywhere had a memory of you. They slowed in your lingering presence, save for Markus, who kept pushing forward. "If Polla can not recuperate the losses, I will-"

The entire wall lit up with Thragg's image.

His skin had returned to him. Mustache groomed. Regalia shiny on his shoulders.

"It has been enough time, the young have grown." He said to the universe.

They paused, turned together.

Bar taps had nearly gone dry from all the celebratory drinking. Now, they paused. Mouths hung open. Months-long parties, rebel meetings, card games, marathon sex, paused wherever there was a screen. The world leaned in to listen to Thragg.

"My new empire swells with alliances. One you will not believe, even after I prove it to you. Despite its clear impossibility, many of you believed I had died at the paws of a lesser creature. I thrive."

Mark barked at the screen, "No!" Just to bark and scream and howl because his hands weren't around Thragg's throat again.

Thragg's lips twitched up as if he knew. "I am willing to share my good fortune. On account of my goodest will and intentions, I invite the hungry, the sick, the desolate, and the hopeless- to come to Talescria. The secret heart of The Coalition of Planets. Never before revealed to the public," he chuckled, "We will provide for you, and you will be safe from the feeble claws of the old Viltrum empire."

"He's- Huh? What?" Was the memo around the whole universe.

"I am aware of your assumptions of me. I have done this universe much harm, but I have come to see, there is more to this life than conquest. Viltrumites can love. This is why, with open hand I invite you to a new era of the Viltrum Empire, beginning with my wedding."

Everything was bullshit before, but the mere word 'wedding' sent Mark spiraling, yanking at his mohawk, gnashing his teeth, "What the fuck is he-"

Thragg looked off screen, batted his lashes uncharacteristically. "I have moved far ahead of myself. For it was she who has changed me, and I've done her a disservice. Age has made learning slow. Forgive me quickly, for I'd like you to bask in her radiance. I'd like to introduce you to my staunchest ally, my bravest commander, and my mate, (Y/n)."

You were there. Suddenly as an apparition. Thragg's hand smoothed over your waist. You glanced at the camera with a soft, "Thank you."

It had to be a trick. An edit.

Your eyes, as if led on a string, drew up to Thragg's face. Your whole body relaxed, save your smile, that widened. Your touch grazed his chestplate, finger glittering with the very ring Mark proposed with. Before you remembered yourself and lowered the hand, mouth closing but smile never waning. You looked to the camera, bashful in his presence, sweet as a lamb.

She'd looked at him that way, his wife, never you. Air could not pass through Markus' closed throat.

You told the universe, "The last time you saw me, I was with the enemy, though I never wanted to be. Thragg set me free. I've never been happier. All I can ask, is if you need help, come to our wedding. We want to help you first, then dance with you later. The politics can wait."

Though your hair had changed and your skin wasn't dull and your clothes weren't bland: It was you.

Mark screamed and lunged for the screen.

"We can't wait to see you there."

The live feed cut.

The screen shattered under Mark's fists. Markus let him destroy the rest of it. Beside himself. Completely hollow. If a wind passed through him, his body would whistle a tune out the holes.

Gray stared at where you'd been. And there, in the cracks of white, was his Viltrumite heart.

Six months earlier.

Fever overtook you. Romantically, you could say it was because of loss. Really, it was because of infection. Even with the rudimentary medicines and Grayson constantly tending to it- the stigmata over your ribs festered and tried to pull you to Seb.

You lived. Sweating but so cold, any remaining fluid in your body leaking from your eyes. You were a person only in segments, Grayson dribbling water and a sustenance slurry passed your lips.

Sometimes, you were a wanderer on strange worlds. Climbing over mountains with a trusty walking stick Seb found. He pouted when you threw it away, so you turned back just so he would smile. You picnicked on purple peaks. You met the tiniest, mole people. Seb made them tiny sunglasses for their blind eyes. It was all so wonderful and stupid.

And other times, you were awake.

Terrified as only the sick can be. Smelling Thragg's heat as he regrew his flesh from feet above you. Unable to do much but blubber at Ollie, trying to prod you into reaction. Only able to watch Sebastian from where he planted himself, far away, but never out of sight. Always watching back.

Then there was The Asshole.

Quiet for the first few days. Feeding himself in drips. Looking at you with that fucking face on his face. Mocking and insults, you weren't sure were fever or reality.

The fever broke on the last day. Hours before landing. You were sniffling. He was looking. And it just happened.

***

Night nine of quarantine. One-hundred-fifty-two hours after landing.

Time was different here. You should have suspected. New planet, new rotation, new schedule.

You'd been deprived of watching days and nights pass for so long on the ship. It was the only pleasure you allowed yourself to sit at the long window, and watch time pass. There was no clock, but Grayson said the days were seventeen hours. It was only seven hours shorter than an Earth day, but you struggled to imagine how they functioned here. How could you do everything you needed to do, then sleep, in only seventeen hours?

