"You were following me," Thragg said, his voice low and measured, each word weighted with the threat of violence. His large hands were wrapped around the frail neck of a humanoid creature, its limbs twitching feebly in his grasp. The creature's features were obscured by a grotesque mask that appeared to be laughing. Despite its apparent fragility, the being had been part of a larger force that had ambushed him in deep space. It was still a mystery how they had managed to track him down, especially in the middle of nowhere. But they had.
He glanced at the creature again – taller than most humans, with an almost willowy physique, its limbs long and angular, more suited to a creature of grace and speed than of brute strength. The most striking feature, however, were its pointed ears, peeking out from beneath the mask, lending it an otherworldly quality. It reminded him of certain myths he'd heard whispered among the more primitive planets he had conquered. They moved fast, these beings – far faster than any normal human. In fact, they were almost as fast as Argall.
Almost.
But 'almost' wasn't nearly enough.
Not enough to stop him.
Thragg's eyes narrowed. His curiosity had been piqued when their weapons managed to sting his skin. That was something. Few things in this universe could hurt him, and these creatures had, if only slightly. It was an odd sensation, one that stirred something deeper within him. But it had been nothing more than an irritation – an interesting one, but an irritation all the same.
Nashara, the ancient Reaper bound to him, remained eerily silent. Thragg could feel its presence, a dark whisper at the edge of his mind, but even the Reaper had no answers. This was unusual. Nashara had witnessed countless species, countless wars, and yet, this alien was unfamiliar to it. The Reaper's curiosity mirrored Thragg's own, though it refused to voice its thoughts aloud.
"You attacked me. Why?" Thragg's grip tightened, just enough to elicit a strangled gasp from the creature, whose body shuddered under the pressure.
The scene replayed in his mind: their ships – sleek, avian-like in appearance – swooping down on him out of nowhere, their lasers slicing through the void with alarming precision. Thragg had been drifting through space, alone, lost in his thoughts, speeding towards the direction of the home he'd not seen in quite a while, when they appeared. Dozens of them, swarming like insects. It had been a pathetic attempt. Their vessels were fragile things, easily breached by his fists and shattered by the raw force of his power. Their speed didn't afford them anything. One by one, their ships crumbled, and in the ensuing chaos, many of the crew were sucked into the endless, unforgiving expanse of space.
He could have saved them. He thought about it, even. But why bother? They were strangers to him, their faces unknown, their motives unclear. And they had attacked first. He wasn't so merciful as to waste his time rescuing those who sought to kill him. No, this one – the one still squirming in his grasp – was lucky enough to survive, and only because he had stumbled across a living planet not far from the battle. Luck or fate, it didn't matter.
It had taken him less than an hour to fly there, the broken creature stuffed into a box he'd found floating among the wreckage. Now, at the planet's highest peak, the winds whipping around them, he pried the lid open and dragged the survivor out, wrapping his fingers around its throat.
He stared at the masked face, the creature's shallow, rasping breaths echoing in the thin atmosphere. It tried to speak, but the words came out as incoherent gasps, the mask muffling any sound it attempted to make. Thragg loosened his grip slightly, allowing it the barest chance to breathe.
"Talk," he growled, his tone promising death if it did not comply. The alien was fragile. He could break its neck entirely accidentally if he sneezed. But then that was true for everything that existed around him. It was true for all Viltrumites. It was a matter of control – of restraint, something Thragg had plenty of, thanks to his time spent with humans, with his wife and family. Sneezing, however, was a good way to lose quite a lot of that control.
The creature coughed, its thin, elongated fingers clawing weakly at Thragg's hand. It did not speak. Instead, it grabbed a black knife and tried to stab him with it. Instead of doing anything, the knife shattered like glass against his skin. Thragg raised a brow as the alien stared at the remains of its knife – just the handle, really. Thragg almost wanted to laugh. His eyes narrowed. "Are you going to try anything else or are you going to talk now? Because I'm running out of patience – and time."
Thragg of Viltrum. Nashara suddenly spoke. This creature won't speak; its will is strong. Allow me to rip its memories from its mind so that we may examine it.
Thragg raised a brow, but otherwise agreed. He didn't want to waste another moment on this nameless planet. "Very well."
Nashara wasn't physically present. Its prison was absolute, built to be indestructible by its makers. But its essence was with him and within him at all times, like an infinite bridge. And the Reaper's essence, though far weaker than its physical form, was still the essence of a god and, thusly, held incredible powers, such as its power to share knowledge in the form of a 'Mind Palace' that Thragg could access by focusing, or – in this case – ripping memories right out of a living creature's mind. Translucent tendrils of energy emerged from Thragg's head, surging forward, through, and into the alien's head.
The humanoid alien stiffened and shook, dropping the handle of its knife as its limbs stiffened and then relaxed and then stiffened again. Through their mental link, Thragg understood that Nashara, in that moment, was breaking down the alien's mind into raw data, something that could be processed within his true form and then spat back out as tangible information. That, Thragg mused, was... interesting, the ability to turn physical things into raw data.
