"Only by joining together can we survive that which is coming for us." Argall wooed the masses, Argall noted. Thousands of people seemed to cling to everything his son said as though they were enthralled by the very sound of his voice. That said, Argall was an excellent statesman, even without his peculiar charisma. He would've made for an excellent writer or speaker. The crowds began erupting into faint cheers. But his son was not finished talking. Argall raised his fist high up into the air and roared. "We will no longer be afraid of them! We will not be cowed! We will not be taken as slaves! We will not be defeated! We shall not go quietly into the night! No! We will unite! We shall rise higher than ever before! And, together, we shall eradicate the Rangdan! We shall eradicate all that dares stand before us!"
"Death to the invaders!"
"Death to the invaders!"
"Death to the aliens!"
The crowd roared with him. And, they too, raised their fists – civilians and Scrappers alike. His boy, Thragg noted with some amusement, seemed to have grown taller in the last few hours. He wondered, briefly, if Argall possessed an ability similar to a Viltrumite's ability to grow stronger through conflict. If so, did it just make him taller? Would a very long and bloody war turn Argall into a behemoth? That wasn't a pleasant thing to think about at all.
Though, admittedly, it was rather amusing. The image of a gigantic Argall, wading through mountains of bodies and rivers of blood was cartoonish. But, if that's how the boy's physical ability worked, then he'd eventually grow far too large to properly interact with anything. So, hopefully not.
Thragg watched from afar, atop a mountain that loomed over the nearby Scrapyard and Alka itself, the city suffering not nearly as much damage as the others, though still overall ruined and burnt in many places. Enough of it, however, survived that rebuilding wouldn't be too much of a problem. There were a few Iron Men patrolling the place, but Thragg wasn't entirely certain what they were looking for, exactly, seeing as any surviving Rangdan would've likely abandoned the cities and fled into the open plains, where finding and killing them would be so much harder, since there were – ironically – so many places for them to hide in. That was, of course, assuming the Beasts and the Monsters didn't tear them to shreds first. After all, there were plenty of predatory creatures that roamed the plains of this planet, many of which were far more powerful and far deadlier than the Rangdan Warriors, like the Dragons of the Scrapyards.
"We will begin by cleansing this world of the Rangdan taint!" Argall finished, unveiling a device of some sort, with a Rangdan corpse inside it, encapsulated in a glass tube. Once again, Thragg found himself at a loss for words for Argall's incredible talent for technology, his seemingly innate grasp as to the nature of physics and chemistry, allowing Argall to understand concepts and conceive ideas that very few others could. His son was an unparalleled genius and a great leader. Thragg's chest swelled with pride. "I have built this machine to aid us in locating the surviving aliens!"
Thragg raised a brow. Did Argall build that thing while he was gone or did he already possess a close-enough device and simply repurposed it? Either possibilities were equally amazing. Argall then switched on the device, which then immediately projected a green holographic image of the entire planet, large enough for every person to see. The red dots, Thragg assumed, indicated the presence of Rangdan in numerous locations across the planet. They gathered in large groups, however, which should make it easier to eliminate them.
"First, however, we must unite all the sister-cities!" Argall said, once more wooing the crowd with his words. Thragg had to wonder if this ability was some form of magic or if it was a passive psychic ability of some sort. It was incredibly potent; only those with immense will and strength could hope to resist it. And most people did not possess either of those things – human and alien alike. Argall's mother, Nareena, was able to resist it entirely due to her extremely stubborn mind that no amount of mind control could possibly alter or influence. Sereen was similarly less-affected, since she inherited quite a bit of the same willpower from her mother. Thagg himself had learned, long ago, to steel his mind from psychic advances; so, it was nothing to him. "We will not stop until we are all united under one banner, under one glorious purpose!"
"Hail the coming empire!"
The crowds around Argall, however, clung unto his every word as though it was a gospel. Their screams, their roars, were fervent and manic, almost religious, even. That was interesting. But, also entirely understandable. Many lesser races often worshiped those who were superior to them. Thragg had no idea just what Argall actually was, but he knew that humans were nowhere close to his son; as such, it seemed rather natural for them to bend their knees and worship that which was superior to them in every way.
Argall then divided the crowd, each division led by a Scrapper, and given a letter of some kind, meant to be delivered to the survivors of the other cities, likely to try and convince them to join Argall's banner. And, amusingly enough, his son did have a banner, the symbol of a cog on a white field, attached to a long pole that was hoisted up by a group of youths. That was good. A flag was more than just a little drawing on a piece of cloth, it was a rallying symbol for people to gather around, something to make them feel as though they belonged to a much greater whole, similar to uniforms. The Viltrumite Empire of old, before his time as regent, made use of similar unifying tactics to ensure the loyalty of every single Viltrumite.
