SRFMAW: Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The first coherent thought was an inventory.

Pain was a language the body spoke, and his was fluent. Conquest listened to it now, a dull and distant monologue where, not long ago, there had been a raw, screaming chorus. Fractures had been set by the marrow itself, knitting with the slow, inexorable patience of stone forming under pressure. Muscle, torn and shredded, had rewoven its fibres. The least of it, the peeling agony of degloving, was a memory sealed under new, tender skin. What remained were the trivialities: the deep, violet blooms of bruising, the phantom ache of a skeleton that had been recently rearranged. Cosmetic. They would be gone in a matter of hours.

The air was sterile, tasting of antiseptic and recycled oxygen. A low, electronic hum vibrated through the surface beneath him. Fabric, coarse and synthetic, chafed against his skin. A flimsy gown of sorts. He registered the adhesive pads on his skin—chest, temples, and biceps. Wires snaked from them. Sensors. He was in a medical facility of sorts. 

The observation was so incongruous it bordered on farce. He was unrestrained. Not even a token gesture of physical bonds. The humans had offered him aid. After he had made his intentions for this planet brutally, unequivocally clear. He had come to break it, to bleed it, to ready it for the Empire. And their response was… this? An offering of succour to the wolf at their door. He almost laughed.

How long has it been? He gauged the progress of his healing. The boy, Mark Grayson, had broken him. Truly broken him. Skull fractured, organs pulped. To be this close to whole again… sixty hours. Give or take.

He focused outward, on his surroundings. The rhythmic beeping. The hum of ventilation. And beneath it, further, the soft, steady rhythm of respiration. Another being was in the room. Waiting.

“I know you’re awake.”

The voice was male, filtered through a modulator. Calm. Controlled. The voice of a man who thought himself dangerous.

Conquest opened his eye.

The room was indeed a medical bay of sorts—a plain ceiling, white walls, fluorescent lights that hummed at the edge of perception. A bed, reinforced if the frame's thickness meant anything. He didn't bother examining the machines; they were irrelevant.

The human stood perhaps four meters away, and Conquest took his measure in an instant. Midnight-blue armour, articulated and well-maintained. Silver highlights that caught the light. A halberd held with the easy familiarity of long practice. The helmet obscured everything above the jaw, a silver visor where eyes should be. On his chest, an emblem—the stylised echo of that same visor.

A soldier, then. Or what passed for one among these soft creatures.

Conquest levitated upward, his body rotating to vertical without bothering to use the bed for leverage. The electrodes tore free with small pops. He rose until he could look down at the armoured human, a habit of dominance so ingrained it required no thought.

“I am Armsmaster,” the male said, his voice betraying no intimidation. “I represent the Protectorate and, by extension, the government of the United States. We detected your descent from orbit. We require you to identify yourself.”

Conquest let the silence stretch, savouring the faint, almost imperceptible tension that crept into the man’s posture. The ant thought it was in control. Amusing.

“Where is the Viltrumite boy, human?” Conquest’s voice was a low rumble, the sound of rocks grinding together.

The human paused. “...Who?”

Impatience, a hot and familiar thing, began to coil in his gut. “Mark Grayson,” he clarified.

“I am not familiar with that name,” Armsmaster replied.

A low chuckle rumbled in Conquest’s chest. “Boy, you presume I’m a fool.”

He fell silent, his gaze unwavering. The human began to speak again, something about cooperation, about understanding—

Conquest moved.

He surged, crossing the ten feet of space between them in an instant that was too fast for thought. His fist, clenched, cocked back to shatter the man’s armour and the fragile bones within.

He never reached him.

The room erupted in a torrent of thick, white foam, spewing from hidden nozzles in the walls and ceiling. It enveloped him in an instant, clinging to his skin, and then, with a sickening lurch, it hardened into a dense, resilient mass.

Confusion, sharp and unwelcome, lanced through him. He pushed against it, expecting it to crumble. It didn’t. The material was surprisingly durable, resisting his strength with a stubborn elasticity. For several long seconds, he strained against the foam, a low growl of frustration building in his throat. The longer it held him, the hotter his anger burned. Finally, with a roar of pure, undiluted rage, he ripped the substance around him, tearing free from the hardened foam.