After a moment, the translucent tendrils receded and the creature went limp. Dead. Thragg tossed its corpse down the mountain. It'd take some moments before Nashara could process the raw data into tangible, usable information. And so, Thragg surged upwards, faster than light itself, burning up the planet's atmosphere as he exited, leaving a trail of fire and destruction. As soon as he reached deep space once more, Nashara spoke, They were sent to destroy you.
"Yes, I know, but why?" Thragg asked.
Their master calls itself the Laughing God. It sees you as a threat to its plans. Why, this alien did not know. Its memories hold nothing more of value. Nashara said simply, its presence disappearing into the back of Thragg's mind immediately afterwards.
Thragg's eyes narrowed, but then, after a moment, he shrugged. Something that called itself the Laughing God would not be the first nor the last entity that wanted his head. There were likely trillions of others, each of them driven by hatred, driven by anger, by revenge against him for all the crimes he'd committed in the ancient days. Just another enemy. Not even a particularly powerful one at that if it couldn't be bothered to try and kill him, sending odd assassins in its place. Cowardice. At least the Rangdan God had enough of its dignity left to fight him on equal ground, compared to this Laughing God.
"Such a being is of no consequence to me," Thragg shrugged, surging across the darkness of space faster than light itself. His home was getting closer and closer with every passing moment. Soon, he'd be able see his son and – just maybe – his daughter once again. The thought of meeting his grandchildren brought a smile to Thragg's lips. He'd never cared much for his offspring before – not at all, really. Argall and Syreen were different. He loved them, even when – ironically – neither were of his blood, his lineage.
Still, Thragg mused, he didn't remember destroying or conquering any world as of late. Why would this Laughing God suddenly become his enemy? Odd.
He'd even made sure not to step on anyone's toes, to keep the peace he'd found.
It seemed, however, like he wasn't very good at maintaining his peace if new enemies kept popping up, no matter what he did.
You're off-course, Thragg of Viltrum; turn 4.5 degrees to your left.
"Ah," Thragg muttered. "Thanks."
Nareena twirled the blood-red axe in her grasp and frowned as she leaned back against her 'throne'. She'd long since figured and accepted that she couldn't just up and leave this place whenever or however she wanted to. There were rules, but she still wasn't sure what those rules were. This realm wasn't too bad if she was being honest. In fact, she kind of liked this place. Sure, it could use a new aesthetic since the fire, blood, skulls, and more blood got really old really fast, but there was no denying the joy that came from combat.
But, once again, Nareena could not deny the fact that fighting the daemons again and again kind of got old. The small ones were not even challenging anymore. It was the tall ones with wings who were fun to fight against, but she usually won. If she lost and died, then she'd just wake up on her throne, ready to start the day and kick some ass. It got repetitive after a while. There wasn't even a way to tell the time. There was no night and day, since the sky was the same crimson fucking blood red whenever she looked up.
She was apparently a Daemon Prince now – no longer human, no longer a physical entity. She was a Valkyrie, apparently, meant to judge those who wished to become champions of Khorne. Unfortunately, there were no candidates at the moment. At the very least, Nareena figured out how to control her own appearance, which was how she currently wasn't in her 'true' form and was just herself – as she remembered, at least. She didn't need to eat, sleep, or even drink now. The whole of her existence appeared to be devoted entirely to just fighting. And that was boring. Fighting was fun, but so was sleeping, drinking, cooking, and going on adventures.
Didn't anyone else around here have any other hobbies?
The answer was no. They did not have other hobbies. All they did was fight and fight and fight.
Why the hell was she even stuck here?
Nareena groaned and sighed, leaning back. An infernal, crimson armor coated her entire body, save for her head. She made it herself, using parts from the armors of all the daemons she'd defeated until she had just enough to cover herself with all of them. The axe came from the big man himself, Khorne, who kind of just it at her one day. Nareena didn't complain. A weapon made it so much easier to kill things.
But, she was bored out of her mind. She missed her kids. She missed her husband. She missed her garden. She missed digging through the Scrapyards, looking for interesting things. She missed looking up at an actual blue sky and not the menacing menstruation that was the sky here.
Scowling, Nareena stood up and kicked a nearby skull, shattering it. A Bloodletter came out of... somewhere, charging right at her. Sighing, Nareena pivoted, grabbed the Bloodletter by the horns and then hurled the little daemon into the sky. She really just wasn't in the mood. And then, something tugged at her – a metaphysical thing that called to her from beyond this realm. Shrugging, Nareena reached for that tug and found... something that shook her to her core.
And then, she smiled, and burning, blood red tears streamed from her eyes. "So that's what my kids have been up to?"
AN: Chapter 52 is out on (Pat)reon!