I wake up, and nothing's quite right.
The initial thing I'm aware of is the tremendous weight of my own frame. It's crushing, so much heavier than it should be, as if my muscles hold something other than flesh and bone. My movements are both graceful and intentional, yet filled with incredible power. My senses are heightened to an unbelievable level.
Next, the memories came flooding back.
I am Conquest.
Yet I am not.
I see myself carving my way across civilizations, reducing entire worlds to smoldering graveyards. I see the blood on my hands—a mountain of it—and yet I remember it all. I remember it, actually. I remember the feel of flesh rippling under my knuckles, the satisfying crunch of bone, the fiery feel of combat, the rush of excitement in destruction. It is all so real.
There is, however, another part of me. The one that remembers the late night online forums arguing over whether Mark would ever stand up to Thragg on his own. The one that remembers reading the Invincible comics in bed, just some dude wading into a universe that I thought existed in fantasy.
And now, I'm in it.
"What the fuck." My voice booms out, low and unusual, as if an earthquake had assumed physical form.
[Welcome to The Conqueror's Ledger System.]
"Oh, hell no."
There is a screen floating before me, suspended in the air. Its rich red color thumps with an almost living energy, moving with every breath I inhale. The words come, keen and knife-edged.
[The Butcher's Voice is active.]
[Destruction Points (DP): 0]
[Brutality Multiplier (BM): 1.0x-]
[Carnage Level (CL): 0-]
[Perks Ready: 0]
For sure. This is Gamer shit. But I know I feel it—the figures aren't just nameless digits floating inside my head. They represent a craving, a feral hunger crying to be satisfied. I'm keenly aware of what it makes me do.
Assemble DP. Heighten BM. Augment CL.
I already know how to do it.
I crack my knuckles, the crackling metaphorically filling the silence that envelops me. My muscles stiffen involuntarily, and without any voluntary action, my physique performs the action with flawless accuracy. No jerky motion, no tell of doubt.
Then it clicks.
I know where I am, when I am.
I know what the future holds.
I stand at the threshold of space, the cold vacuity surrounding me as a quiet promise, and I do not need to breathe. I merely crave destruction. Earth, spinning below me, keeps its breath.
I know this moment.
This is the time I'm supposed to arrive. The moment I'm supposed to land and announce my presence. To face Mark Grayson after the Invincible War.
But there's one problem.
I am not the Conquest you would expect.
The old me would have jumped at the opportunity to dive into combat, without so much as a moment's consideration. Another death battle. But now? Now I have knowledge. And a damned HUD flashes continually in front of my vision.
It is driven by a hunger. It requires cruelty.
I exhale, bracing my muscles, and then I dive—in swiftly. The air around me bursts with force. I'm a missile, a force of nature diving into my combat zone.
It takes seconds. The city below grows, details sharpening with my enhanced vision. Skyscrapers. Streets. The pathetic insects that scurry across them, unaware of what's about to land in their backyard.
And subsequently I crash into the ground, the impact resonating throughout the city. The pavement cracks. Glass bursts. Air distorts and curls around me.
I rise.
People are screaming. Running. They don't matter. Only one person here matters.
Mark.
I hold back my smile. The Former Conquest would've, but my mission is here in the carnage, in seeking points for my System.
I shrug my shoulders, and my voice comes out like rolling thunder—low, uncompromising, and serious. Quite different from the Jeffrey Dean Morgan that gave voice to Conquest.
"Stand ready for my arrival, worm."
I could have sworn I saw Mark shudder.
He's just a speck on the ground below, yet my gaze hones itself as if I wore a camera lens on my own skull. Standing steadfast, his Invincible costume conforms to his physique as if it had been painstakingly brushpainted on. His biceps bulge with so much bulk that it's difficult not to doubt the seams on his costume. And his jawline--so razor-sharp it could cut through glass without any sign of struggle.
"This is not a good time," Mark said chillingly with an unearthly seriousness. Gasps rippled across the lips of the spectators, their eyes growing wide in a combination of fear and reverence as they gazed on the colossus who had just emerged amongst them. Mark's jaw is clenched, teeth crunching over each other in annoyance. "You've got the wrong planet. The wrong person. And, definitely, the wrong fucking day."
