After their fight ended in a stalemate, Mark and Anissa hovered above the wrecked forest, both catching their breath, bruised and bloody but still standing. Anissa had suggested they continue their talk up in the sky, away from prying eyes, but Mark shook his head, insisting they go somewhere grounded instead. He'd convinced her to follow him back to the small village where he'd been staying, leading her to a little café tucked into the cobblestone streets. It wasn't like anyone would overhear them in a place like this—no one here cared about two strangers sipping coffee, and the chatter of the locals would drown out anything suspicious.
They walked in, Mark brushing dirt off his torn shirt, Anissa still in her tight white Viltrumite spandex that clung to every curve of her body, showing off her muscular arms and legs. They sat down at a small table near the window, Mark slumping into his chair while Anissa sat straight, looking out of place among the rustic wooden furniture and soft lighting. A waitress approached, her eyes widening as she took in Anissa's outfit—skin-tight, pristine white despite the dirt and blood from their fight, outlining her breasts and hips in a way that made her stand out like a sore thumb in this sleepy village. She set down two cups of black coffee without a word, then hurried back behind the counter, glancing over her shoulder as she went.
Anissa stared at the steaming cup in front of her, picking it up with two fingers like it might bite her, then took a sip. Her face scrunched up, lips pursing as she swallowed, setting it back down with a clink. "This concoction is quite disgusting," she said, looking at it like it offended her. "Earthlings truly do love some vile things."
Mark rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Use the milk and sugar. It'll make it taste better."
Anissa looked at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, then back at the little pitchers of milk and sugar on the table. "It's the—" Mark started to explain, but she cut him off.
"I am aware of what milk and sugar are," she said, her tone sharp. "I just do not see how they could make this revolting beverage more palatable."
Mark held up his hand, grabbed the milk pitcher, poured a splash into his own coffee, then added a spoonful of sugar, stirring it with the spoon already on the table. He took a long sip, set the cup down, and looked at her. "What are we doing here," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not asking for another fight, but I don't get what we could have to talk about."
Anissa didn't answer right away, instead reaching for the milk and pouring some into her cup, then scooping sugar in with the spoon, mimicking what Mark had done. She stirred it, took a sip, and set it back down without scrunching her face this time, though she didn't say anything about the taste—just left it there, steam still rising from the cup.
"How much do you know about your heritage," she asked, resting her hands on the table and looking at him.
Mark shrugged, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the edge. "Not much. You're part of an empire. You send Viltrumites to planets where they breed and conquer. You're at war with the Lanterns, I think I heard."
Anissa shook her head, picking up her cup again but not drinking, just holding it. "Disappointing lack of knowledge for one so strong."
"I'm more human than I am Viltrumite," Mark said, sitting back and crossing his arms again.
Anissa laughed, a short, humorless sound, setting her cup down harder than necessary. "You'd rather associate yourself with these insects than with your own people. Have some pride."
Mark frowned, uncrossing his arms and resting his hands on the table. "Pride in what. I've never even been to Viltrum."
"That is Nolan's fault," she said, leaning forward, her elbows on the table now too. "It was his duty to bring you there once you gained your powers, but he stupidly got himself locked up. In any case, your love for these humans is foolish."
"And why is that," Mark said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he leaned back in his chair.
"Because every human on this planet and their children and their children's children and so on will be dead before you have a single gray hair on your head," she said. "You fight to protect those whose lives are measured in that." snapping her fingers once, the sound sharp in the quiet café.
Mark's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists on the table, and he started to push his chair back to stand. "If this is what you wished to talk about, then I'm leaving."
She reached over fast, grabbing his arm with a grip that could crush steel, holding him in place. "No," she said.
"Let go of my arm," he said, staring at her hand, then meeting her eyes.
They sat there, locked in a tense moment, the air between them thick with unspoken threats. Her fingers stayed wrapped around his forearm, her strength pressing into his skin, but then she let go, pulling her hand back and sitting down fully in her chair again.
"I admit I let myself get off topic," she said, picking up her coffee and taking another sip, setting it down after.