The Thraxans did that, apparently, and then died after a single season. You weren't sure how long the seasons were or how many there were. You were fed details in short bursts. Thragg ate up most of Grayson's seventeen-hour days. Always wanting for more and more details of what he did in the empire. What had changed under the Mutts' rule, what his plans were. Which colonies were rebelling that he didn't know about.

Grayson didn't tell you what he was doing with Thragg. He didn't say much at all, but you knew he was working. While you waited at the window. Your shared bedroom behind you, purple and pale tan. Plants bursting out of shelves that smelled strongly of sap. On the end table by the bed, there was a woven basket arranged with yarns of all colors. A shuttle stuck through the middle, thoughtfully placed. A craft waiting for you, but you never got far enough to discover what it was.

You just sat at the window, looking at the reflected colors. The translucent outlines of furniture and decorations. Saw only your outline and was reminded Seb was not there with you. And cried.

You waited for more to be taken from you. For the imperial ship to appear in the pink sky. For this beautiful new hell to be destroyed.

But Mark never came.

The quarantine would end tomorrow. Ten days, Grayson's recommendation. Medicine had helped with the fever, but your side was still gnarly. Your immune system was weak from the fight. The world outside was teeming with foreign microbes just waiting to take advantage of your busy white blood cells. Apparently, Viltrum had been adding supplements to your food to artificially balance your immune system and fight off foreign bodies. Another violation you had not been aware of. You had recoiled at the notion, but Grayson was glad for the opportunity to keep everyone away from you.

When the sun rose, and the sky went pink, you'd be allowed to wander the imperial halls. Unimpeded by a collar or tracker. That much you were guaranteed. Thragg had said that himself that final day on the ship.

"I've been told things about how to keep a human by your companions. Many contradicting things. I ask you, how should you be kept?" He asked.

"I don't need to be kept." You'd said simply. Beside you, Grayson's throat bobbed.

Thragg's burgeoning mustache stretched as he smiled. "So it will be."

The door, that wretched thing that often betrayed you, opened.

You turned, gave the noise a sweet smile, the same one Mark liked when he entered the room.

You were able to drop the smile, to breathe as Grayson glittered in the eve. Already, he'd tanned two shades darker. At a glance he looked the same. Still in a white and gray uniform. The cut was different, no boot, no Viltrumite sigil or skirts. Stripes across his belly and knee. Arms still out. Arms plural, because he had a replacement prosthetic. Gold, where it was metal plating, teal, underneath where it was a squirmy biological matter. The limbs had more range than the Viltrum tech. Smoother. An upgrade.

You waited for him to talk. Set the tone so you could react.

This wasn't a good setup for either of you. Grayson was waiting for the same thing. All those plans A through Z, and he hadn't considered how to act after the fallout.

Somebody had to speak. "Is that for me?"

He carried a shallow plate made of twisted reeds. On it were fruits ranging from very spiky to smooth.

"Yes." He said. Between Thragg's demands and reconstructing empire technologies, Grayson was on a constant hunt. Researching what was and wasn't safe for human consumption, touching, and breathing in. Most foods, you could not digest, let alone chew. Your palate was small, but he was trying to expand it. Afraid too much sameness would harken back to the empire's nutrient blocks.

He set the plate down on the vanity table beside your chair. He waited for you to reach for a fruit but you didn't move. Waiting for him to direct.

In moments like these, you remembered how little you really knew each other. Mark's oppression had forced conversation, but here, you had all the time in the world to sit and wait for the other to talk. Seb would've talked. Talked and talked until you told him to shut up.

You picked one up, it fit in your palm, the skin leathery, and went for a bite.

His voice cracked, a squeak that made you stop. "Here."

He pulled the skin away and showed off the meat. "You can eat the white part, don't eat the seeds."

"Well, thank you." You finally took a bite as he watched and began prepping another. You put down the fruit, so delicious that you needed Grayson to try.

You reached for the next down the line, the spikest and a pale green. He pushed a different piece of fruit into your hand, setting the spiked one back down closer to him. Your eyebrows raised, "What, is there an order I have to eat them in?"

"No, no just..." He felt silly explaining it, vulnerable in a way he hadn't felt since he had first started dating her. "I think you'll like this one the best." His fingers shifted over the spikes.

You smiled, and he felt himself get hot all over, like he was in the heat of Viltrum once again. "Yeah? Saving the best for last?"

He couldn't speak, overwhelmed by your smile, by the memory of hers and how similar it was, so he just nodded.