It was a dangerous game to play, Thragg mused. But, ultimately, this was Argall's story; the boy was free to do as he willed. No one could stop him. Thragg's own story was... well... finished. After he destroys the Rangdan God, then he'd quietly fade into obscurity as Argall arose to become the ruler of an entire world. It was only right. Perhaps, he'd emerge from time to time if ever his son was at the utmost need of aid. Other than that, he'd likely act more as a guardian and, perhaps, caretaker to any of Sereen's descendants, should she decide to have a family of her own. Thragg's time was over. It was better for the Universe if the Grant Regent simply faded.
But, that time has yet to come. There was much to be done – and a god to kill.
Thragg waited until Argall's speech was over, before grabbing the monolith he'd laid behind him and flying down. Almost immediately, the crowd reacted – mostly in the form of fear and panic, but a few of them did raise their weapons. These people, however, were natives of Alka and, just as quickly, many of them recognized him, lowering their weapons, even as their mouths widened. They were neighbors, after all, people he'd talked and interacted with for many years. They knew him – not on any intimate level. But they knew his face. Nareena was, perhaps, the most famous person in Alka; everyone knew her. And so, by extension, everyone knew him as the man who married the greatest Scrapper on the whole planet – the craziest too, but no one was brave enough to mention that.
The crowd did not disperse. Instead, they gathered in fearful clumps as Thragg made his way to his son, who smiled at his approach. Thragg threw the monolith away towards the ruined remains of his old home, just to make sure it couldn't hurt anyone in the event of some form of viral or otherwise pestilent attack. Or magical. At least, his house was far enough away from the city that any form of corruption would be noticed immediately. "Father. You're back."
Thragg nodded. "I am. I have learned much about the Rangdan. There is much that you should know."
Argall seemed worried for a moment. His eyes scanned the crowd. Thragg noted the fear that lingered in their eyes, that primal fear of the unknown and the unknowable. He'd seen trillions of eyes like that, all looking up at him, the eyes of the conquered, the eyes of those who fell beneath the iron fist of the Viltrumites. Alas, there was nothing to be done for it. "Father, are you not concerned for your secret any longer?"
Thragg shook his head. "It doesn't matter anymore. Not that I'm going to entertain their questions if they bother to ask. No, there are greater things at stake."
"Very well, father," Argall nodded. He raised a hand and, almost like drones, the crowds around them dispersed. "Let us talk in my tent. We'll have some privacy there. Many of these people, I imagine, are not ready for any more grand revelations that'll rock their already rocking world."
"They appear to have gathered beneath your leadership, son." Thragg stated. "How does it feel to hold such power and responsibility?"
"Honestly?" Argall said. "I don't know. I feel like I'm the only one who can be responsible for them, because they look up to me. Still, I suppose, that makes it easier to unite all the sister-cities once and for all. There's so much technology in this planet, just buried and forgotten in the Scrapyards. These people could be so much more than what they already are; they could achieve so many things – wonders and marvels that their descendants would surely be proud of. And, with my knack for technology, I could make that happen. I know I can. And so I will, just like you told me to."
"I'm proud of you, son." Thragg nodded. "But there's still plenty of work to be done."
"Of course," Argall said. "I can see it already, father. By my calculations, it'll be at least two decades before the Rangdan can amass enough of their forces to attack again. You dealt them a heavy blow by ravaging their fleet. I don't know how you did it, father, but you bought the people here plenty of time to prepare. And I will make sure that time is not wasted. When the Rangdan return – and they will – the aliens will not find a bunch of primitives, living around massive scrapyards. No, they will face a mighty Empire, strong and righteous. We will not lose. We will not be slaves."
"It's good to see that you've found your conviction, my son." Thragg nodded, feeling a surge of pride for the child that was not of his blood, followed by melancholy at the reminder that he'd had many children and he'd treated them all like they were nothing more than dispensable objects, like their lives meant nothing. Surely, some of them must've survived. He hoped they managed to find some meaning for themselves; otherwise, they would find their thousand-year lifespans to be terribly dull.
As they walked, Argall suddenly asked, "What was that thing you threw over to our property, father? It wasn't of human design or make. Nothing akin to what the Iron Men- or, the Necrons, possess, either. Did you take it from the Rangdan ship?"
Thragg nodded. "Yes, I did. It's a device of some sort that allows for their- hmm... I suppose I should start from the beginning. You're aware that I brought ruin to their fleet, yes?"
Argall nodded, a bit unsteadily. "Yes. I am aware, even if the means with which you accomplished such a thing eludes me. You could not have simply-"
"Nope. I simply flew through them and the shrapnel of debris did the rest. The Mothership was a bit trickier, but no vessel can stand up to me." That was... admittedly, a bit of a brag, but it was also true. At least, from the inside of it, when he flew at speeds faster than light itself, no object could stop him – nothing could stand before him, not even a god.
"Just what are you, father?" Argall asked, in awe. "I mean, I know you're not human, but what sort of power do you carry?"
"Well, I told your sister. I suppose it's time you learned the truth as well."