Invincible: Escape from Viltrum

"For the glory of Argal, this native greets the Great General."

Vorath did not respond to the salute immediately.

Instead, he stopped to observe this not-so-filial son who had accomplished feats that would mark his entire history for all eternity.

This boy had made more contributions than he himself had at the same age and, nevertheless, he was so pleased to have engendered a descendant such as this native.

Without a doubt, he could have been the finest soldier in his military faction; but it seemed that the Emperor had found a better role for his son, having decided to absorb him directly into his governmental faction.

That red fauld made it clear.

His thoughts were pushed into the background and his gaze settled on the bar that now adorned his uniform, making clear his rank as a non-commissioned officer before reaching his first orbit!

"Lower the salute," he finally said, while crossing his arms behind his back.

Korr obeyed, naturally. In order to simply wait for these days to come to an end, he would do whatever was necessary.

"I... am... proud to hear such novel and favorable news about you, soldier. As our great Regent has ordered, I have been... obliged to suspend the entire campaign schedule in order to oversee your custody during the three cycles of reflection."

Vorath continued without unnecessary preambles, trying to be as favorable and approachable as possible toward his lineage.

He did not know exactly how to make young natives feel good. He had never had one and, from what little he remembered of his own progenitor, they had never spoken to him beyond what was strictly necessary. Therefore, it could be said that he had practically raised himself under the sole ideal figure worthy of being emulated to achieve greatness within the Empire; the Regent himself.

"By decree of the Empire, the Council has authorized that you come with me to the fortress."

He said, referring to the "home" as such.

Korr nodded, not daring to reveal the mixture of emotions boiling inside him.

Without further words, Vorath turned around and took off.

Vorath ascended without waiting for a response, disappearing among the clouds, accelerating to speeds impossible for natives to follow. Korr, for his part, followed him, heading toward the fortress that he still remembered as though it had been yesterday, and which brought to mind uncomfortable memories.

The flight from the Dorymathos to the family fortress lasted little more than half a fraction. For Viltrumites, fast enough to reach relativistic speeds despite the Empire's prohibition against flying above the permitted velocity within the planet's atmosphere (even at reduced speeds), it was still a relatively short distance.

Throughout the journey, neither of them spoke a word. Vorath, although maintaining a moderate speed far below his maximum capabilities for obvious reasons, did not stop to wait for Korr under any circumstances.

Nor was he strict with Korr, however, as he assumed that his son had not yet fully recovered from his injuries.

When the fortress appeared on the horizon, it seemed smaller than Korr remembered, or at least that was how he saw it.

By the time Korr touched down upon the metallic surface, Vorath was already waiting for him. The barely concealed gleam in the veteran Viltrumite's eyes revealed his enthusiasm at the subtle changes in the developing native.

Vorath had noticed the improvement in his adaptation factor, probably enhancements resulting from recovering from the severe injuries he had endured during the Lithari Rebellion.

However, that seemed to have exceeded even his expectations, a very noticeable improvement even by what was "scientifically" expected.

A few meters from Vorath stood two alien nannies of the same race as Syra-Vel. Their delicate features, the tone of their skin, and the structure of their faces were unmistakable; even similar to the deceased woman herself.

The mere sight of them caused a wave of unpleasant thoughts to surface in his mind, memories that he had not yet managed to eradicate completely.

He clenched his jaw and suppressed any reaction. The last thing he needed was to create unnecessary inconveniences over something "so trivial" from the perspective of the grotesque being that was his father.

For that reason, he maintained a neutral expression as he advanced toward the group, carefully concealing everything passing through his mind.

The interior of the fortress had not changed much, for its purpose of construction had always been just that eternal.

The corridors remained the same, the rooms maintained their original arrangement with the same immaculate whiteness that seemed to shine in a sterile and soulless perfection.

Even the atmosphere did not seem all that different to him.

With Syra-Vel absent, the coming days, just like long ago, would feel equally ghostly and oppressive. However, he had to stop, for something in particular had surprised him.

That painting, the last of all those he had made, was there, serving as the only decoration within that immense hall.

Those two damned zebras seemed to exist and disappear at the same time in a bewildering innateness.

Their bodies intertwined in a tangle of black and white stripes that curved and twisted until it became impossible to distinguish where one ended and the other began.

The outlines lacked clarity and only white lines undulated in a bustle of visual deceptions, giving the sensation of constant movement.

The longer one observed them, the harder it became to comprehend the image, so that the zebras turned into mere patterns and those patterns, once again, transformed into zebras, like a strange and hypnotic illusion.

Vorath's presence made itself felt when he noticed the native had stopped. He looked at him for a few moments before sighing. This native had not changed entirely; but if even with those "imperfections" he had achieved feats such as saving the planet itself, then he had decided to ignore that eccentricity and wait for time itself to temper this lineage.

"Is there a problem with what you're seeing, Korr-Add?" Vorath asked, his tone completely neutral.

Korr did not take his eyes off the canvas, momentarily immersed in some decidedly chaotic thoughts.

"Why... why is this still here?" he asked in a rough tone disguised as casualness. "That painting... I mean, that illustration that... I thought... didn't you tell me that you had gotten rid of everything, sir?"

Vorath took a step forward, positioning himself beside him. For a moment, the General remained silent, observing the artwork with an expression Korr was incapable of deciphering.

"I know; and I did," he finally replied. "I must admit that, in general terms, your eccentricities deeply irritated me back then... allowing yourself to be seduced by inferior beings. Later, I investigated and came to understand that apparently you are more like those phenomena who waste the Empire's finances. Those types, the scientists. In fact, it bothered me that someone with your classifications would be buried in a place without a future among those honorless cowards; potential traitors. Fortunately, the great Regent is wise and just, and recognized your true potential, which is why he decided to welcome you into his faction."

His words sank into Korr's mind, causing him to lower his head, unwilling to let this man discover the emotions bubbling inside him.

"Your eccentricities are a waste of resources and time, and frankly, they seem to me a display of weakness that you should not allow yourself."

Vorath continued speaking before pausing.

"However, this... illustration, so bewildering and devoid of all logical order... there is something in it that I consider worth preserving... perhaps... perhaps not everything you have done has been a complete waste."

Korr blinked.

For an instant, those heavy memories, the pain of having lost, the psychological torture of that machine he had been forced to coexist with, seemed eager to burst out by any means possible like pressurized air.

But he had to contain himself.

His damned impotence at being incapable of truly harming this monster made him reason and... he only felt tired.

As if disconnecting himself, he simply... simply let it pass.

But something seemed even more curious and bewildering to him...

Vorath, a general so ruthless and severe even with his own descendant... was interested in art?

"Interesting...?" Korr repeated.

"Do not make me repeat it," Vorath cut him off, resuming his march. "Do not stop any longer, we still have matters to attend to."