He burst from the room into a wider chamber, a hangar of some sort. Arrayed before him was an unprepared welcoming committee. A handful of men in dark uniforms and body armour, rifles raised. They were irrelevant. His attention was on the others. Costumes. Mostly teenagers, posturing with the unearned confidence of youth. Teenagers, mostly. A large, brutish-looking boy. A small girl. A boy in white and a clock-face mask. Of the adults, the closest was a man in red and black. Behind him was another man with a glowing shield.

Conquest floated a few feet off the ground as he glared down at the assembled humans.

“I will ask one last time,” he boomed, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. “Where is Mark Grayson?”

He was met with blank stares, confusion. No recognition. Just fear and a foolish sort of defiance.

“Very well,” Conquest groused, his patience utterly exhausted. “If you will not point me to my hunt, I will begin dismantling your world. Piece by piece. Until you learn to cooperate.”

Alarm flashed across their faces. The one in red spoke then, seemingly casual despite the situation. "Look, buddy,” he said. “We don't know any Marks. But even if we did, threatening to dismantle our world probably guarantees you’d get nothing out of us.” 

Saying that, he charged the—a fool’s motley. Conquest didn’t even look at him, simply backhanding the man as he approached, a casual, dismissive swat that sent the human cartwheeling through a nearby concrete wall and disappearing behind the debris.

Get nothing out of you? Ah! Who decided that?

Slowly, Conquest turned his attention to the brutish one. The boy took a fighting stance. Conquest was on him in an instant, an uppercut lifting him off his feet and sending him rocketing up, up, through the ceiling of the facility and into the sky above, a footnote in the battle before it had even begun.

The uniformed men opened fire. The bullets flattened against his skin like raindrops. He ignored them. His gaze settled on the man with the shield who moved to stand protectively in front of the two youngest, the boy and the girl. A noble gesture. A foolish one.

He charged again, fist raised to pulverise the shield and the man behind it. Halfway there, something felt… wrong. The space between him and his target seemed to… stretch. It was the only way to describe what happened. The distance between him and his target suddenly felt longer. The sensation lasted only a second, but it was a second he hadn't accounted for. His punch connected, a fraction of a moment later than intended, shattering the glowing shield and sending its bearer crashing through another set of walls.

He turned slowly, his analytical gaze falling on the girl. The one in green. It was her. A spatial manipulator? Interesting. He reached for her, a slow, deliberate motion, his hand large enough to crush her skull like a grape. But just before his fingers could close around her, he felt a light touch on his back. A single finger.

The girl vanished from his sight.

Conquest blinked. He straightened up, looking around. Everything had shifted. The soldiers were already in full retreat. The young humans were dozens of meters away, scrambling for cover. An armoured transport had rolled into the bay, a large turret swivelling to aim at him. It was as if time had jumped forward. As if he had been…

Frozen.

The realisation dawned, and a slight frown touched his lips. The girl can manipulate space. The boy behind her, time? Interesting little tricks.

A stream of the same hardening foam shot from the truck’s cannon. Conquest dodged it with contemptuous ease, flew over to the vehicle, and tore it in half. He turned to eliminate the fleeing children, but as he shot forward, a beam of brilliant, blue-white light slammed into him from the side.

The pain was sharp, surprising, A searing, itching agony that dug deep into his skin. It knocked him off course, sending him careening backwards through the side of the facility and across the landscape, carving a trench through three separate buildings before he could arrest his momentum.

The beam held on him for several seconds, a continuous lance of energy. When it finally cut off, he rose from a crouch, staring back the way he had come. A perfectly smooth, vitrified tunnel had been bored through the earth behind him, hundreds of meters of soil and bedrock simply gone. Deleted. He looked down at his now naked body. His skin was red and raw, a severe sunburn. The sensation was unpleasantly familiar, reminiscent of the human girl who had fought alongside Mark.

He rose into the air, turning to face his new opponents. Three figures, floating a few hundred meters away, closing fast. He recognised one of them—the female. She was the one who had found him in the crater, her black costume and tower emblem unmistakable. But the other two were new. A man in blue and white, elegant, the obvious source of the beam. Another in green, hooded, face obscured.

They stopped a few dozen meters away. The one in blue spoke. “Stand down. This doesn't have to escalate further."

Conquest chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. He stretched, popping his knuckles and rolling his neck in anticipation. Then he shot forward.

