Mark stood at the forward viewport of the command deck with his arms folded behind his back while the stars outside stretched into long white ribbons of light as the ship hurtled through hyperspace. Every second carried him farther from Viltrum, farther from Raven, Harley, Kara, and the children who waited in the lab he had left behind only hours earlier. Doubt crept into his thoughts the way cold air seeps under a door. He wondered whether he had made the right choice by accepting this mission, whether leaving them unprotected in the heart of an empire that viewed sentiment as weakness had been reckless, whether the things he would soon be ordered to do would carve pieces out of him that he could never grow back. His reflection stared back at him from the transparisteel, face still flecked with dried blood from the arena and eyes older than they had been that morning.
He inhaled deeply through his nose and forced the thoughts down into the place where he kept every other compromise he had made since arriving on Viltrum. By the time this campaign ended, his hands would carry stains that no amount of healing could wash away, yet if those stains purchased even one more day of safety for his family, he would wear them without complaint. The children needed to be healthy and safe, and that single truth outweighed every moral objection that clawed at his chest. He exhaled slowly, rolled his shoulders, and turned away from the viewport so that he would stop feeding the doubt.
The bridge crew occupied their stations in silence, fingers moving across consoles with practiced efficiency while they stole glances at him whenever they believed he was not looking. Mark decided that standing alone with his thoughts served no purpose, so he walked toward the central dais where the captain and senior officers stood. "I realize we're going to be together for a while," he began, "so I'd like to know who I'm serving with. Names, please."
The captain, a tall, thin being with pale blue skin and four slender arms, immediately straightened to an almost painful degree and placed one pair of hands over his chest in salute while the other pair remained at his sides. "Exalted Enforcer, this unworthy one is called Captain Vexar-Null, born of Viltrumite Colony 447-B." His voice trembled with reverence. Around him, the other officers followed the same gesture in perfect unison.
A female with iridescent scales covering her shoulders spoke next. "Lieutenant Syrith-Null, born of Viltrumite Colony 882-C, at your eternal service."
One by one they announced themselves: Navigator Korrux-Null from Colony 119-D, Chief Engineer Thalyn-Null from Colony 304-A, Tactical Officer Merrik-Null from Colony 776-F, and Communications Specialist Lirra-Null from Colony 551-E.
Mark lifted a hand. "You can drop the formalities. Just names are fine, no titles, no bowing."
Captain Vexar-Null's eyes widened in something close to panic. "We would never dare, Honored One. To address you without the proper respect would invite punishment upon our entire line."
Mark rubbed the bridge of his nose and gave up. "Fine. Tell me about yourselves, then. Where you grew up, how you ended up on this ship."
Syrith-Null answered first, her scales shifting color with nervousness. "I was raised on Viltrumite Colony 882-C, once known to its native inhabitants by a name that is now forbidden to speak."
Mark frowned. "Every conquered world just gets a number?"
"Yes, Exalted One," Korrux-Null confirmed, his multiple eyes blinking in sequence. "The Viltrumite way demands that previous identities be erased so that only service to the Empire remains."
Mark muttered under his breath, "Fucking Viltrumites," though loud enough for the nearest officers to hear. Several of them flinched as if he had struck them. However he pressed on, trying to learn more despite the growing knot in his stomach. "Do all of you have families?"
Half the bridge crew nodded eagerly. Thalyn-Null spoke with pride. "I have been granted breeding permission for two offspring, both of whom serve in the engineering corps of Colony 304-A."
Merrik-Null added more quietly, "My mate and I have applied for the process three cycles ago, but the review board has not yet approved us."
Mark's brow furrowed. "Applied? What exactly do you mean you applied?"
Lirra-Null, the youngest among them, answered in a small voice. "Labor races may reproduce without restriction, Honored One, for their numbers must remain high to fulfill quotas. Skilled workers such as ourselves, however, must submit formal petitions that detail genetic compatibility, performance evaluations, and projected usefulness of potential offspring. Only if the petition receives approval from the Regional Breeding Authority are we permitted to conceive, they do this so that only the smartest and best amongst our races breed."