I couldn't help it; a loud guffaw escaped, echoing off city sidewalks. "Worms always think there's room to bargain. But let me introduce you to your new reality."
I tightened my fists, the air around me shimmering with unmistakable power. "You stand in the presence of Conquest," I announced. "I am the wrath of the Viltrum Empire. I have never failed in my quest to conquer a planet, and I have no intention of beginning with yours. Stand down before me, or you will die."
Even as I've been transported here through happenstance, memories of my previous life as Conquest persist within me, vivid and sharp. Trust me when I tell you that my loyalty to the Viltrum Empire runs deep within me—the essence of my being. The weight of centuries lived in conquest and destruction sits heavy on my back, a constant that hums within every cell of my being. And yet, strangely, I've come to feel a new sort of... meaning, maybe? It's as if I've played an entire lifetime on easymode in a game, then been suddenly deposited into hardcore level with cheats enabled. And let's not discount the HUD now embedded in my field of vision—a high-tech overlay directly plastered onto my retinas.
Here I stand, a serious Conquest, exuding self-confidence as an energizing force runs through my very being. And standing before me is Mark, the hapless, innocent Mark, staring up at me, willing to fight for the future of Earth.
"You've got to be fucking with me," says Mark, his tightly clenched fists as if his veins would burst forth with rage. The ground shakes where he stands, not with fear, so much as anticipation of unleashing the unbridled power he is about to unleash. "I've had a shitty week, and you're about to be the one to pay for it."
"Oh, I'm not fucking around." I reply, my voice falling to a menacing snarl. "You've got no idea what's coming."
We both leap into the air, our movements occurring so rapidly that any mortal eye cannot possibly keep up. We employ the air as our battleground, and the ground below is simply a platform for our own demonstration of power. The wind rushes past our faces as we clash and grapple with one another, the vicinity was filled with our testosterone.
Too bad it wasn't working out for Mark, the battle being rather akin to halting a runaway train with your bare fists. I got a glimpse of humor in his futility in attempting to engulf me. My HUD on my field of view lit red, indicating his power level on the attack, and I couldn't help but have a chuckle. It was quaint, actually. Like seeing a kitten swat at a lion.
I grasped his thin neck, my hand wrapping firmly around it. His eyes opened wide with astonishment, his fingers frantically grasping at my unyielding hold. "You think you're tough, don't you?" I taunted, the wind rushing past our heads as we free-fell towards the ground. "Let me demonstrate true power."
I snapped my wrist, and Mark crashed into the side of a building. It groaned as it got hit, his body leaving a dented impression on the concrete. He careened floor after floor, a cloud of dust and destruction in his wake. It was a stomach-churning crunch as he hit each time, his body contorting in directions he couldn't control. He was a rag doll in the grasp of a hyper-strong toddler.
The last skyscraper wobbled precariously as Mark bludgeoned it to destruction. The building's tenants shrieked in terror, their fear-wrenched faces flashing across the windows before being destroyed by the impact of airborne rubble. The building teetered, poised on the verge of crumbling, and collapsed. Its deafening crash echoed across the area. It was dust in the air and the aroma of crushed concrete.
But Mark wasn't done being my personal ragdoll.
I rooted through the wreckage, my gaze scanning the ruins. And then I saw it—his arm, protruding out of the ruins like some pitiful signal. The costume sleeve had ripped, revealing the muscular arm underneath. It brought a perverse sense of pride and... whatever. Like I'd had some kind of mission to fulfill, but half of me was deriving a kick out of this trash.
I got hold of his arm, the fabric of his suit clung to my hand, and pulled. Mark's frame burst out of the wreckage like a cork popping out of champagne, flying through the air. He looked so small, so vulnerable. And I was treating him like you'd treat a toy. My heart was pounding, but not with exertion. With excitement. With the rush. With the ability to do whatever I pleased and nobody being in a position to do anything about it.
"Where do you wish to go next?" I taunted, my voice a blend of the Conquest's malevolence and my own evil glee.