They'd split up at the grocery store. His only job was to find the best produce. She swore he had a sixth sense for it, so freakishly good at finding the best fruits. Really, they weren't the ripest or highest grade, they were just what he noticed she liked. This fruit, she liked crunchier, that one, juicier. He always knew which slice to hand her, which bite she would prefer.

When she was gone he'd wander aimlessly around the store. Feeling up apples and thinking to himself, she'd love this. To her grave dirt, he'd go. Sitting, sniveling, and eating apples even though he hated them. Pretending to himself he was her, and things were the other way around.

You slurped down the membranous pockets of the next fruit, cracked open by Grayson. You'd thought it was too much food, but you were hungrier than you'd thought. You set half of each aside for him to have.

"All of it's for you." He said.

"You need to eat too." Over food, you could get to know each other better. This wouldn't be so awkward. You held a piece out to him, letting him choose whether or not to close the distance. He shied away.

"I'm taken care of." Thragg ensured he was fed well during their talks. Hot broths, pickled vegetables, close to what Mom made him in childhood. Too close. Eating them made him ache with misery. Thinking about eating more made him ache again.

The conversation dropped, shattered like glass. You ate the rest, the last fruit he handed you was the best thing you had eaten in months. Your smile was better than anything he'd seen in years.

Grayson disappeared into the conjoined bathroom. You followed to rinse your hands. The Thraxans had similar arrangements in toilets and baths. Hand carved soaps sat on the shelves, perfumed, and always left behind a thin veneer of blue-ish glitter behind. It left your skin a little rough, but you smelled better than you had in months. Even under the glowing crystal lights, you shimmered while looking absolutely miserable.

Mom always kept medicine in the bathroom so Grayson did too. A pill that looked more like a teacake came out of a pot by the sink, broken up with a sharp blue prong. He held it out between thumb and forefinger.

Hands still in the running water, you leaned forward and took the pill, fingers and all, into your mouth. Your tongue lathed between his fingers. The pill was swallowed, but you both stayed there. Frozen and wanting.

You moved first. Mouth opening to show the pill gone, swallowed like he wanted. Your tongue twitched under his thumb, able to escape but keeping itself there. Tamed.

You toweled your hands. Let his slick fingers out of your mouth. You could see in his eyes like you always did, he was waiting for something. You reconnected, a hand on his, eyes locked on his lips, this was where you knew him best. He saved you, he deserved it, he wanted it.

Grayson knew where that'd lead. "It's late." You weren't ready. You were coping the only way Mark ever let you. Morality didn't stop the hot coals in his gut from stirring.

Lust's glaze went dull over your face. Rejection. Another bad feeling to add to the pile. "You don't want to kiss me?"

"I-" Grayson's throat closed. He swallowed, once, twice. Cleared the blockage, but he couldn't make himself say it. He did want you. Badly. But he didn't want to be another Mark Grayson taking advantage of your vulnerability. That he had before was bad enough. Worse, would be you thinking of someone else the whole time.

He was flushed, mouth open as he looked for words that wouldn't come. You waited for him to close the distance again, but he never did. You turned away from him. Opened a tin, dipped a scrub brush into it, and started working at your teeth.

The bed sank under your backs. Tabby stitched blanket over both your bodies. The inches between you felt like miles.

Grayson waited for you to cry. You had the first few nights, curled into his stiff statue form. He rubbed your shoulder and existed beside you, but that was all he could give. His throat closed, or you'd cry louder over his words, or there was nothing good to say.

You didn't cry tonight, hadn't the last two nights. You just stared at the ceiling. Arm reached out, resting fingers on the side of his thigh just to feel someone there. His breath caught at the touch.

He could wait for you to fall asleep as he had night after night. Just to hear the rhythm of your breathing, the same as hers. That sound the only thing that put him to rest. But he had to tell you before tomorrow.

Grayson tasted the sap in the air. Swallowed a few times before he had the nerve to say, "They're cooperating with Thragg." You hadn't asked. Tried not to think of them or the fact that they got off that ship breathing instead of ejected as corpses.He kept going, better to get it all out now. "I've requested they be kept away from you. He said..."

"They will not have quarters in the palace. I will withhold her whereabouts for now. However, they will report to me in my office. If they find her, it's out of my control, I am not here to tend to your mate."

Though Grayson spoke less like a thousand-year-old vampire. "He promised nothing."

Your lips twitched. "Did you tell him what they did to me?" As you'd told Grayson, the second night of quarantine. Just trying to hurt him for confining you again. Quarantine made perfect sense, but those first nights you were angry. His face had fell and he'd said he was sorry. You'd let him hold you.

Neither of you brought it up since.

Immediately, "No." Grayson knew by now, Thragg didn't care about rape.

You said nothing and he knew you were thinking of finding them, of doing what you thought had to be done.

"I know you want out, but please, wait for me to get back tomorrow. I want to be with you. Please." His voice cracked on the last word.