The casual cruelty of the explanation landed like a punch. Mark felt his jaw tighten, he never expected the Viltrumites to enforce eugenics on the slave races though honestly he wasn't sure why he was surprised. He opened his mouth to respond, but the bridge doors hissed open at that exact moment. Anissa strode in first, followed by Lucan, whose glare cut across the deck the instant he spotted Mark standing among the crew. Lucan's eyes narrowed further when he noticed several officers away from their stations, gathered in a loose semicircle around the half-Viltrumite enforcer.
"What is this?" Lucan barked, loud enough to make the nearest crew member jump. "You dare abandon your posts? This is not a designated rest cycle! Return to your stations at once!"
The crew scattered instantly, feet scrambling across the deck, but Communications Specialist Lirra-Null caught her foot on a raised panel in her haste and stumbled forward. Lucan blurred across the bridge in a heartbeat, hand already reaching to seize her by the throat and haul her upright. Before his fingers could close, Mark's hand clamped around Lucan's wrist with iron force.
"Enough," Mark said blankly.
Lucan snarled, trying to yank his arm free and failing. "Defending the weaklings again, mongrel? Some habits die hard, it seems."
Mark's lips curved into a small, humourless smile. "Seems so." He leaned in slightly with a grin, patting Lucan's cheek with his free hand. "Just let me know if you need help on the mission, alright? I'm a defender of weaklings after all."
Lucan's face contorted with rage, veins bulging at his temples, and he lunged forward with a roar.
Mark moved first.
In the span of a heartbeat he combined Viltrumite speed with a short controlled burst of Blue, vanishing from Lucan's sight entirely. To the crew he became a flicker of blue-white that reappeared directly behind the enraged enforcer. Mark's hands shot to Lucan's chin and the base of his skull. With a sharp twist he rotated Lucan's head one hundred and eighty degrees until the Viltrumite stared backward at his own shoulders. Vertebrae cracked like gunfire. Lucan's eyes bulged, blood erupting from his mouth in a violent cough before his body went limp and collapsed to the deck in a heap.
Anissa exhaled through her teeth, irritation plain on her face. "That was unnecessarily provocative, Mark," she stated, folding her arms. She turned to the nearest crew member, who stood frozen in terror. "You. Take Enforcer Lucan to the healing chamber immediately. Move."
The crew member, Thalyn-Null, scrambled forward, grasping Lucan under the arms and dragging the unconscious Viltrumite toward the lift without daring to look back. Mark released a slow breath and floated upward, returning to his position near the central dais as if nothing had happened.
Anissa waited until the bridge crew had fully returned to their stations and their work resumed before she stepped closer to Mark. "We need to speak privately," she said, tilting her head toward the corridor that led deeper into the command section. "Follow me."
Mark gave a short nod and fell in beside her as they left the bridge. The doors sealed behind them with a soft hiss, l Anissa led him past several corridors until they reached the captain's ready room, a spacious chamber directly behind the bridge that Vexar-Null had already vacated for their use. She sealed the door, activated the privacy field, and triggered the central holoprojector. A three-dimensional star map blossomed into existence above the table, rotating slowly until a single red icon pulsed in the foreground.
"We are travelling to the Korrath Verge Sector," Anissa began without preamble, enlarging the icon until a fortified planetoid filled the display. "The target is Military Installation Nine-Alpha, a fortress-world the Coalition built inside the hollowed-out core of an extinct gas-giant moon. Its purpose is threefold: it serves as the primary research and development center for anti-Viltrumite weaponry, it functions as the main training academy for elite Coalition shock troops, and it houses the forward command node for three entire battle fleets. Current estimates place fifty thousand battle-ready soldiers on site, every one of them issued weapons specifically designed to injure or kill Viltrumites."
Mark folded his arms and studied the rotating schematic. "Anti-Viltrumite weaponry," he repeated. "Walk me through how those actually work."