"Fuck you," Mark cursed, his own face disfigured by bruises and torn fabric. His eyes, however, were unyielding. He was a cockroach, and he wouldn't die even when the whole building collapsed on his head.
I laughed, my hold on his arm tightening. "So much passion. It's just so misplaced in one so delicate." I tossed him across the air as I might toss a basketball and me doing a slam dunk. He flew up into the air, the wind screaming past his silhouette, and he looked for an instant like a black star flying up.
Reaching the pinnacle of his arc, I fired after him, my position gliding through the air with the beauty of a predator. He was a red glow within the hues of the dying sun, he turned into a ball of fire. The people on the ground below knew not what I was up to, yet their screams were the highest as I flew towards the zenith of our own secret game.
I clenched my fist back, my expression a snarl which could be called nothing short of terrifying. The wind whirled past me, my muscles coiling tighter than wire. I unleashed my full force, and it seemed my entire being had been condensed into one point of pure power.
My knuckles grazed the surface of Mark's chest, and the universe around me came to still. For an instant, I sensed the weight of his body, the bracing tension of bone and muscle, then nothing. Only the shriek of the air as he pierced it. His eyes stood wide open with astonishment, his mouth an 'O' of disbelief. And then he was a dot in the air, growing smaller, smaller, until he disappeared over the line.
Because it's not over yet.
I'm tracking with the kind of focus you reserve for a first-person shooter's clutch headshot. My HUD-targeting him, his HP flashing like a Vegas marquee. The moment he is about to splat onto the ground after leveling skyscrapers, I bound after. The thrill of chase, the power of the grab—is all game now.
But just as I'm going to kill him, something strange occurs. He looks up at me, his eyes with something that gives me pause for a moment. It's not fear. It's not anger. It's... desperation.
"Please," he wheezes, his voice cracked from the punishment I've inflicted on him. His chest is moving up and down, his costume torn, revealing a physique less than mortal, yet more divine. His stomach is a string of islands, each island a distinct and sculptured entity. His chest is wide, a board on which is marked the blue "I" that indicates he is Invincible. "I don't want to die."
For a second, I almost feel sorry for the man. Almost. I see my own mental scoreboard, my points within grasp so I can increase my power. The rush of power, the rush of winning—it's mine to enjoy. "You think grovelling is going to get you anywhere?" I taunt, my hold on his throat growing tighter.
And that's when it occurs.
Suddenly, a flash of red, and purple bursts into view. It's Oliver. Fucking Oliver. His eyes have this crazy expression, as if he's seen something that's driven him mad, and that he's just going to leap off into nothing. The kid's got balls, I've got to admit. He hits me with a punch that's so unexpected, so well-placed, that I'm flying.
For crying out loud though, it's not as it actually hurts. That punch was gentler than a baby's slapping. I mean, come on, Ollie. Do you actually think something was going to happen with that? So I recover faster than a cheetah on steroids and I'm back on my feet again.
"What the fuck was that, you punk?" I bellow, my own chuckles booming across the city. "Gonna knock me out with a love tap?"
But Oliver, God rest his gallant little soul, does not waver. He's shaking, his eyes brimful of fear, yet he stands firm. "Leave him alone," he pleads, his voice cracking. "You're not going to hurt him anymore."
I just gaze at him for a moment, still grinning. My HUD in my field of vision has compared his stats, and I just tell myself it doesn't bode well for the kid. His power level is essentially a puny little 'shroom compared to my skyscraper. But whatever, I've got points to win, and a bit of challenge won't harm anyone.
Next thing I know, Oliver is charging at me with the wrath of a million suns contained within his small frame. His fist is balled up as if he is going to punch his way into my chest and rip out my heart. It is almost sweet, actually.
And just when he's going to be the hero, I backhand him as I'd brush a fly off my shoulder. My hand slams into his jaw, and do I feel that crunch. It's the kind of crack you get when you bite off a toothpick sharp and clean. His jaw jiggles, sideways, and his eyes roll back into his skull. The guy's out cold before he hits the ground.