"I have powers, Grayson, I'll be fine." One's you'd been practicing on him at night. Nothing strenuous, just enough to stretch those stiff muscles. Practice didn't happen tonight. If you started, you wouldn't stop till he was eating you. You wouldn't force him. You weren't Mark.

"It would..." Markus would say 'be safer.' Gray would say 'be safer.' Mark would say 'be nice if you just fucking listened to me.' "Make me feel better," Grayson said.

He's soft to you. Always. You kept expecting a sting at the end of every word, but it never came.

You wanted to be soft too, but you just couldn't. "It's their fault the ship... Seb..." Fists twisted the tabby. "You know they need to die."

"I do." He'd thought about it, had dreamed about their corpses still at his feet, silent. He wanted it as much as he wanted you. Badly. Knowing you wanted the same thing. The dirty work had to be for him, so you could stay pristine up on your pedestal. He'd get grimy for you. Your body count would be closer to hers if it stopped now. "But it puts us at risk, we can't-"

"Then let's just leave before Thragg finds out." You'd gone from under one thumb to another. You couldn't do it again. No more evil Marks. You wanted to run but had no end in mind, just wanted to be away.

"There's nothing else." And he wasn't lying.

You looked at him, and the words jammed. "There has to be something."

"You're the empress of Viltrum. Anyone who sees you will attack you or ransom you to the Empire. We can't make an enemy of Thragg."

You knew what would happen in the empire. "Stop fuckin' crying. You asked for this." He'd say before they put you under. Control of your mind and powers hadn't been enough for him. You'd wake up without legs or hands to command or a tongue to speak. He'd force his cock into your shell of a body. Then coo against your neck, saying, "We figured it out, babe, you're gonna live forever."

Grayson had a point, but, "Fuck, it's never over, is it?"

"It will be."

Your caress turned to a hard grip on his thigh. "When?"

He didn't know. Didn't know if Thragg could even win. Didn't know if Mark would somehow ever find you or not. Didn't know if he'd get his happily ever after. That'd fix him, he thought. Without war everything could be normal again. His voice wouldn't scratch and conversations would come easier. But he was running from something too.

"Grayson?"

All the comfort he'd got after what Dad did was, "Sorry, kid," from Cecil. He wanted to be better, to be the thing he needed all those years ago, but he didn't know what to say. He had been a creature, a shadow who hunted and had no need for a voice. Now he found himself human again, his own body an ill fitting suit.

The machinery compressed Dad to pecs and a head. "You haven't come to your senses, have you?"

Grayson said nothing.

The silent alarm was going. There'd be a hundred guards in here within the next fifteen seconds.

"There's nothing for you here," Dad said. "There's no point in revenge. They're never coming back."

Grayson flattened out his palm, felt his heartbeat. Alive.

Dad's mustache twitched. "Fine. Kill me. Have no family." He expected his sweet little boy to hesitate in the windup, Grayson did not. "Cecil wants you to do this. You're being controlled by humans, again. It's your fault fo-"

"It's not your fault."

He came out the womb soft, earlier than a human should, much earlier than a Viltrumite should. A squishy, pink thing that was in an incubator for three days. Mom said he reached for her through the glass even though he couldn't see yet.

It took his body longer for his bones to fuse. Longer for him to walk, he rolled in Mom's retellings. Longer for him to ditch the baby blankies and stuffed bears. When fuzz started on his upper lip, Dad was so excited he smiled and patted his shoulder. He shaved it off. Shaved it smooth and washed his face, and did pilates with Mom instead of weight training with his father. He met her and slept with her squishmallows. He wore her favorite colors, he met her friends, he melted into a man before his parents' eyes. A human man.

"I think I wanna look at engagement rings. I know we're young, but..." Mom cried when he said. Hugged him and rocked them back and forth.

Dad stood in the kitchen. Smelling the soup he loved in a pot that he loved. Wearing his polo and khakis. So disgusted at his spawn, but he'd become the same thing. His son the reason he realized they were too human.

"What?" You asked.

"What happened," he said, "there was nothing you could've done."

They were going to go to a local jeweler next week. He was going to sneakily ask her about diamond cuts- if there was even a way to do that. He was going to snatch a ring out her jewelry box for a size.

He and Mom giggled about it over lunch just hours ago. She said she'd help pay for the wedding. She said she was excited for a daughter-in-law. She said she loved him.

She was dead six hours later. They both were.

"They didn't see it coming." Dad hovered down. Cape dark at the bottom. A strand of her hair stuck in the red. "But I wish you did." He tsked, "You made me do this."

