Thunder boomed from the sky and the ground shook beneath them.

Thragg's eyes narrowed, his gaze turning upwards through the ceiling. His ears caught the thrum of engines, the thunderous beats echoing like war drums in the sky. Thragg knew that sound well. He knew it quite intimately, in fact. And then, the seconds ticked by, each one seemingly lasting hours and hours. A brief moment of silence passed, before a horrible howling, shrieking sound filled the clouds.

They were here.

And then, it clicked. The city of Alka was now under attack.

Argall turned to him, the boy's eyes wide with fear – genuine fear. His son rarely ever showed fear. But, as their gazes met, an unspoken understanding fluttered between them. "Mother..."

Nareena.

Thragg did not wait and neither did he particularly care for subtlety as he turned and flew right through the nearby wall, several meters of solid steel and stone, shattering before him as though it was little more than wet paper, as though it did not exist at all. Time and space warped around him, atoms and molecules burning away as Thragg surged through the open air. Outside, the city was aflame, an entire fleet of the alien ships flying overhead. And, in the distance, his home, set ablaze, his little house on a hill, his garden, his smokehouse, and his heart. She was there, asleep, unguarded and unaware.

A sensation he'd not quite felt before bubbled within him, something Thragg hadn't known was even there, something he'd never thought he'd ever feel. Fear.

Thragg reached his home faster than than anyone or anything could perceive him, breaking through the very same walls he'd helped build, brick by tedious brick with his own hands. A great cloud of fire and dust blew over him, an explosion so impossibly hot and riddled with so much radiation that even his child, Argall, who possessed an unnatural regenerative ability, would've been reduced to ashes within moments. It only burned away his clothes.

Thragg rushed to their bedroom and, on the way, he found only fire and flames, only destruction. And, as he broke through the doorway, there he found... horror.

Thragg's heart froze in his chest and his hands curled into fists.

But...

There would be no tears shed, no cries sung. He and his wife had long since accepted, long since knew, that she would die long before he did, that she would meet death before ever seeing Thragg grow old. It was inevitable, after all. He was Viltrumite and she was human. Thragg hovered to the side of their blazing bed, keeping his eyes fixed on his wife's form; even as she was, burnt black, Thragg saw nothing but her beauty, saw only the woman whom he married, the woman who accepted him no matter who he was and what he'd done, the woman who believed in him, believed that he could be better than himself, better than he believed himself to be.

More than anything, Nareena was the one who showed him love, showed him how beautiful it was to love and to be loved in turn. She was his heart, because she was the one who showed him just how beautiful and precious the tiny moments could be, the moments they spent together – the act of cooking breakfast, of sweeping the floor, of tending to the plants and flowers in the garden, of singing songs off-key, of dancing and swaying beneath the moonlight, of laughing at terrible jokes, of reading together. Nareena gave him everything he'd missed, everything he ever wanted, and everything he'd never known.

And now, she was gone.

Thragg reached out and brushed her face with his fingers, but Nareena turned to ashes just as he reached her. The gray dust that was his beloved fluttered and dispersed in the air, dissipating in the raging flames. She didn't suffer, at the very least, dying in her sleep. Instantly. It didn't even seem as though her sleep was disturbed. Blissful. "Goodbye... beloved. Someday soon, we will see each other again."

Was this what true sadness felt like? Thragg mused. He'd killed billions and left entire worlds to ruin. Was this how the survivors felt when he slaughtered their loved ones and the people they cared about? Did they feel the same sort of grief he felt now?

Wordlessly, Thragg walked out of his ruined home and turned his gaze skywards. The alien fleet was still there, launching their shadowy projectiles from above and raining death upon Alka. It didn't take long for the people to fight back, however, as a cacophony of destruction was fired right back at the ships, ancient anti-air emplacements suddenly roaring to life, weapons of war unleashing their deadly payloads. The alien ships were massive, however, and numbered in the hundreds – around two hundred of them, to be exact, the smallest of them being the size of the Guild Hall itself, which wasn't exactly a small structure by any means. The Scrappers and the civilians were brave; Thragg would give them that. But the truth of the matter was that they were outgunned and outnumbered. There wasno hope of victory here – not unless he intervened.

And the aliens just did the worst thing they could've possibly done. Thragg would've been happy to sit back and let Argall wage this war against them. He would've happily stood in his son's shadow and watched his boy destroy the invaders and rout them away from the planet. If things had gone right, then Thragg figured he wouldn't have to fight at all. But now, it was personal. They destroyed his home and killed his wife. Argall would still have his moment, Thragg was certain of that; the boy, after all, was destined for greatness. But, right now, oh... right now he was just pissed.

Thragg flew up and bore a hole through the closest of the alien ships, destroying their engines and thrusters in the process. Briefly, he glimpsed at the creatures within, six-limbed, gray-skinned beings with almost canine features, akin to Thokk's people, but hairless and ugly, frozen in time as he passed by them; these must've been the masters, he noted, mostly due to the lack of a neural collar. Thragg's very movement set the air aflame, the friction of molecules resulting in an epic firestorm that engulfed the interior, burning anything and everything. The hulls and walls melted to burning slag, the ship's inhabitants reduced to ashes almost instantly. And then, he did the same to the next ship, and the one after that, and the one after that, and the one after that, until the sky above Alka was engulfed in fire, spurned by the winds his flight had generated – winds that also sent most of the debris in the air hurling far and away from the city.