His punch was aimed at the leader’s face, but it never connected. A translucent, green field of energy shimmered into existence before him. His fist collided with it, and it cracked like a pane of glass, a spiderweb of fractures spreading across its surface. It held, but just barely.

The field vanished. Before he could press the attack, the female was on him. Her punch was fast, powerful. It connected with the side of his face, and he felt the impact, a solid, jarring force that sent him drifting several dozen meters through the air. He turned his head slowly, savouring the slight, pleasant ache that blossomed in his jaw.

She was strong. Perhaps the equivalent of a Viltrumite of four, maybe five hundred years. He, of course, was much older, and therefore, stronger. But if her companions possessed similar strength, this might prove to be an adequate warm-up before his rematch with the boy.

Slowly, his irritation gave way to the hot thrill of anticipation. He caught her second punch in his hand, his grip like iron. He retaliated with his own, a clean, powerful blow that sent her tumbling end over end for a hundred meters.

The other two reacted instantly. The one in blue fired another laser. Conquest juked to the side, the beam searing the air where he had been. He charged again, this time for the one in green who had conjured the forcefield. It cracked as he slammed into it. Conquest grunted, drew his lone fist back and struck again, shattering the construct into a shower of emerald light

He drove forward to punch the one in green, but another beam of light caught him in the side, staggering him. He powered through it, ignoring the stinging pain, and sought his original target. The female shot back into the fray, her fist connecting with his chest in a blow that sent a shockwave rippling through the air.

Conquest laughed. He grabbed her before wrapping his one good arm around her in a crushing bear hug. She struggled, her strength immense, but his was greater. He smashed his forehead against her helmeted face. The steel helm deformed, tore, and fell away, but all he got for his effort was a trickle of blood from his own nose. He squeezed, feeling the unyielding nature of her soft, supple flesh against his chest. Some form of invulnerability. He didn't understand the mechanics of it, and that only made it more amusing.

Another beam washed over them both, slowly eating away at the parts of her costume not shielded by her body. He squinted against the light. The woman in his arms was completely unfazed, even as she continued to hammer blows against his ribs, each one strong enough to make his bones and muscles ache with a delightful agony.

Laughing, he grabbed her by the hair, spun her for a few moments over his head like a child’s toy, before hurling her at supersonic speed towards the man in blue. The makeshift projectile struck its target, and the two became a blur before crashing into the distant sea. 

One remained.

He turned to face the human in green and charged. This time, no forcefield appeared. Instead, a beam of red light, crackling with raw power, erupted from the man’s hands and struck him square in the chest. This one was different. It didn't just burn; it felt like it was trying to unmake him, to pull his very atoms apart. The pain was excruciating.

Raging against it, Conquest pushed through, determined to tear his opponent limb from limb. But just as he was about to reach him, the man flickered and reappeared a hundred meters away, resuming his long-range assault.

He was being kited.

Conquest snarled. Fine. If the human wanted to play at range…

He dove toward the city below.

The beam cut off immediately—concern for collateral damage, how predictable—and Conquest converted his dive into a lateral burst of speed. He hit the street like a meteor, the shockwave shattering windows for blocks. He didn’t need to throw a single punch. The kinetic force of his passage alone was enough. He flew through buildings, reducing them to clouds of concrete dust and twisted steel. He strafed down streets, the shockwave of his flight pulverising asphalt and turning cars into shrapnel. Screams were a fleeting chorus, silenced as quickly as they began.

He made three passes, carving swathes of ruin through the urban landscape, before something caught his eye. A glowing bubble of energy out in the bay. Inside it, he could just make out the shape of an oil rig. It was an ancient piece of technology by Viltrumite standards, but the fact that the humans were protecting it so fiercely suggested it held some value.

He changed course, crossing the distance to the bay in seconds. He slammed into the shimmering shield. It distorted violently under the strain, bending and warping like heated plastic, colours rippling across its surface, before flickering and dying.

Missile launchers on the rig’s platform swivelled and fired. The projectiles detonated on his skin, harmless flashes of light, heat and sound that didn't even slow him down. Sneering, Conquest descended, punching through the rig’s main platform. He flew through the structure several times, gutting it from the inside out, ensuring nothing and no one was left.