It was something he had wanted to hear, that he had been helpless, that there were no signs he missed, and her death would have happened even if he saw them. Everyone had looked at Invincible and knew it was his fault. His fault he lost his family, his fault thousands had died. You didn't deserve that burden. He expected tears, for you to reach out. Even in his most pessimistic imagining, you just rolled your eyes at him but still smiled.

But your lip curled, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He blinked.

"They made it pretty fucking clear there was nothing I could do while they raped me." The sheets snapped, you were out of bed.

"(Y/n), no, I-"

You thought about running, but you were running out of people who cared about you, who would deal with your outbursts. You knew Seb would have chased you, would have bitched back, and held you afterwards. Your legs felt weak as you sat heavily in the chair you'd spent every day in.

"It's fine," but it wasn't. You said nothing for minutes until the rage steamed off you. "I'm sorry."

He wanted to say again, "It's not your fault," so he said nothing at all.

You were both silent. You watched clouds drift in the purple sky as the day faded away. Only when the rhythm of your breath deepened did he stand and drape the blanket over you. There wasn't enough of it at your feet to cover himself with, but he lay there nonetheless.

You woke alone. Afternoon sun on your face. Same purple buildings on the horizon. Day ten. You could leave anytime you wanted. Explore whatever, wherever.

Seb would be knocking at your door by now. "Dude. Get up! I gotta show you some crazy shit." Shit he'd have already told you about, sat outside your door through all ten days just talking.

You b-lined for the bathroom. For your teacake pill.

Grayson gave it to you only at night, hoping sleep would make it so you didn't notice the high. You noticed in how heavily you slept, in how your fingers felt floaty right before you drifted off. You'd been taking crumbs of it in the mornings, hoping he wouldn't notice. He did.

It was the only way you could get through the day. Today you'd just need a little more. A third of a pill, no, that was too little, a half then, no, at that point you should just take the whole thing.

Hunched over the sink, you swallowed the pill with water. Then you waited. For Grayson to escort you around like a prize doll or for Seb to somehow come knocking.

You'd never been awake longer than an hour after a full dose. Had never felt the lightness go all the way up your arms and down your legs. Pressure relieved from the back of your skull, like you hadn't cried a day in your life. For the first time in days, you felt okay.

Star fished in bed, sheets over you, you tried not to doze. It'd be easy. With the sun on you and the sound of people outside and the food Grayson had left in your belly and-

"Isn't it nice here?" He said.

You sat up, expecting Grayson at the door. Worse, Ollie. Nobody was there. Or in the bathroom, or in your sheets.

"It's okay. It's okay." He assured, quick, quiet. Like he didn't want to be heard, like anyone could hear him but you, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Where are you?" You rolled to look under the bed, but that was impossible, the bed was propped up on solid stone.

"It took me so long to get out of that pit, but I did it. I did it for you."

Stupid as only a high person could be, you looked under the covers.

The dark looked back. "Can you see me?" It whispered. "I'm..." Shock made you lose focus, lose the sound. You had to try to hear it again. "It's just me." You squinted, and there was something between your feet, like the shell of a rolly polly blown up a hundred times. "I miss you."

"You're dead."

"It's okay. I'm okay, just, come here." His voice didn't sound right. Less sweet, less scratchy.

You scooted backward, reeling in your legs.

"Hey, wait, don't go." Another of Baldie's lenses shone out the pitch. He was a formless dark that somehow was coming closer, you just knew it. "I forgive you for what you did. The scar isn't bad, it's just big." Something squelched.

You scrambled out of bed. "Don't go out there. The light is- Don't go. The light is going to hurt you." Sensors picked up your movement. For a solid second, the doors didn't move, you were trapped and Grayson lied. "I just want you to be safe. They're out there." The door moved to the left with a mechanical vrrrt.

The shellac walls of the hallway shone. Everything was except the plush, red rug running through the middle. Herringbone instead of tabby. A pattern no one would notice unless they looked closely, because there was nowhere else they wanted to look for fear of seeing their dead boyfriend.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be like that. Let's start over." Baldie called at your back.

You turned, and the blankets were still. "Come back." He mewled from inside your mattress. I'll be good, I promise. I didn't mean to, please talk to me. Please, please, I love you."

You ran from the room and didn't look back.

The hallway bent into more hallways that seemed to go nowhere. Lots of windows, even more foliage. Endless turns. You wound up at your bedroom door.

"Ah! I wasn't aware you were done with your interlude." You spun to find a blue...? Creature? Insect? Person? He stood on two stick-pole legs, his arms nearly as long with protrusions coming just off the wrist. Bulbous red eyes like something out of a Ripley's Believe It or Not- scanned you right back. His lips opened, closed, opened, just as bewildered

He didn't blink (mostly because he couldn't) at your gawking, continued, "Shall I alert the Monarch?"

Weren't the Thraxans more human-shaped?

You picked your jaw up off the floor. "No." You weren't sure who that was. "No, I'm just walking."

