Chapter 93 42:
The roof of the family fortress stretched beneath his feet like an endless white slab.
With a heavy sigh, having finally managed to rid himself of the ever-present company of his sadistic father, he decided to sit on the edge of the structure, his legs dangling over the void, gazing toward the violet horizon where Viltrum's sun was beginning its slow and eternal descent.
Almost two complete cycles had passed since he arrived at the fortress. Two Viltrumite days of uncomfortable silence with his father, with nothing left to say to one another beyond the "pride" of the Empire he had become.
He had spent the entire time trying to avoid the Syrenis nannies, who reminded him far too much of Syra-Vel.
He had risked spending a great deal of time, during his moments of solitude, thinking about everything he had experienced in this life.
Korr flexed his right hand, slowly opening and closing his fingers. He watched the muscles tense beneath the skin, the tendons moving like high-tension cables beneath those still childlike, tiny hands, already filled with so much death before even reaching adolescence.
His body had changed; though not in the unconventional sense. Physiological evolution among Viltrumites was evident, though imperceptible to the naked eye, as their bodies maintained their optimal appearance for prolonged periods of time, centuries, if not millennia.
His adaptive factor had made itself known, had saved him from certain death, had escaped the Grim Reaper's grasp, and had returned stronger.
He was capable of feeling, of feeling himself and everything around him. It was... as though he knew where everything was without even needing to make a mental effort. It was as though space and distance were an extension of his body.
No, it was not the power to control space. It was more like... knowing that everything was there.
Then he remembered one of the anatomy lessons from his teacher Nouw-Lan. In it, he explained the maturation of an internal organ, essential to Viltrumites.
The species' characteristic internal organ was a complex balance system located in the inner ear, responsible for their ability to fly by manipulating their personal gravity and inertial movement at will. This system, together with their intelligent atoms, allowed them to generate the inertia with which they advanced in any direction through space.
When this organ fully matured in the natos, the Viltrumite brain reached a state of extraordinary perception. At the apex of their consciousness, proprioception and exteroception formed an internal map of the body within its surroundings.
The cerebellum calculated distances and velocities with millimetric precision, expanding awareness beyond the skin.
Allowing him to calculate trajectories, recognize physical patterns, generate predictive models, and many other things.
And his mind, apparently, had forced itself to mature in a certain sense. Was this how Nouw-Lan, Vexa, his father felt? How developed was the Grand Regent in that regard? No wonder it was said that Thragg knew everything.
According to Voraht's words, the doctors had said that his physical capacity after recovery had exceeded his pre-incident levels by one hundred and fifty percent. He had been beaten, burned, torn apart almost to death... but after stabilizing, instead of weakening or becoming crippled, he had grown stronger.
Korr, ignoring the pristine clarity of his immaculate hands, remembered what they had done; or at least flashes of what had happened. He remembered Lithari blood soaking his knuckles, the cracking of bones beneath his fingers, the wet sound of flesh tearing apart.
But nothing beyond that, the result of the tremendous pressure exerted by trying to delve deeper than, apparently, his psyche could endure.
He let out a bitter laugh. Was his mentality really that weak?
Apparently, he had broken psychologically. Although he seemed to have absolutely nothing wrong at first glance, despite being aware, he knew the problem was there, and that it could become dangerous because any stimulus might make him explode.
He had become what he had supposedly been resisting and repudiating throughout all these cycles... no, years. He had become a Viltrumite, in every sense of the word.
He had transformed into a killing machine, excellent for the decisive responses required by the highest Imperial authority.
He slowly stood up, feeling the cold Viltrumite night wind caress his face. His bare feet barely brushed against the rooftop's surface.
He levitated mere centimeters above the ground without effort, feeling how he could change direction in an instant without even needing to gain momentum, or how he could reach speeds that would make any aircraft or missile known from his former life pale in comparison.
And there, beneath the epiphany of things, he discovered that, unfortunately, he could not escape.
With bitter resignation, he looked toward the sky, toward the stars that still could not be seen, yet beyond Viltrum's atmosphere their powerful radiance could already be glimpsed, resplendent and condescending toward life itself slaughtering itself across the cosmos.
There, far from this repressive and merciless world and Empire, there probably existed a planet absorbed in and oblivious to the galactic wars unleashed throughout the heavens, under bloody ideologies that led to only one conclusion. The survival of the race.
A dark valley shining amid a forest fire.
As of today, Korr could tell himself that he could devise a truly good escape plan. The technology and the knowledge had already been given to him; only the opportunity was missing.
Vexa had taught him the unofficial routes that could only be considered theoretical, given that he had never gone out into space. He had been told about frontier sectors, about neutral planets where Imperial control was weak due to the shortage of personnel, about star systems where a Viltrumite could go unnoticed if he was careful.
She had even spoken to him in greater detail about the Coalition of Planets, the Empire's declared enemy, and how some independent worlds accepted refugees, even him, provided he concealed his origin as a Viltrumite.
Korr had memorized everything, absolutely everything, so that not long ago he had designed a possible plan that might give him the chance to escape, if not from the Empire, then at least allow him to flee and hide in the frontier regions least explored by the Viltrumite explorers themselves.
But all of that was an impossible dream, even if the possibilities were there.
First, there was the matter of strength.
He could fly, he could fight, but he could neither endure nor withstand what an adult Viltrumite could, and not just any adult, but a Viltrumite warrior.
Nor did he have any experience in space navigation. Everything was completely different, vastly different, from navigating across the surface of a planet, even with the advantage of his internal orientation.
In a certain sense, he was nothing more than a child under ten years old trapped on an island, surrounded by the ocean itself, inside a dictatorial government, with the foolish dream of swimming to another continent.
He had the mentality, the route, and the possible technologies, but he lacked the means to overcome the barrier of maritime surveillance.
Following the same analogy, every Imperial or colonial ship leaving Viltrum was heavily monitored and registered, so any unauthorized or unregistered spacecraft was considered a hostile element and, consequently, destroyed.
Furthermore, the departure points from the planet itself, or any other spaceport, were controlled by the Gray Caste, with high-ranking officers supervising every launch. The navigation systems required authorization codes that only the high command could provide.
And the fleet's sensors detected any deviation in milliseconds.
Even the Viltrumites themselves, one by one, were heavily monitored just as though each were a ship, given their tremendous ability to cross astronomical distances within short periods of time.
Even if he managed to board a ship, even if he managed to pass the checkpoints, the Empire would hunt him to the very end of the galaxy.
A fugitive Viltrumite was far too great a threat to ignore; this was no simple game. There were no rogue Viltrumites, and if there had been, they had been killed many cycles ago.
But none of that compared to what truly made leaving this world impossible, because even with everything against him, he would have been willing to try.
He could not do it, for the simple fact that he, Korr-Add, son of Voraht, would very soon have siblings.