Anissa tapped a command, and the display shifted to a rotating cross-section of a rifle round. "The most common variant is a smart-matter projectile that fragments on impact into thousands of microscopic barbs coated with a synthetic enzyme that inhibits Viltrumite cellular regeneration for several hours. Another is a plasma lance that operates at frequencies tuned to disrupt our invulnerability. There are also directed-energy cannons that fire compressed neutronium slugs at 20% light velocity. Individually the weapons are rare, yet this installation manufactures them in bulk, and every soldier stationed there carries at least one."
Mark exhaled through his nose. "So that's why this is a joint operation with the Saiyans."
"Somewhat," Anissa allowed. "Their ability to increase power, manipulate energy and turn into their Ozaru state in combat makes them ideal for overwhelming prepared defenses. The Grand Regent decided that a combined strike would minimise losses on our side." She changed the display again, and three figures materialised above the table in rotating holographic busts.
"These are the individuals who command the facility and the reason why it's a joint operation," she continued.
The first figure was a hulking Namekian with dark green skin, antennae, and a permanent sneer. "Lord Protector Slug," Anissa stated. "He is of the same species that you fought on the way to Viltrum, a Namekian, however he has mutated himself into what the Namekians call a Super Namekian. He can manipulate his own life force to increase strength and speed far beyond the standard of his race, fire energy blasts capable of vaporising mountains, regenerate lost limbs almost instantly, and enlarge his body to massive scales if necessary."
Mark studied the projection. "He doesn't look that impressive compared to some of the heavy hitters I've faced."
Anissa's eyes narrowed. "He has personally killed three Viltrumite enforcers and forced a warlord to retreat. Do not underestimate him."
She dismissed Slug's image and brought forward the second figure: a broad, four-armed warrior whose skin appeared to be living diamond shot through with red crystalline veins. "Commander Terragon," she said. "Hybrid offspring of a Petrosapien and a Tetramand. The combination grants him strength in the lower Viltrumite range but durability that exceeds most of us. He can generate crystalline constructs from any part of his body, and the edges of those crystals have been measured slicing through Viltrumite flesh with minimal resistance. His speed and raw power, however, remain low compared to us, which means he is the least dangerous of the trio in single combat."
Mark nodded and pointed to the empty space where the third hologram now materialised. The man who appeared stood well over eight feet tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, with features that looked almost seemed human if not for the faint glow that emanated from his eyes and the intricate circuitry patterns that traced across his exposed forearms like living tattoos.
Anissa's expression grew noticeably more solemn. "We do not possess a name for him," she said quietly. "Neither the Guardians of the universe nor the Coalition's own records contain one. Everyone simply refers to him as The Exile. The only confirmed data we have is that he is a New God who was cast out of his pantheon for reasons unknown, and that he is very, very strong."
Mark arched an eyebrow. "Define very."
Anissa met his gaze without blinking. "Six cycles ago he boarded the Warlord Krael's flagship alone, killed Krael in single combat, and then destroyed the entire vessel from the inside. No survivors. No distress signal. The debris field is still orbiting the neutron star where it happened."
Silence stretched between them while Mark stared at the towering figure rotating slowly in the projection. He rubbed his jaw, processing the implications. "Let me get this straight," he finally said. "We're assaulting a fortress that has fifty thousand soldiers armed with weapons that can actually hurt us, commanded by a Super Namekian who has killed Viltrumites, a walking diamond tank, and a God who casually murdered a warlord and his entire crew." He turned fully toward Anissa. "So why exactly am I in charge of this operation? I've been part of the empire for about five minutes, I barely know the current front lines, and I definitely don't have the experience to lead a joint strike with the Saiyans. Why would Thragg put me in command of something this critical?"
Anissa deactivated the third hologram and let the planetoid schematic return to the center. She shrugged. "You are a hybrid," she answered simply. "Among pure Viltrumites there are few who will ever surpass you in raw potential, and the Grand Regent is aware of that fact. Your bloodline guarantees a ceiling most of us can only dream of reaching."
Mark gave a soft, humourless laugh. "Maybe."
"Or," Anissa continued, folding her arms, "the Grand Regent wishes to test you. A victory here would silence many of the voices that still call you mongrel. A failure would give those same voices ammunition to demand your removal, perhaps even your execution. Grand Regent Thragg has always preferred his lessons to be practical."