"Do you require an escort?" He offered a two ponged claw to guide you by.

"Uh, sure?"

That's how you wound up in a courtyard. Flowers three times your size shaded the walkways. Pillars where vines crawled, reaching into the sky as arches that went beyond your sight. Stems shifted toward you when you neared, though that may too be hallucination.

Nuzlocke, you learned his name, left you with a warning not to eat anything.

For minutes you wandered. Twisting toward rustling leaves. Walking faster when shadows were too large. It was better than going back to the room where you knew his ghost would be.

"Heeeey, killer." Pollen dusted around Ollie's feet when he landed. "Love the outfit, sage is such a cute color on you."

Bones reset, outsides went back in, Ollie didn't have a bruise on him. No, he was milky in the sun. Arms and legs on display, a cheerleader's uniform on the rest of him. White and gold and gray, pearlescent like he was worth something.

Mark only caught up to the ship because of him. The man who forced his way into so many of your crevices. The man who smiled as you took in a breath. Stood there and waited for sweet, sensual violence.

"Turn around. Walk away."

Peace, for all of thirty seconds. He found you relocated under a tree, rubbing velvety leaves between your fingers. "Anything else you wanna do to me?" You opened your mouth, but that was still too slow. "I'll get you if you don't."

"Leave me alone."

Forty-five seconds this time. Enough time for you to abscond back into the halls on jello legs, hoping he wouldn't find you.

Ollie did. Laying down in the air over your head, whining, "I didn't mean like that. I meant crazier. I could adapt to being completely blind, honestly, if you want any ideas."

You took a turn. Reasoning with yourself that Grayson had to be right.

"Wait, come on, no silent treatment. Puh-lease, I've been so bored. I thought leaving would make it different, but it's just work, work, work, with everyone all the time. And Marky will barely talk to me! Like, I thought we had this big breakthrough friendship moment with me saving his life or whatever- but noooo. Then you were sick again or whatever. On my breaks, I just fly around fast as I can looking for something to do then boop- little spot of green in the garden. I knew that was my (Y/n)."

"I literally don't care." You made a point not to look at him. For Grayson. For Seb, who wouldn't want you to fuck up your freedom.

Ollie landed in front of you, hands extended, "Look, I'm sorry about what happened in the cell." Two seconds his genuine expression lasted, then he was laughing. "Okay, you got me, I'm not sorry. But! I was good! We could've been waaaaay wooorse."

"Stop talking." You left his stunned husk of a body for another hallway. Not for long. His shadow loomed back over your head, but at least he'd shut up.

The connection waned, forty seconds. He reloaded on air, aimed, fired, "You're a lil better than last time. Been working on it since we got here, I bet. You can show me a little more, yeah? Don't you wanna punish me for what I did? Come on. Come on!"

Another turn, you were back in the garden? You wondered if there was a map. Wondered if that shape under that flower was Seb or Baldie's ghost. "I'll kill you so fast you won't get to be gross about it."

Ollie did a slow roll through the air, "You don't want it to hurt? That's so mean."

"That's the point."

"How are you gonna do it? Wait, don't tell me." He landed beside you. Too close. Hand trying to worm into yours. You jerked away into a thorn bush. "Oh, poor you. Don't wiggle around too much, it'll hurt worse. You know that, though, don't you?"

You grabbed onto a nearby trunk to yank yourself out. Ollie, a voyeur to your mild annoyance. The best entertainment he'd had in days. You swept debris off yourself, huffed at the new holes in your skirts. Did anything you could to keep yourself from doing what he wanted.

"Missed a spot." A barb was plucked out of your cheek. "Oh, wait." He licked his thumb and wiped away the blood.

You batted him away with a, "Don't-"

Ollie caught your wrist, smiling. "Oh-ho-ho, shit, I can't believe I didn't notice your eyes till now. You're on exo, aren't you?" He'd learned lots of things about those pills they'd given you on the ship. By your reaction, you hadn't. "Thaaattt's why you haven't killed me. Doesn't your boyfriend know it's habit forming? And you've like, had habits."

"Let go." He did, still smiling through the command, you couldn't help biting, "Grayson knows what he's doing." You told yourself. Doubt's bubbling.

"Does he? Cuz here I thought, aw man, Robo Cop's gonna be all over (Y/n)! I'm never getting her alone again. And where do I find you?" He waited half a second for a reply you both knew you wouldn't give, "Alone. Zenned out to the point you don't want to kill me. Which is all very sweet and very stupid of you."

"He's doing important work. You're flying around in a miniskirt." Was your best defense for him. Your last bastion of a good Mark.

