Invincible: Escape from Viltrum

Minutes after the silhouettes of Null-am and his father disappeared among the purple clouds that hinted at stormy rain weather over the Dorymathos, the hive of activity did not seem to slow down in the slightest.

In fact, it seemed to ignite the eagerness of the children parked there awaiting their tutors, which made Korr feel even more uncomfortable.

If he could have chosen, he would have preferred to remain inside the suffocating Dorymathos. Any place seemed like heaven to him as long as Vorhat was not there.

Subsequently, as if an invisible gate had opened in the atmosphere, figures, all related to the elite of imperial power, began to descend in orderly formation.

Korr could make out the arrival of subordinate officers, senior officers, and generals just as imposing as Null-am's own father, emanating airs of wisdom in the various ways of killing.

Their immaculate uniforms seemed to cut through the air, these latter ones receiving small ceremonies of regulatory decorum. Some parents inspected their children as if evaluating weapons in the most literal sense of the word.

Like one more soldier within the ranks, the difference between them and another soldier was their genetic familiarity, nothing more.

On the other hand, there existed "genuine parents" who, within the current civilizational context of Viltrum, truly seemed concerned about their offspring.

Korr had heard many things from his father, who had spoken to him about his grandfather.

He never spoke about that with his wife, nor with his children. It had also been an even more acceptable precursor to his "refusal" of military life.

His grandfather was a Nazi.

He fought in the Second World War, and had even been decorated with the Cholm Shield.

He believed in racial purity, in the annihilation of the Jews, in the superiority of his blood, and other absurd theories that seemed to feed the contextual war narrative of the era.

And yet, at the end of the war, he ended up with a Jewish woman, a situation that even now, in another life, he could never have imagined as a possibility.

He started a family, was a good husband, a good father; he died happy, in love, and fulfilled, at 90 years of age.

Korr never understood how so much contradiction was possible until now, when he was experiencing firsthand a possible materialization of that old man's belief during his youth. This empire and that global episode could very well be mere reflections of humanity itself as a whole.

Which led him to an even more disconcerting conclusion; his grandfather was not crazy.

That old man, like any other person from his homeland, was not a psychopath nor a madman; for all intents and purposes, they were normal people.

Like the Viltrumites.

Feeling love, joy, fear, loyalty; the Viltrumite Empire worked the same way.

The Viltrumites were so deeply inserted into a totalitarian system that viewed violence, genocide, and racial supremacy as something completely normalized.

Contrary to his own desires, his own perception, he was the only deviant.

Among the number of officers, he was able to distinguish one in particular, young even by imperial standards. It was Vespera's father.

His uniform, adorned with two bars across the chest, had come alone this time compared to the occasion when he left his daughter at the Dorymathos.

Vespera, upon recognizing him, ran toward him at a speed that defied the restrictions of her training uniform, and her progenitor received her without embracing her, but placed a hand upon her head in a gesture that, within the Viltrumite context, was equivalent to a display of affection.

"You've grown a lot, nata," he heard from afar.

Vespera nodded, without taking her eyes off the ground. Her cheeks, normally pale, had acquired a rosy hue that betrayed an emotion she did not know how to process.

Her father took her by the hand and, without another word, rose into the sky.

The father of the two half-siblings seemed to be the last to arrive from that group of descending soldiers.

The man was a thin-built Viltrumite, almost fragile by the standards of his species, with a face crossed by scars that denoted a long career in military service.

The two natos, upon seeing him, did not run toward him. They remained motionless, their eyes fixed on the paternal figure approaching them with slow and determined steps.

"Long time without seeing you, little pennies," he said, and after standing before them, he took them by the backs of their necks with a threatening smile devoid of any malice. "I hope I don't have any complaints about you two; your mothers are waiting for you."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, laden with that which neither of the two knew how to express, until one shouted.

"He started it first!"

"Liar, liar, you started it first!"

And the rivalry seemed to flare up with even greater fury.

Korr watched the scene with a feeling of unease that he could not identify.

One by one, the progenitors took their natos back to their fortress homes. Some with evident annoyance, as if the obligation of picking up their descendants constituted an irritating interruption to their schedules, while others seemed genuinely curious about their children's progress.

However, the inevitable had become reality.

Korr swore he had felt him coming, like a kind of sensitivity to that distant presence that had become so present within his own being.

Vorath descended over the Dorymathos, his body stopping mere centimeters above the ground with masterful precision.

Vorath rarely touched the ground, considering such an action to be something "undignified," so, generally, he spent much of his time a few centimeters above it.

His uniform, the same one Korr remembered, looked impeccable; uncomfortable images seemed to bloom in his mind like a recollection.

The three bars across his chest gleamed, the symbol of a rank attained by only a few.

Korr, ignoring that feeling of discomfort within himself, adopted the military attention stance that had been instilled in him since his arrival at the Dorymathos. His right fist struck his chest with just the proper force, neither too soft as to denote reluctance, nor too hard as to suggest aggressiveness.

Besides, despite his complete recovery, he still was not entirely well.

"For the glory of Argal, this nato salutes the Great General."