Mark stared at the slowly rotating fortress-world for several long seconds. He could almost hear the screams that would echo through those corridors soon, could almost feel the weight of the lives he would have to take or allow to be taken. His stomach turned, but he kept his face neutral. "Whatever the reason," he said at last, "I just want to get it done and go home."
Anissa studied him for a moment, something almost like curiosity flickering across her features before it vanished behind her usual mask of discipline. "Then we should prepare," she said, shutting down the projector with a swipe of her hand. "We drop out of hyperspace in seven hours. The Saiyan contingent will rendezvous with us two hours after that. I recommend you rest while you can and maybe clean off the blood from the fight."
Mark nodded absently, already turning back toward the door. "Yeah," he muttered. "I'll do that..."
He left the ready room without another word and drifted through the corridors until he found an empty observation lounge. There he floated in front of the viewport again, watching the starlines streak past while the ship carried him inexorably toward a battle that would either cement his place in the empire or break him completely. The doubt he had pushed down earlier crept back up, colder this time, but he crushed it again with the same thought that had sustained him since the day he first put on the white-and-red uniform.
The children would be safe.
That single truth was the only armour he needed.
_____________________________________
Lucan's eyes snapped open inside the translucent healing pod, the greenish fluid that surrounded him bubbling violently as his lungs seized and forced him into a guttural scream. Pain lanced through every joint, every vertebra that Mark snapped had been wrenched back into place, and the scream turned into a snarl of pure fury. His head jerked left and right, pupils dilating as memory flooded back: Mark's hand on his cheek, the mocking little pat, the impossible blur of speeed, and then the sickening crack of his own neck twisting until the world spun upside down.
He punched outward with both fists. The reinforced pod wall buckled, then shattered outward in a spray of fluid and goass fragments. Alarms shrieked immediately, red warning lights strobing across the medical bay. A technician rushed forward, all four of his hands raised trying to calm him. "Enforcer Lucan, the regeneration cycle is only seventy-three percent complete! Your spinal column has not fully—"
Lucan's hand shot out and closed around the technician's throat before the sentence finished. The creature's plea cut off into a wet gurgle. Lucan squeezed, slowly, feeling cartilage collapse under his fingers, and then harder until the head burst with a wet pop that painted the nearby consoles purple. The body dropped limp to the deck.
Lucan stepped over the corpse without a downward glance and floated toward the exit, fluid still dripping from his uniform. Every corridor he passed through seemed too narrow, every crew member who saw him too slow to get out of his way. His thoughts circled the same name over and over.
Mark Grayson.
The half-breed who dared to touch him.
The mongrel who humiliated him in front of slaves.
The arrogant whelp who smiled while he broke a Viltrumite's neck like it was nothing.
The fucking bastard that had beaten him over and over again despite being centuries younger than him.
Each recollection stoked the furnace inside his chest higher. Mark had no honour. Mark fought with tricks from an inferior species. Mark protected weaklings who should have been enslaved decades ago. Mark strutted around in a uniform he had not earned and presumed to command those who had spilled oceans of blood for the Empire. The more Lucan thought about it, the more the rage solidified into something uncontrollable. Mark Grayson did not deserve a warrior's death. He deserved the death of a slave, slow, public, and utterly humiliating.
He reached his personal quarters, slammed the palm-lock, and stalked to the secure terminal mounted in the wall. The panel recognised his biometric signature and unfolded with a hiss. Lucan entered a sixteen-digit sequence that only a handful of enforcers even knew existed, then initiated an encrypted sub-space channel. Static flickered across the screen for three heartbeats before it resolved into the sscarred face of General Krieg.
The older Viltrumite studied Lucan's still-damaged neck and the blood spattered across his chest. One eyebrow rose in dry amusement. "I take it you have reconsidered my offer," Krieg asked.
Lucan's jaw worked, the muscles bunching. "I declined only because I wanted to kill the half-breed myself the honourable way," he spat. "But Mark Grayson knows nothing of honour. He fights like a coward, protects vermin, and mocks warriors that are his betters. He deserves no better than the death we give traitors and thralls."