Mark stayed seated, though his body was still tense, ready to bolt if he had to. His mind raced as he stared at her across the table, taking in the Viltrumite sitting there in front of him like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was strange—one of them, one of the ones who'd hunted him, threatened everything he cared about, now sipping coffee in a little village café like they were just two people catching up. He couldn't shake the feeling that this might be a trap. What did she even want to talk about? Was she stalling? Had she already sent a signal to the others while they'd been fighting? Were they on their way here right now, closing in on this quiet little spot?
He ran through the possibilities in his head, his fingers tapping the table once before stopping. If it was a trap, he could get away. He'd fought her to a standstill, and he knew he could outrun her if he had to, even if taking on three Viltrumites at once wasn't an option. Kara and his son flashed into his thoughts—he couldn't risk them, not for anything. His eyes flicked to the window, scanning the street outside for any sign of movement, then back to Anissa, who sat there watching him like she could read every thought running through his head.
"I can assure you this is not a trap," Anissa said, snapping Mark out of his spiraling thoughts as he sat across from her in the little café.
Mark furrowed his eyebrows, caught off guard by how she'd pegged his suspicion, but before he could dig into it, she spoke again. "No, I'm unable to read your mind. Our telepathy is minor, only picking up what's projected, though some in the empire have greater skill."
"Right," Mark said, unsure if he bought it, his hand resting on the edge of the table, fingers tapping once.
"Your body tensed, you shifted in your seat, you looked behind me while pretending to keep eye contact, and I saw your ears twitch," Anissa explained, laying out how she'd read him like an open book.
"I would've expected a warrior of your caliber to suppress such things," she added, picking up her coffee cup and taking another sip, her face staying neutral this time.
"Well, I hate to disappoint," Mark said, his tone dry as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
Anissa gave him a look of displeasure, setting her cup down with a faint clink, then cleared her throat. "You've shown you're quite ignorant of the Viltrum Empire, so allow me to enlighten you on a few important aspects of our history." She reached into a hidden pocket on her tight white Viltrumite spandex—Mark didn't bother asking where—and pulled out a small circular device, no bigger than a coaster. She placed it on the table between them and pressed a button on its side.
A holographic display shot up from the device, startling a few patrons nearby. An older man at the next table dropped his spoon into his soup with a splash, and a woman gasped, clutching her purse as she stared. The hologram showed the galaxy, sprawling across the air above the table, with different sections shaded in various colors. A huge chunk glowed green, dominating the lower half. Above it was a slightly smaller white section, stretching wide. North of that sat a brown section, roughly the same size as the white. Scattered around were other patches—red, blue, purple, yellow—each a different size, some tiny, others sprawling, all overlapping in a chaotic map of space.
"Do you know what this is?" Anissa asked, her hands resting flat on the table.
Mark could figure it out, but he let her say it anyway, leaning forward slightly.
"This is the galaxy we're in," she said, her voice steady.
"No shit," Mark thought, forgetting to keep it in his head.
Anissa glared at him, her eyes narrowing.
He winced—must've projected that one out loud.
She cleared her throat again, louder this time. "Each section represents an empire or spacefaring civilization. The white is the Viltrumite Empire, and the green is the Lantern Empire."
"I wouldn't consider them an empire," Mark said, chuckling as he picked up his coffee and took a sip.
"Then you're a fool," Anissa shot back, leaning forward, her elbows on the table now.
"The Guardians of the Universe are nothing more than dictators enforcing their will on the universe and shaping it how they see fit."
Mark raised his eyebrows at her, setting his cup down. He'd met Hal and John before, hung out with them a couple times, and they didn't strike him as authoritarian goons following some galactic overlord's orders. He leaned back, crossing his arms again, doubting her take.
Anissa saw the skepticism on his face and pressed on. "Tell me this—have any of your world leaders met with or agreed to the laws set by the Guardians of the Universe?"
"Not that I know of," Mark replied, shrugging. "I doubt any of them even know who the Guardians are." Hell, he hadn't known much about them himself until he'd gotten tangled up in all this space nonsense.