Hold on, what's this? Mark's on his feet. His body's all torn to hell and back, yet his eyes.they're fucking ablaze. And not in the "I've had a few too many to drink" kind of fashion, either. They're ablaze with rage, two suns on the verge of going supernova. "You're dead," he snarls, teeth showing. And I feel something. Fear? Excitement? Maybe a bit of both.
Mark is charged with power, and before you know it, he's charging at me like a bull with fire on its tail. I'm not joking, it's something to behold. The dude's determination to beat the high school student on a mission to impress his crush is something. His fist hits my chest, and for a moment, it's hitting a brick wall.
"You're not going to win, Mark," I taunt, not even bothering to dodge his swings. The swings are mosquito bites, irritating rather than hurting. "You're just delaying the obvious."
Mark's eyes narrow and he goes all-in. It's attempting to punch a tornado to death with your bare knuckles—his punches and kicks come quickly, yet too slowly. And the sound effects, my gosh, because when our bodies hit each other, it's as if the universe is just kind of hanging around watching our battle with held breath. Every blow is a symphony of bone on bone, muscle on muscle, and the occasional "oof" when one of us actually manages to get a good solid hit.
And the planet? It's our grand ol' backdrop. We're flying over it as if it's some huge Ferris wheel, and I'm certain our path of destruction has got every military faction on high alert. I see the satellites tracking us, and I'm curious if they've got a live feed of our battle. My own HUD targets one of them, and it's flashing lights and wailing alarm. Classic.
It's not much longer before I'm seeing the fight toll is taking on his eyes. He's fighting as hard as he is capable of, but it's a battle with a brush fire when all he has is a water gun. Every punch he throws is less effective, his movements slowing. And as much as I'm savoring this dance we're doing on the Globe, I know it's time to end it.
I absorb his second punch readily, my fist thudding on his until the bones rattle together. He yowls with pain, and that's when I increase the intensity. "You're going down," I mutter into his ear, my voice thick. "And when I'm done with you, Earth will be mine."
In one smooth motion, I over-shoulder-throw him, his kicking legs wildly in the empty air. My HUD displays the word "CARRIER" in green, and I know without thinking what I have to do next. I fly both of us up, up, until the earth is a marble in the vastness of space. The cold of the vacuum surrounds us, yet my physiology doesn't feel it. We're two guys fighting in the playground of the universe now.
I slam Mark onto the moon's side, and dust and rocks fly out as he creates quite a crater on the surface of the satellite. The impact's force surges through his body, yet he is not done.
Roaring again, I fly Mark back towards Earth, the blue and green planet growing larger in my vision with every second. The HUD is counting off the miles, and I can almost feel the prize—the sweet, sweet DP points that will be mine when I've conquered this planet.
The gravity is tugging at us as we plunge towards the planet. I sense the fire of re-entry washing over my skin, yet I'm not the one who's going to incinerate. No, that pleasure is reserved for Mark.
We scorch our way across the skies, the wind screaming past us as if we're tearing the fabric of reality asunder. I choose where I wish to set down. I spot a huge city, so why not aim big or just fly on home?
"You're going to feel this," I tell Mark, my voice carried off by the wind.
The planet rises up to meet us, and with a tremendous crash, we crash. We jolt the surface of the planet, the force of our crash tearing open a crater large enough to consume a city block. The earthquake shakes the globe around us, buildings falling over like dominoes of well-arranged Jenga, the screams of the terrified humans overwhelmed by the sounds of destruction. The ground fissures and cracks open, the planet screaming in pain as we are the center of our own private act of nature.
Mark lies on the ground, limp, and I levitate over him, his shallow gasping lungs barely moving. His costume is torn and charred, revealing the marbled, bloody, broken bone and bruises below. His muscular build is now a broken, bruised mess. I feel the spasm of his muscles as he struggles to fight, to struggle, but it is too late. He is out of gas, his tank drained.
"Please," he is barely managing, his voice barely above the ringing in my ears as our combat. "Leave Earth alone."
I hover over him, my own shadow a dark specter on his broken and battered frame. "Leave Earth alone?" I repeat, my voice a thunderclap. "Do you really think your feeble words mean anything to me?"