Krieg allowed himself a thin, humourless smile. "Then you accept the arrangement Warlord Conquest and I discussed."
"I do," Lucan answered without hesitation. "Whatever it takes, whatever method you require, I will see it done. The mongrel dies screaming."
Krieg leaned closer to the pickup until his face filled the screen. "Good. Remember this, Lucan: failure is not an option. Conquest wants the hybrid broken before the Grand Regent's eyes, and I want the example made clear to every enforcer who still harbours sentimental notions about inferior races. Do not fail us. When the moment comes, you will receive the signal. Until then, maintain your role and wait."
The channel cut to black.
Lucan stood motionless for several seconds, fists clenched so tightly that blood from his earlier kill oozed between his fingers. Then he turned, slammed his fist into the bulkhead hard enough to dent the alloy, and let the rage settle into a cold, patient burn behind his eyes.
Mark Grayson would die.
And Lucan would be the one to make it happen.
____________________________________
Mark and Anissa stood on the bridge together, both having showered and prepared themselves for the mission. The crew members glanced up briefly from their stations, but they quickly resumed their tasks when Anissa shot them a look that conveyed her annoyance without words. Mark stood with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the viewport where the hyperspace tunnel continued to stretch onward.
Captain Vexar-Null turned from his console after a few minutes, his multiple arms adjusting controls before he addressed them. "We will arrive at our destination momentarily," he announced, his voice carrying across the bridge to ensure that everyone heard the update.
Mark nodded in acknowledgment and met the captain's eyes. "Thank you for the update Captain," he said genuinely.
This response puzzled the captain, who hesitated for a second while his expression showed confusion, Anissa also glanced at Mark with a similar reaction, her eyebrow arching slightly as she wondered about his choice of words toward a subordinate. Mark ignored their reactions and turned directly to Anissa, "Tell me about the Saiyan forces," he requested. "What can we expect from them in terms of numbers and capabilities?"
Anissa leaned against a nearby railing, her arms folding while she gathered her thoughts. "Their ship will carry approximately five thousand Saiyans," she explained. "Most of them will fall into the lower to mid-class categories, with only around one thousand qualifying as elites who possess the highest combat proficiency."
Mark tilted his head in curiosity, his interest piqued by the terminology. "What do those rankings signify exactly?" he inquired.
Anissa responded without delay. "Saiyans maintain a caste system that bases itself on their bloodlines and inherent power," she detailed. "They hold a belief that their race descends from an ancient Saiyan named Yamoshi, whom they revere as the original Super Saiyan God, and they claim that all Saiyans share his lineage, though the purity varies among individuals."
"Their hierarchy revolves around demonstrated strength and the perceived purity of that bloodline, which determines social standing and roles within their empire. The royalty occupies the top tier with the purest blood, followed by the elites who command in battles, then the mid-class who handle standard operations, and finally the low-class who perform the most basic duties."
Mark absorbed the information, "How do they measure up against a Viltrumite in direct confrontation?" he asked.
Anissa shook her head slightly. "They do not compare favorably in most cases," she stated. "Even an elite Saiyan would struggle to match one of us in raw power or endurance. What poses a threat, however, is their transformation into massive apelike forms under certain conditions, which amplifies their strength significantly and allows them to overwhelm opponents through sheer force."
Mark processed her words, his expression thoughtful. "I see," he replied, filing the detail away for later use.
Anissa added more without prompting. "There is also the King to consider," she mentioned, drawing Mark's attention back to her.
Mark leaned forward slightly, his curiosity renewed. "What sets him apart?" he questioned, eager for the specifics.
Anissa met his gaze. "He engaged Thragg in single combat and emerged alive," she revealed, recalling the reports that had circulated among the enforcers.
Mark raised his brow in surprise, his posture straightening as he processed the claim. "How did that happen?" he asked.
Anissa shrugged lightly, her uncertainty evident. "I lack details on the encounter itself, for no witnesses observed the fight directly," she admitted, her hand gesturing dismissively. "It led Thragg to conclude that an alliance with the Saiyans would benefit the empire more than subjugation, as they possess both strength and numbers that could complicate matters if they chose to resist our authority."