"Then they're the same as most sectors under their domain," Anissa said, her voice sharp. She tapped the device, and the hologram shifted. It zoomed in on a planet, showing an army of Lanterns descending from the sky, their green rings glowing as they landed among the native inhabitants. The locals fought back against the Lanterns, but it didn't last long. The Lanterns overpowered them, dragging leaders into submission, forcing the planet under control as green constructs chained the survivors.
"No planet gets a choice," Anissa said, watching the hologram play out. "You're policed by them and have to follow their laws. If you rebel, you're pacified—or as they say, brought to order."
Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, staring at the flickering images. "While that does sound pretty authoritarian, what's it got to do with the Viltrumites?"
"I just wished to give you an accurate depiction of who you are supporting," Anissa said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.
"I wouldn't say I'm supporting them," Mark replied, sitting back and picking up his coffee cup to take a sip.
"Even if it's indirect, you are supporting their rule by maintaining their hold on this world," Anissa said, tapping the table with her finger.
Mark snorted, setting his cup down. "As opposed to what? Viltrumite rule? I've watched my father murder thousands of people on this planet you all think of as insects."
"I assure you the Guardians will not view you any better," Anissa said, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "As for murdering thousands, I hardly see how that makes him different from any other Earthling—you're all so marvelous at killing each other."
"Get to the point," Mark growled, leaning forward again, his hands clenching into fists on the table.
Anissa breathed out through her nose. "Very well. Let me speak to you of the evil committed by the Guardians of the Universe and how they are connected to the Viltrumites."
She pressed the side of the device again, and the hologram shifted, zooming in on a section of the galaxy labeled Sector 666. The display showed a swarm of robotic figures descending onto a planet—tall, angular machines with glowing red eyes, their metal bodies gleaming as they marched across the surface. "Before the Green Lanterns," Anissa began, "the Guardians created robotic peacekeepers called the Manhunters. They were built to enforce order across the galaxy, but they had no understanding of life. No empathy, no judgment—just cold logic."
The hologram played out the scene: the Manhunters landing on a world filled with alien cities, their inhabitants running in panic. The robots opened fire, beams of energy cutting through buildings and people alike, leaving nothing but ash and ruin. "In Sector 666," Anissa continued, "they malfunctioned. They saw all life as a threat to order and wiped out every living thing—billions dead in days. The Guardians didn't fix it. They swept it under the rug, abandoned the Manhunters, and moved on like it never happened."
Mark listened, his hands resting on the table, his mind turning over what she'd said. He thought about how scummy that was—building something to keep the peace and letting it turn into a genocide machine, then pretending it didn't happen. He was surprised Hal and John didn't know about it, or maybe they did and just didn't talk about it. Either way, it didn't sit right with him.
"After they got rid of the Manhunters," Anissa went on, "they learned from their mistakes. They realized they needed people to enforce their order—ones who could see in shades of gray, not just black and white." She leaned forward, her voice dropping lower. "By chance, they found a small world orbiting a blue star in a far-off sector on the edge of the galaxy. It was tidally locked—one side always facing the sun, the other in perpetual dark. Despite the harsh conditions, it had intelligent life. These beings were different from anything else in the universe. The extreme environment gave them a unique genealogy, their DNA evolved and adapted quickly."
She paused, her expression darkening, her hands tightening into fists on the table. "The Guardians kidnapped every single one of them."
Mark leaned back, watching her face as she spoke. "They took them," she said, "and made a deal with a race called the Psions, they experimented on them. Tortured them. Killed them. Pushed them to their limits. Forced their evolution. By the end, they were unrecognizable from the people they once were."
Mark's eyes widened as the pieces clicked together in his head. "You don't mean..."
"Yes," Anissa said, her voice hard. "The Viltrumites are the creation of the Guardians of the Universe. A second attempt at the peacekeeping force they so desperately wanted."
Mark frowned, setting his coffee cup down and crossing his arms. "Surely this would be more common knowledge."
"The Guardians are skilled politicians and leaders," Anissa replied, picking up her cup and taking a sip before setting it back down. "They're good at eliminating any information that doesn't fit their narrative."
"So the Guardians created you," Mark said, leaning forward again. "I'm guessing you must've rebelled at some point."