"First of all, it's a skort." Ollie lifted the hem and showed off overly tight golden shorts. You hated it here. "Also, if you wanna ask what I'm up to, you don't gotta be so coy. I'll tell you anyway." He floated up, crossing his ankles as if he were a cherub. Was he trying to be cute? "Like, a bunch of shit, like lots of running around, but I'm mostly combat training those stupid kids. Thragg gets so mad when I kill them in a super not fun way, so I had to stop that. Cuz who wants to kill someone's kid then get lectured about it? Are we freakin' serious? Just hit me, man."

You shouldn't have engaged, but the question bubbled up, "They let you around kids?"

Ollie's eye glittered. Finally, headway. He gushed. "I know, right? Thragg calls them the nymphs, which I thought meant he didn't really care about them but holy shit, he does. I thought since they're half-bugs and purple, he wouldn't care, but they're Viltrumite enough I can't kill them without dignity or whatever. I dunno, he's crazy, but the kids love me. Which is sweet but boring. Marky got the fun job."

Your face closed like a door. Slammed shut, locked, boarded up, at the reminder of what they had done. You started walking again.

Ollie followed with a smile, he knew it upset you and wanted more. "He's an enforcer. Same shit as before, which I thought was worse at first, but now I wanna be the one enforcing cuz I wanna kill the bugs that aren't strong enough to have kids. Can you imagine how awful that'd be, lucky you, don't have to get pregnant, but now a weird Viltrumite has to kill you." He could. Be so easy to do to you. He wanted it. Except you didn't flop around and scream tantalizingly.

You just walked slowly out of the garden. Whispers in your ear, if you focused, you could hear what they were saying. Rather to be bored or hallucinating than talk to him. Ouch.

"Oh please," he said at your back, "you know I could be doing so much worse to you right now, but I'm not. It's not that hard to carry a conversation with me, is it?"

"It's very hard."

"You can do more than say three words at a time. You know this'll be easier if you talk to me, you know what I can do." The first few days, he was satiated to explore. Week two into Thraxa, he didn't care anymore about all the colors and weird children and bug people. He wanted company that Sebastian wouldn't keep. Too moody to talk to him longer than a minute these days.

You'd be a good peace offering. Then round two would be so much fun. After, you'd all be closer. More apt to keep his company.

Except you weren't biting. "Grayson rubbing off on you already? God, I bet he has in your sleep, just hunched over you like a freak." Bite. Come on, bite. "It's true, isn't it? You'd be safer if I were there. I've been so bored without you." Where was your room anyway?

"You did fine enough when I was dead." You nipped. The sting was familiar, an echo of the old you who made Bash bust his jaw. An echo of-

"Are you gonna post it?" The photo she'd snapped of him. His arms behind his head, the city under him. Her thighs wrapped around his waist. She'd teetered dangerously during the shot, but damn, if it wasn't home screen worthy.

Gum smacked in her cheek. "She's still stalking my Insta, she'll flip."

"I can take her," Ollie said. "I mean, we've been pretty obvious. It's her fault for ignoring how you've been acting." Ollie liked saying what he really thought. Instead of GDA scripts or Dad's advice to just stop talking. With her, he could be loose. He'd never had so much fun. She liked adding on. Conversations like games, winding each other up on and on.

Two months since she'd called him over the fence. Two weeks ago, she'd made it official. Boyfriend and girlfriend, even though she was talking to Eve again. Playing multiple fields never hurt. Except when you weren't Invincible. Whatever. It was all above-board, Eve had hurt her back plenty of times.

"I mean, yeaaah." Her thumb hovered over the post icon. A bow gif on Ollie's head and a pop song on loop displayed in the corner. "She did kiss Kate at that New Year's party. I know we were on break at the time, but it was like, literally a day after. Like, let my side of the bed get cold. Fuck."

He could stop her. Keep these rendezvous secret long as he wanted. Kissing and sex was nice. She was nice. Sneaking around was a nicer feeling. But just the thought of people finding out, the public that hated him, Eve, Rex, it made Ollie's heart race. Invincible had a girlfriend. Invincible, the worst superhero around, was happier than you. Invincible stole Adam Eve's girl. Now those were good headlines.

"Hurt her back then." He ran a hand up her side, fingers threading through her belt loop, tugging. "She deserves it."

She thought while his hand roamed, thumb brushing the skin between her shirt and pants. "We should go all in then."

"How?" Ollie hummed, near dizzy with arousal. The world under them, not having a clue what they were up to.

She unbuttoned his blazer.

Gel undone, shirt open, his lips with the slightest glitter of her lip gloss. Clearly mid-moan. Eve sobbed on the toilet, phone resting on her thigh.

Ollie's phone blew up for the first time ever. Eve. Rex. Her. Celebrity scalpers who stalked friends and relatives of supes. His heart raced, faster, faster. They took more pictures. He nearly dropped her at thirty-thousand feet. They laughed at the messages. Eve's confusion in both of their DM's. Horrible together.