A few of the alien masters might've survived, Thragg surmised immediately, but there were so few of them that the people of Alka would surely be capable of defeating them rather easily.

Briefly, Thragg wondered if anyone witnessed him, but quickly dismissed the notion as he was simply flying too fast for any human being to even perceive. The only person who might've seen him was Argall and the boy already knew – or, at least, knew a bit – of Thragg's true nature. That said, even if everyone found out right now, Thragg didn't care. He really couldn't find it in himself to care – not at the moment, not when he was grieving, not when he just lost his heart.

One of the masters plummeted from the sky – gray of skin, lithe but powerful of build. It was injured, its strange organic armor burnt and shattered in many places; the creature was also missing all four of its lower limbs, alongside its left arm. Six fingers, Thragg noted, upon its right hand, each one shaped and sharpened like wicked hooks. Rows of spines and thick scales growing and sprouting from its armor.

Thragg flew over to the alien and caught it. Immediately, he realized that it still lived if only barely and likely not for long. Hissing, bubbling blue blood spilled from its wounds and it emitted a foul stench that almost reminded him of rotten eggs. Right then and there, Thragg wanted to tear the damn thing limb from bloody limb, force open its rib cage, pull its bones from their sockets, one by one, and then flay it. But... doing so would break his promise to Nareena; it's undo all he'd done to better himself. And, at the very least, this creatures and its ilk killed his wife swiftly and painlessly; he'd return the favor. Though, Thragg knew for certain that Argall did not and would not share his view.

But, just this once, he would not interfere with the boy's seemingly inherent sadism and aggression. Argall would be free to unleash the fullness of his cruelty against his enemies – not against mindless beasts or those who might still be his allies.

Thragg breathed in and made his way back down to the ground, the bleeding alien in his grasp. A curtain fluttered by and he reached out and caught it, and quickly wrapped it around his waist. There, Thragg mused, that should keep people from staring. Viltrumites didn't care much for nudity or sex, but humans were strangely conservative about their notions of propriety, save for Nareena, but his wife was not exactly a good example of the human norm. Thragg nearly chuckled. That woman was an absolute menace, many would've referred to her as a barbarian if it hadn't been for her reputation and her accomplishments.

Cheers echoed all around him – confused cheers, but cheers nonetheless – as the people of Alka watched the rain of flaming debris, the ruined remnants of their fleet, and thousands upon thousands of dead alien warriors and their slaves falling from the night sky. Thragg looked up for a moment, before he shook his head and walked forward. The other Scrappers, including Argall himself, would be very interested in studying a living specimen of these Rangda, Thragg figured.

The creature then awoke and struggled. Thragg stopped and looked down, and raised a brow. Before his very eyes, the alien creature was regenerating, gradually regrowing its lost limbs, burnt patches of skin and muscle mending in mere seconds. Fascinating. A healing factor was rare. Viltrumites had something similar to it, but not quite to the same extent as the Rangdan creature. And then, within what seemed like a mere three seconds, the alien had completely regrown its left arm. With Thragg holding it by its head, the Rangdan alien immediately attacked with its bare hands. It was fast – for a human. In fact, no human being could've possibly reacted to it. Argall was faster, of course, but that was already a given. It was strong too, probably strong enough to rip apart a Wilderbeast with its bare hands.

And that made it dangerous – very dangerous – against humans, Scrapper or otherwise, though the former might stand a better chance. Certainly, a Scrapper of Nareena's skills would be more than capable of winning. But there were few who could match his wife's combat ability.

Thragg, however... was not impressed – not in the slightest.

With a simple chopping motion with his free hand, Thragg, quite literally, disarmed the Rangdan, making the creature scream and screech in agony as both of its forearms fell to the ground. Thragg brought the creature up, close to his eyes. Before he spoke, however, Thragg breathed in deeply and forced his heart to calm – or, at the very least, reach a semblance of it. Rage simmered beneath the surface, but he held himself back."Try anything again and I will rip you apart, inch by inch; I will tear away bits of your flesh, slowly, gradually, until all you know is pain and suffering. And it will never end for you. Your flesh will mend, perhaps, but I will not stop ripping away tiny pieces from your body. Do you understand me, creature?"

It was a bluff, of course. His promise to Nareena meant he couldn't torture anyone or anything, but bluffs were not out of the table; besides, a little white lie never hurt anyone. And, in this situation, Thragg was rather certain it was necessary, mostly as a precaution to keep the alien from breaking itself against him.

"This..." The alien spoke, its voice raspy and reverberating, sounding more akin to a chorus of different voices, speaking as one. "This one understands. This one will comply. "

Thragg snarled. "Good."

AN: Chapter 11 is out on (Pat)reon!