"You'd be right," Anissa said, nodding once. "The Viltrumites made for good peacekeepers. We were powerful—very few could challenge us. But we were slaves."
She tapped the device again, and the hologram shifted to show a Viltrumite, tall and muscular, standing in a sterile lab. A metal collar was clamped around his neck, blinking with a red light. "Each Viltrumite was fitted with a collar," she said, her voice steady but edged with bitterness. "It could kill us in an instant—explode from the inside, tearing through our throats, spraying blood and bone everywhere." The hologram demonstrated it: the collar activated, and the Viltrumite's head burst apart, blood splattering across the lab floor, his body dropping lifeless.
"So how did you all escape?" Mark asked, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting on the table.
"It was our king," Anissa said, her tone softening slightly. "Argall was one of the survivors of the experiments—one of the only ones to see our home planet before they took us all. He adapted to the experiments better than the others. His genes were purer, stronger. When we became what we are now, he was faster, more powerful, sharper than the rest."
She leaned forward, her eyes locked on Mark's. "It was through him—his wisdom, his intellect—that we escaped. Argall figured out how to overload the collars' systems. He led us in a revolt, breaking free from the Guardians' labs. We took their ships, their weapons, everything we could, and fled to a new world. That's when we formed our own empire, built on our terms, not theirs."
Mark sat there, processing it all, his fingers tapping the table once before stopping. He picked up his coffee, took a sip, and set it back down. "So you're telling me the Viltrumites started as slaves to the Guardians, and now you're out to take over the galaxy because of it?"
Anissa shook her head, leaning forward and resting her hands on the table. "While that was our main goal a long time ago, it has become unrealistic before certain other issues are addressed."
"But I do not wish to get off topic again," she said, cutting Mark off before he could respond.
"Under King Argall, we prospered," she continued, her voice steady as she tapped the device on the table. The hologram shifted back to the galaxy map, the white section representing the Viltrumite Empire expanding, swallowing up smaller colored patches until it dominated a massive swath of space. "The Viltrumite Empire flourished and took much of the galaxy. We were unstoppable. We were on track to overthrow the Guardians and turn the universe into a true utopia."
"I'm guessing something happened," Mark said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
Anissa's face tightened, her hands clenching into fists, her knuckles whitening as she slammed one down on the table, making the coffee cups rattle. "The Guardians—the cowards they are—engineered a virus called the Scourge Virus. It ravaged our people and killed 99.9% of our species."
She paused, her breathing heavy, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the table. "Only a few hundred Viltrumites remained after that. And our King was among the dead."
Mark watched her, his hands resting on the table, waiting for her to go on. "We would have been finished if it had not been for Grand Regent Thragg," she said, unclenching her fists and leaning back.
"I've heard of him before," Mark commented, picking up his coffee and taking another sip before setting it down.
"I'm sure you have," Anissa said, nodding once. "Even among other races, he is legend. Like you, he is a perfect hybrid, and with his power, he pushed back the Lanterns who tried to pick us off while we were at our weakest."
"But we lost a lot," she added, tapping the device again. The hologram shifted, the white Viltrumite Empire shrinking, patches of green, brown, red, and other colors reclaiming space as the borders pulled back. "The Lanterns. The Thanagarians. The Citadel. The Saiyans. The Kryptonians. The Psions. The Dominion—all of them took advantage of our weakness. But it was Thragg and our other elders who pushed them back and let us hold onto what remained."
Anissa looked at Mark, her eyes steady. "You must wonder why I'm telling you all this, what I hope to achieve."
"It did occur to me," Mark replied, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.
"I'm telling you this because despite the problems you've caused for the Empire, you are powerful," she said, sitting back and crossing her arms. "While you might not be as strong as the older Viltrumites, your hybrid abilities make up for it. And you are quite young. With your age, you'll get stronger, and one day, only Thragg may be your equal. Your existence as a perfect hybrid guarantees you a place in our empire. But your show of power—defeating your father and Lucan—shows you could've earned that place."
Mark laughed, a short, sharp sound, and leaned back in his chair. "While I'd like to hear you continue to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, let me ask why you think I'd even consider joining the Empire. What do you have to offer me?"