And then I see her. Atom Eve. The love of Mark's world. The Bitch. She's floating in mid-air, casts up to her knees. She's a fucking science experiment, and it suits her. Her breasts are two perfect bowls of ice cream. And that ass? It's as if somebody took a scoop of heaven and slappened it onto her. No wonder I see why Mark's so obsessed with her.
"Conquest," she murmurs, her voice fatal and alluring. "You're not welcome here."
They words themselves are a challenge, a challenge to war, and my dick, having been in attention since she came into the picture twitches. It's as if someone cranked up my trousers' heater, and now all I'm capable of thinking about is fucking her until she cries for mercy. And that's when I come up with the plan. Why not make this conquest business personal?
"Eve," I stroke, my voice a low vow. "Suppose I were to propose a deal... to you."
She cuts her eyes and never losing her guard. "What kind of deal?"
I smirk, the kind that proclaims I've got the upper hand and I'm willing to bet everything on the winning bet. "A basic one," I tell her, my eye roaming over her figure like a famished child in a candy store. "You come with me, and Earth remains."
Atom Eve's eyes widen and she backs up. Her pupils are black holes, sucking in all remaining light. "What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean." I respond, my intentions pretty clear as she starts to recover and think.
Mark's voice cracks, not even capable of yelling, his broken frame on the ground. "Eve, don't listen to him."
She recovers however with fierce determination, her gaze locked on me with defiance and loathing. "I have my own mind, Mark." Her gaze is on hiis, softening slightly before returning to me, her expression as cold as ice. "And I know what I need to do."
Mark, the poor bastard, struggles to stand up, but his body refuses to listen. He's a mess, and it's similar to watching your favorite superhero get beat up by somebody who's playing the game on cheat mode. "Eve, don't," he growls, his voice strangled and urgent. "You don't know what you're dealing with."
But Eve, she's smarter than that. She's got this twinkle in her eye as if she is playing 4D chess and we're all blindfolded and playing checkers. She inches forward towards me, her hips moving with sinuosity, and I just couldn't help myself when I saw how the costume fits her, conforming to all her contours and curves. Her legs seem as endless as a staircase, and her backside? Fat as fuck.
"What choice do I have?" she shoots back, voice being both sass and challenge. Her lush, pouty lips I'm desperately wanting to bite into, and her eyes glinting with a light that's gazing into nothing and seeing a shooting star. "You're going to destroy the Earth unless I accompany you?"
"Oh, sweet Eve," I whisper, being so near her now. I'm so near I can almost feel the warmth of her breath, "I will do so much worse than rip it to tatters." The tension and I see her nipples pucker under her costume, making me wonder if she's horny or not. They're two small "fuck me now" beacons protruding through the fabric. "But if you come on your own terms and let me fuck you," I add my voice dipping to a husky growl, "I might just choose to be kind."
She senses my hunger, the hunger in my gaze. She hears her heart pounding, and I see the wheels turning in her head. She's thinking, desperately seeking an escape. But she knows it deep inside, I've got her now. She's helplessly unable to resist being drawn along.
"Okay," Eve responds, her voice trembling just sufficiently to reveal that she is frightened. "I will come with you."
That delivers a verbal punch to the gut to Mark, but I'm not faulting the guy. He is a disaster unable to stop anything—and his physiology is evidence of the kind of power I wield. But Eve is a survivor. And I see that glint in her eye indicating that something is cooking in her.
"Good girl," I whisper, my voice low on her skin. And soon enough, she's in my arms, her frame conforming to mine like a glove. She's constructed a suit around herself, one that will hold up to the velocity of light and the desolation of space. I feel the tension of her muscles, the struggle not to succumb to fear. But I know I've got her now. I feel it in the hold she has on me.
In a leap, we're flying again, soaring up into the air. The stars above fade out of sight as we break through the atmosphere. The bite of space is a lover's severing, cradling us into the infinite. I feel the pain on Mark's face, miles below where I stand. His jaw is probably on the floor, teeth clenched in rage and disgust at what I'm going to do with Eve, and I just know that it's awful. The sight of his beloved Eve in my arms, it's gotta be seeing your beloved burger joint burn when you're standing in line.