As he rose from the flaming wreckage, the man in green shot down to meet him. A smile blossomed on Conquest’s face as he shot up to meet the challenge. They met in a clash of titans, the impact sending a shockwave across the sky that shattered windows for miles around.

A forcefield. Then a laser. Now, strength and durability that nearly matched his own. Not to mention the flying and teleportation. The mental picture was becoming clear. Either this one had a very long list of abilities, or he was spontaneously switching between them mid-fight. The thought made Conquest’s grin widen. This was becoming a proper fight after all.

They exchanged a flurry of blows, the sky cracking with each impact. The man was stronger than the woman had been, but he wasn’t invulnerable. He could see bruises forming, could hear the sharp intake of breath as his knuckles connected with his quarry’s pliable flesh. From the corner of his eye, he saw the woman returning, a black streak against the sky. The man in blue was still absent.

Laughing, he backhanded the one in green, sending him reeling, and turned just in time to block a punch from the woman.

For a few moments more, he fought them both. The woman was currently impossible to damage, and the man was a shifting puzzle of powers. Conquest was certain he could kill the man, given time. As for the woman, tossing her into the local star would probably suffice. If not, a black hole was always an option.

But this was a distraction. A pleasant one, but a distraction nonetheless. His frustration returned. As much as he was enjoying the exercise, his patience was wearing thin.

He broke away from the exchange, putting some distance between himself and the duo.

“Where is Mark Grayson?” he demanded again, his voice flat.

“...We do not know who that is,” the woman replied, her voice cold and steady.

Conquest frowned, irritation and confusion warring within him. “Would you like me to level the city behind you? And the next one? Will you be willing to talk then? Or would I need to flatten a few more?”

The woman’s jaw tightened, but she reined in her anger. “We believe,” she said, her voice deliberate, “there has been a misunderstanding. This is not your native universe. There is no 'Mark Grayson' important enough on this planet to warrant this.”

The declaration stopped him cold. He stared at her, the frown deepening. “Clarify.”

It was the man who spoke this time, his voice strained. “There are… other Earths. Accessible from this one, our Earth Bet. Each in its own universe. We believe you came from one of them. Whoever this ‘Mark Grayson’ is… he isn’t here. He’s most likely on another Earth, in another universe. Yours.”

For a moment, his instinct was to dismiss it as a lie, a desperate trick. But the discrepancies… he had read all of Nolan’s earlier reports on this planet. A list of its most powerful defenders, its potential threats. None of the humans he had fought today were on that list. And why hadn't this powerful trio intervened in his battle with Mark, if they were present on his world?

He turned his full attention to the two, his expression grim. “Prove it.”

The woman and man exchanged a look. Then, following a pause and tired sigh, she called out, “Doormaker. Aleph, please.”

A moment passed. Then, space tore open, a perfect, shimmering rectangle materialising to the woman's left. Through it, Conquest saw an ocean, a different sky.

“A colleague of ours can create portals… to a few of the other Earths,” she explained. “What would you like to see, to verify our words?”

He thought for a moment. Then he gave the name of the city where he had fought the boy to a standstill, the city he had had forced Mark to help him reduce to rubble. “Chicago.”

The scene in the portal shifted. An unfamiliar skyline appeared. But it was Chicago. He could recognise the landmarks, the shape of the coastline. It was just… wrong. It was whole. Intact. The city he knew was a smoking crater.

The reality of his situation settled upon him, a cold, heavy weight.  For a long moment, he grappled with it before concluding it was unlikely he was being deceived. He was adrift, he realised then. Somehow marooned in a foreign reality. His first impulse, raw and instinctual, was to demand they open a portal back to his universe.

But another thought, insidious and novel, arrested him.

An entirely new universe. Did that mean… was it possible that somewhere in this vast, new cosmos, there was another version of himself? Another Conquest? The only being in existence who might truly understand. A kindred spirit… 

A brother.

He considered the notion for less than a second before coming to a decision.

Without even a final, dismissive glance at the two capes and the broken world below, Conquest turned his eyes to the heavens and shot upwards. He broke through the atmosphere in a streak of colour, leaving the planet and its inhabitants behind. He pushed his speed, faster and faster, until the fabric of space itself began to deform around him as he tore past the speed of light, his course set for the astral coordinates where, if it existed, he would find this universe’s Viltrum.