Anissa leaned back in her seat, her hands resting on the table. "I am not a negotiator or a politician. None of us are. So I will speak to you clearly. If you do not accept, then someone far worse than me and your father will come here. He will not reason with you, he will not want to hear you speak. He will simply kill you, slaughter anyone who resists, and likely a good portion more of the population. You do not want to meet him. I avoid him. He is not stable. He is dangerous, even to us."
"I've dealt with worse," Mark said, picking up his coffee and taking a sip before setting it back down.
Anissa looked at him, her face blank, but she didn't say anything.
"If you join the Empire, the benefits are many," she continued, leaning forward again. "Take this backward world, for example. Do you want it? Fine. It's yours. We do not care what you do with it, and no others will touch it without your permission."
"And all I'd need to do is slaughter millions of other people," Mark said, his voice flat as he set his cup down.
Anissa didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned her head and shouted to the waitress, "Bring more of this disgusting drink." The waitress, a young woman with wide eyes, hurried over, her hands shaking slightly as she carried a fresh pot of coffee. She poured it into Anissa's cup, but her nerves got the better of her, and some spilled onto her hand. She yelped, pulling back, the hot liquid dripping onto the table.
"Stupid girl," Anissa snapped, reaching out to shove the waitress's hand away.
Mark's hand shot across the table, grabbing Anissa's wrist before she could touch her. "Enough," he said, his voice firm, his grip tight.
Anissa grunted, pulling her hand back and sitting down fully in her chair, her face twisted in displeasure. The waitress scurried away, clutching her hand, glancing back at them with fear.
"Regardless of the benefits, I don't see how it aligns with my interests," Mark said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I don't care about the Lanterns or the Empire. You guys can fight each other all you want as long as you leave me out of it."
"Your lack of pride is frustrating but also expected," Anissa commented, picking up her coffee and taking a sip before setting it down. "But no, I am not a fool. I know you would not join unless you had no choice, and I'm afraid you don't."
"Excuse me," Mark said, his voice rising with slight anger as he leaned forward, his hands on the table.
"You do not have a choice," Anissa said, her tone calm but unyielding.
Mark's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Your child that grows within the Kryptonian girl," Anissa said, leaning forward, her hands flat on the table again. "Once it is born in a few months, it will suffer a gruesome death. Viltrumite and Kryptonian DNA are both aggressive and dominant. They'll fight each other inside the child, tearing it apart from the inside. Its body will rip itself open—organs bursting, bones snapping, blood spilling out as the two bloodlines try to overcome one another. It'll die screaming, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."
Mark froze, his hands dropping to his lap, his coffee cup forgotten. His mind raced, picturing Kara, her belly swollen with their child, the life they'd been building together. He saw it now—the baby, his son, writhing in agony, skin splitting, insides spilling out onto the floor. His stomach churned, his breath catching in his throat. He looked at Anissa, searching her face for any sign she was lying, but her expression was stone-cold, her eyes locked on his.
"That's why you need us," she said, tapping the table once. "The Empire has the technology, the knowledge to stabilize hybrid DNA. Thragg can save your child. Join us, and your child lives. Refuse, and you'll watch it die in your arms." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "That's your choice, Mark. There isn't another one."
Mark sat there, staring at Anissa across the table, her words sinking into his mind like a heavy stone dropped into water. His heart started beating faster, thumping hard against his chest, and his body began to heat up, sweat prickling at the back of his neck. She had to be lying, he told himself, gripping the edge of the table with one hand. There was no way this was true—she was saying it to trick him, to drag him into their mess. His thoughts raced, jumping from one point to another. Waylon wasn't in any pain—his scans all came back normal, every check-up clean. But then again, Waylon wasn't Kryptonian; he was the grandson of Trigon, a being tied to magic and higher dimensions. Mark had no idea how that kind of power mixed with Viltrumite DNA, but maybe it worked differently—maybe the magic melded with it, kept it stable. Waylon hadn't shown any signs of deteriorating, no cries of agony, no strange symptoms.