He came home one o'clock in the afternoon the next day. Dad waited in the living room, arms crossed. The lecture was legendarily long. "Blah, blah, distraction, blah, blah, irresponsible, blah, blah, below your heritage." He recited it to her later. They'd parrot that line back and forth. Even in his house with Dad downstairs. Back and forth.

She was dead just after his nineteenth birthday.

There was a time he wasn't so sad. Viltrum's missionaries brought him to wonderful places and told him to lay waste. Wasting was good work. Reporting, guarding, and waiting for the next kill was not. Viltrumites, like humans, did not accept him into their pre-established folds. Again, he was an outsider.

The time between good things seemed to stretch longer and longer. Until everything was a supermassive gray blob, followed sometimes by occasional sprees of murder that only felt shorter everytime.

He told a quivering Qorsnac one dreary night, "You know. I kinda wish I saw it coming. Nipped that puppy at the bud. I could've made some crazy cold cases I think. Been a real Jack the Ripper type. She'd be so scared she'd be next." He rolled the aliens eyeball between his nails. "I'd tell her nobody could ever hurt her long as we're together and she'd believe me. God. It'd be so hot. But I wouldn't hurt her, I think. Not knowing what I know now. I'm all like, hindsight. Maybe I'd get her to do it with me if she found out. Maybe I'd let her. I think that'd be fun. Good couple's bonding but, ah. She's dead like the rest of your family."

The thing tried to crawl away. Toward the muck that was the others. "You really care about them, don't you? Crying like that, it's so weird. Does it help? It just seems annoying. I was so tired of mom crying all the time that when she killed herself, I was so relieved." It stopped over its mate. Wailing.

Ollie came to himself. Talking to an alien who didn't want him there. Nobody wanted him anywhere, except to work. In that broken down den, with so many corpses, he'd never felt so alone.

-that nasty, awful girl he loved.

"Would you believe me if I said I missed you? Obviously you should. I literally pretended to trust Angstrom to see you again. Doesn't that count for something? It has to, you love pathetic guys." Desperate, he thought as soon as it came out his mouth. Badly, he wanted to hear you coo it. Call him desperate with your nail under his chin.

"Jesus, you're desperate." Except you didn't touch him. Arms tucked to body, like touching the space around him at all would infect you with cooties.

Yes, yes, yes!

"Maybe, but you know what else I am? Super, super in love with you." He tried.

"Fuck off."

He floated right over your head. You reached up, fingers curling in his hair, and pushed him backwards. Without looking, you kept walking, barking out, "Stay."

Yes!

Fabric whispered across the smooth brickwork path. "Human minds are prone to wander. I see their bodies are as well." Thragg lifted a petal out the way of his head. The reddest man you'd ever seen stepped into the sun. Fabric the cause this time, not a lack of skin. A smear of red in a sea of cool colors. A statement.

"Hey boss," Ollie turned, released by your surprise, "we're kinda in the middle of something."

Thragg paid him no mind, head swiveling fluidly despite his thick neck. Overly muscled to the point it didn't seem like it could move. "Your insights are valuable," he said to Grayson at his left, "except when it comes to her, I see."

He'd said you'd be in your rooms. Waiting. Weak. Possibly without the ability to walk so Thragg would have to wait even longer to speak to you. You, the dull figure he'd painted for Thragg in hoped he'd lose interest. Yet when Thragg looked at you, his eyes gleamed. Found treasure, twinkling under dramatic stage light. A weapon in multiple regards he planned on using.

Grayson started to pivot, "She-"

Thragg had no interest in hearing of you when you were in front of him, turning his intense attention to you. "I understand the sun rejuvenated many species. Good to better yourself than hide."

Your back straightened under his gaze. Grayson had painted a photo of him for you too. Conniving, violent, unpredictable. You swallowed, unsure of how to act.

The man before you looked utterly incapable of tyranny. Muscles rounded out, his mustache had grown back. He looked like a good neighbor. But good neighbors didn't hang around people like Sebastian, who stood at attention by his right hip. Dressed in gold and black. Arms exposed, a skirt short in front and long in back. A sort of regality to the odd cut. Even more if you considered how well he'd done his hair.

His eyes, black at pits, bore into you. Behind his back, his palms sweated and itched, but he made no sudden moves, frozen unsure if he were prey or predator.

You should say something. In your experience, sociopaths in power didn't like to be ignored. "The sun is nice." Nice one.

Thragg did not mind your jaunted speech or wandering eye. Humans were untrained in the art of proper diplomacy. As shown by Mark and his many copies. This cultural difference, he would allow for the time being. You too, would eventually kneel to Argall's five tenants.

"A tour will do excellent for you then. Come."

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