THRAGG'S DAUGHTER
warnings: mark is a stupid pervert, mark likes to get beaten up, bdsm (?), mark yandere, some spoilers for the penultimate episode of season 4.
summary: What if, in the end, you were Thragg's daughter?
author's note: drabble, just products of my imagination while watching the penultimate episode of the series. I'll probably turn it into a mini-series ;)
The vacuum of space is usually cold and silent, but in the heat of the Viltrumite War, it felt like a pressurized furnace of blood and kinetic energy. Amidst the chaos of splintering moons and the screams of the Coalition, Mark Grayson’s world suddenly narrows.
He isn't looking at the Grand Regent. He isn't even looking at the trail of destruction his father and Allen are carving through the Viltrumite ranks.
He is looking at you.
Standing just a few paces ahead of Thragg, you are the ultimate anomaly. Thaedus hadn't prepared them for this; the idea of Thragg having a "prodigy" daughter—a warrior born of pure Viltrumite lineage and refined for nothing but conquest—was a nightmare scenario. Yet, there you are. Your posture is terrifyingly perfect, arms crossed behind your back, your **(eye color)** eyes glowing with a feral, predatory brilliance that makes the stars behind you look dim.
Mark’s jaw literally drops. A small, pathetic thread of saliva escapes his mouth. Beside him, Allen the Alien nudges him, though the Unopaun’s expression shifts from confusion to realization. Everyone on the battlefield can see it: Invincible, the savior of Earth, has just fallen head-over-heels for the daughter of his greatest enemy.
Driven by a sudden, manic surge of adrenaline, Mark decides he’s done with the distractions. Anissa lunges at him, her hands outstretched to tear him apart, but Mark doesn't even blink. He connects a devastating hook to her jaw, sending the elder Viltrumite spiraling through the debris, colliding with Allen in a messy blur of capes.
Mark’s focus is singular. He sees Thragg, the man who wants his entire bloodline erased, beckoning him. Mark lunges, a golden streak of defiance aimed straight at the Regent.
But he never reaches him.
You move faster than his eyes can track. One moment you are a statue of lethal grace; the next, you are a blur of motion. Your fist connects with his face with the force of a collapsing star. The impact shatters one of his lenses, the glass digging into his skin, and the sheer momentum sends him hurtling backward, coughing up a spray of crimson that drifts in the zero-gravity like morbid confetti.
Mark groans, a pathetic, airy sound. He hears Oliver’s distant, panicked scream: "Mark! Get up!"
But as Mark forces his eyes open, his vision isn't blurry from the concussion. His pupils are blown wide, pulsing in the unmistakable shape of hearts. The pain is there, sharp and throbbing, but it’s eclipsed by a rush of endorphins that makes his skin tingle. He is dazed, bleeding, and utterly, hopelessly smitten.
He rights himself, floating unsteadily as he looks at you. His voice, projected through the telepathic link shared by the warriors, is unnervingly calm and soft.
“Look... I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his tone sounding more like a plea for a date than a declaration of war. “I know you’re Thragg’s daughter... but you have to know that all this Viltrumite supremacy stuff is totally wrong and outdated, right?”
You look at him with a gaze so filled with pure, unadulterated disdain that it should have withered his soul. To Mark, however, it’s the most intoxicating thing he’s ever seen. He feels like he could drop to his knees right there in the void and kiss your boots.
“That is nonsense,” your voice rings in his mind, cold and sharp as a blade. Mark’s eyes roll back into his head for a fleeting second; the mere vibration of your thoughts is enough to make his knees weak. “I will take it upon myself to kill you, Son of Nolan, and display your head for my father.”
It is a gruesome, terrifying threat—standard Viltrumite fare. But Mark doesn't flinch. If anything, his grin grows wider, more determined. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen, or maybe he’s been in space too long with nothing but his own hormones for company, but he’s reached a conclusion.
Something as beautiful and lethal as you doesn't belong on the wrong side of history. And he is going to make sure you realize that—even if he has to let you hit him a few more times to prove his point.
NEXT CHAPTER: 02