But Kara's baby that was different. Viltrumite and Kryptonian, two aggressive, dominant bloodlines. Mark's mind spun, picturing what Anissa described: a child torn apart from the inside, screaming as its own DNA ripped it to pieces. His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. If she was right, he didn't have much time. Months, she'd said—months until the baby was born, until it faced that fate. He'd have to find a way to stabilize it, to fix this, or she was right—he wouldn't have a choice. Panic clawed at him, his breathing picking up, his hands clenching and unclenching on the table. What could he do? Go to the Watchtower, ask the League for help? They had tech, brains—maybe they could figure it out. Or was Anissa bluffing, pushing him into a corner to force his hand? He couldn't tell, couldn't think straight, his heart pounding louder in his ears.
Two earthshaking thuds snapped him out of his thoughts, the floor trembling under his feet. He jerked his head toward the window, looking outside, and what he saw only fueled the anger and panic bubbling beneath the surface. His father, Nolan, and the other Viltrumite, Lucan, stood there on the cobblestone street, their presence like a storm cloud rolling in.
Mark glanced at Anissa, who looked annoyed, her jaw tight. "Believe me when I say this, Mark—I did not summon them here," she said, setting her coffee cup down with a clink.
Nolan walked into the café, his boots heavy on the wooden floor, while Lucan followed, not bothering with the door—he smashed right through it, glass and wood splintering around him. The other patrons panicked, chairs scraping as they jumped up, some screaming, others shoving past each other to run out the back. An old man dropped his cup, coffee spilling across the floor, and a woman tripped over a chair in her rush to escape. Mark stood up, his hands balling into fists, his eyes locking on Lucan as the Viltrumite's gaze swept over the room and landed on them.
"Touch any of them, and I'll finish what I started," Mark said, his voice low and hard, staring Lucan down.
Lucan's smirk widened, his head tilting slightly. "You got lucky. I underestimated you—something I won't do again."
Mark's eyes flickered to Nolan, who stood there, arms crossed, his face a mask of calm authority.
"Mark," Nolan said, his voice steady.
"Dad," Mark replied, his tone clipped.
"What are you doing here with him?" Nolan said, nodding toward Anissa, a hint of displeasure in his words. "I thought I made my orders clear."
"We met by chance," Anissa said, leaning back in her chair. "After a quick fight, I decided to educate him on matters you let him stay ignorant about."
Nolan's face darkened, his eyes narrowing at her. "We have a lead. Get up, let's go," he said, brushing off her explanation.
Anissa picked up her cup, drained the last of her coffee in one gulp, and stood, setting it down with a thud. Lucan stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "What about him? He's right here—we could take him now with the three of us."
"No," Anissa said, her voice firm, stepping between Lucan and Mark. "He came here under a truce. We will not break that."
"Fuck your truce," Lucan snarled, his fists clenching. "Thragg wants him—"
Nolan's hand shot out, backhanding Lucan across the face with a crack that shattered every window in the café, glass raining down onto the floor. "Silence, weakling," Nolan said, his voice cold. "You know the priority. Don't question your betters."
Lucan stumbled back, blood dripping from his lip, but he shut his mouth, glaring at the floor. Nolan turned to Anissa. "Now, let's go," he said, sparing Mark one last glance before stepping outside and shooting up into the sky.
Anissa turned to Mark, her expression unreadable. "Think on what I've said," she told him, then followed Nolan, flying up and disappearing into the clouds with Lucan trailing behind.
Mark stood there for a moment, the café empty now except for the mess of broken glass and overturned chairs. He stepped over the debris, walking out onto the street, the cool air hitting his face. "Looks like vacation's over," he muttered to himself, clenching his fists. He looked up at the sky, took a deep breath, then shot upward, breaking through the atmosphere with a sonic boom, heading straight for the Watchtower.
(AN: So this is my history of the Viltrumites. I've tried to fit them into this universe and I think that this might be the best way to do so. A lot of stuff has gone unsaid but it was just a quick history lesson for Mark. I think their origin is decent, I mean their canon origin is a bit dumb that they became like that through survival of the fittest. Idk I always thought it was a bit meh. Anyway things are gonna be heating up soon and no. Not just Marks cock. Anyway hope you enjoyed the chapter)
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