Mark nodded in understanding, his mind turning over the implications of such a leader. "Who commands their strike team for this operation?" he inquired next.
Anissa frowned at the question, her discomfort apparent as she hesitated for a moment.
Mark noticed her reaction and turned fully toward her. "Whats wrong?" he asked
Anissa exhaled slowly, composing herself. "Nothing of consequence," she replied. "I simply find the leader in question quite disagreeable in demeanor and approach."
Mark pressed for the identity. "Who leads them?" he questioned again.
Anissa sighed. "She holds the title of second Princess of the Saiyan Empire," she stated. "Her name is Princess Caulifa."
Mark nodded once more, accepting the information without further comment. Their exchange ended abruptly when Captain Vexar-Null spoke up from his station, his voice cutting through the bridge chatter. "We are dropping out of hyperspace now," he informed them, his hands manipulating the controls that initiated the transition. The ship shuddered faintly as the hyperspace field collapsed, and the viewport filled with the familiar starfield of normal space. In the distance, the Saiyan vessel came into view, its structure spherical in shape with a diameter that dwarfed their own ship, and various protrusions extended from its surface where docking ports and weapon arrays integrated seamlessly.
Mark observed the craft for several seconds, his head tilting as he assessed its design. "It has an unusual configuration," he commented.
Anissa followed his gaze. "The ships originate from an organization known as the Cold Force," she clarified, recalling the historical context. "They once enslaved the Saiyans and imposed their technology upon them, but the current King fought and killed the Cold Force leader and all of his kin, which allowed the Saiyans to claim their technology for their own use."
Mark raised his eyebrows at the revelation, his thoughts lingering on the King's capabilities that enabled such a feat.
Anissa placed her hand on his shoulder then, drawing his attention back to the present. "We should proceed to greet them," she suggested.
Mark nodded in agreement, and they moved toward the exit together. They navigated the corridors until they reached the nearest airlock, where Lucan already waited with his arms crossed and a scowl directed at Mark's approach. Anissa leaned closer to Mark as they stopped. "Display no vulnerability in front of them," she advised "They value strength above all, and they will not respect displays of sentiment or hesitation."
Lucan snorted at her words. "As if the mongrel knows how to act otherwise," he muttere.
Mark responded instantly, his hand flashing out to slap Lucan's face with enough force that several teeth dislodged and clattered to the deck. "Let us proceed," he said calmly, stepping past Lucan without another glance.
They activated the airlock sequence, and the outer hatch opened to the vacuum of space. Mark, Anissa, and Lucan launched themselves outward, their bodies propelling through the void toward the Saiyan ship that loomed ahead. As they neared, the hangar doors on the Saiyan vessel parted, revealing an interior bay illuminated by harsh lights. They entered the hangar and touched down on the deck, where hundreds of Saiyans stood in formation, their tails wrapped around their waists and their expressions impassive as they regarded the newcomers.
Mark raised his hand in a gesture of welcome, addressing the assembled group. "I am Enforcer Mark Grayson, I'm glad to meet all of you and I appreciate your alliance in this mission," he statedn
The Saiyans remained silent, their ranks unmoving as no one responded to his words.
Mark felt a wave of awkwardness settle over him, and he attempted to engage them again. "I am sure that Our combined forces will be successful against the installation," he added, hoping to elicit some acknowledgment.
Still, the Saiyans offered no reply, their stares fixed ahead.
Mark turned to Anissa then, his confusion evident. "Do you know any reason they're behaving like this." he asked.
Anissa sighed, her posture relaxing slightly. "Try to avoid killing any of them if possible," she advised.
Before Mark could question her further, the Saiyans surged forward as one, their boots thundering on the deck while they charged toward the Viltrumites with fists raised and energy gathering in their palms.
(AN: So Mark has finally met the Saiyans and knows a bit more about them, and we finally get our first girl Second Princess Caulifa. Obviously I had to add her cause why wouldn't I. Anyway hope you enjoyed it)
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