Chapter Text
He was a weapon forged for war and a creature meant to invoke horror, and Thragg assigned him to this backwater planet, to these humans, to see if they were genetically compatible.
(Conquest was sent away because no one would miss him).
And following his interbreeding with the humans, of course, he’d conquer it all. Really, he’d prefer to skip straight to the ‘raze all their cities to the ground and bathe in the blood of millions’ part, but, whatever.
He landed on Earth on the North American continent, on the shores of a sovereignty they call the United States (how creative), and his first directive was to perform a feat that exhibited his power and displayed a ‘willingness to help’. A bit like sending a beacon. They had this down to an exact science, the Viltrumites: the art of manipulation, infiltration, and subterfuge.
But subtlety was not really his style.
A hulking insectoid-alien-bullshit abomination arose just off the coast, quite conveniently, and Conquest pummeled its chitinous head with his mechanical fist, then zoomed through it in an explosion of blood and organic matter. He made enough of a stir that they sent someone to greet him. It was all Conquest could do not to scoff at the sight of this weakling they called an emissary, who arrived in a machine weaker than a child’s approximation of a spaceship.
“Who are you?” Conquest asked, for you must always speak first, preferably when drenched in blood.
“Cecil Stedman, director of the Global Defense Agency. We run teams of superheroes to protect our planet from any dangers that arise.” This Cecil assessed him cannily, and he had to crane his neck to look up at the towering Viltrumite. Conquest could squeeze his head like a grape, could slash his throat in a nanosecond. Would their blood be the same color? Would it taste the same?
“You look like a tough fella,” said Cecil. “Where’d you get the scars?”
“Defending another planet from Rognarrs— nasty things,” Conquest said. “Where did you get yours?”
“Fighting off supervillains,” Cecil replied with a meaningful look, and Conquest got the sense that he didn’t often answer this question.
So he recited the monologue they were all given to assuage the doubts of those they subjugate. “I’m from the planet Viltrum. Our government sent me here to help protect the people of your world.”
“Huh. They did, did they?” Then Cecil stepped forward and extended his hand. “What’s your name?”
“I am…” To reveal his true name would be to reveal his intent, and despite what some other Viltrumites may think, Conquest was no fool. If he lied, Cecil would catch onto it. So he hung his head and said, “I have no name. Only a purpose.”
Sins of omission, or whatever.
The human seemed decidedly unfazed. “Well, we’ll change that.”
Conquest shook his hand, not unlike shaking a bundle of twigs, and he exercised great caution not to shatter Cecil’s bones.
Yet.
On the first day, he observed the humans from afar. The planet was lowly, loud, and messy, and it perplexed him. Aside from the abundant natural resources and billions of potential workers, he was not very impressed. He hovered by a water tower, which he somewhat blended into courtesy of his white uniform, and overlooked a cluster of homes, lights flickering on as dusk settled. Inside their fragile dwellings, the humans gathered to just… exist together. Laughing, grilling meats, their offspring playing outside. They weren’t always training or fighting or planning to conquer.
They were just happy to exist in the same place together.
Pathetic.
His second-ever interaction with another human (the first natural interaction with one other than an emissary) was accidental, and it occurred during another one of his observations, whereupon evidently he was too close to the ground.
A human child took note of him and wasn’t cowering or screaming, but bouncing on the heels of his clunky Earth shoes, and waving with a toothy smile. So reluctantly, Conquest descended to his level.
“Hi, mister!” The boy said. “Are you a superhero?”
It was an absurd question. The kid’s voice had no fear or awe, merely a sort of open, disarming expectation. Conquest stared at him for a long moment and eventually answered: “No.”
The boy frowned, like he didn’t believe that. “You look like a superhero. Did you used to be one and now you’re retired?”
“…No.”
“Oh. What happened to your arm?”
The boy seemed enamored by the prosthetic arm, so Conquest moved and flexed it so that it glinted in the fading sun.
“An alien bit it off,” Conquest replied. “Nasty red things called Rognarrs. They chomped off my arm and slashed my eye.”
The kid, as kids do, proceeded to ask countless questions about Conquest’s adventures in the galaxy, the scariest aliens he faced, his coolest combat moves, his favorite color, ad infinitum.
“Whoa.” The boy, whose name was apparently Jake, stood slack-jawed, regarding the hulking Viltrumite before him with wonder sparkling in his big eyes. A grin split his face. Conquest was unused to others looking at him with such… joy. “So you are a superhero.”
A feeling of mirth bloomed in Conquest’s chest, and his eyes softened.
“I guess I am.”
Apparently, this Earth was constantly besieged by supervillains or alien threats, hence the large number of superhero teams. Conquest had yet to meet any of them and had no interest in doing so, but supposed it would become inevitable whenever he formally took on a superhero mantle.
In fact, Conquest was on his way to a required meeting with Cecil, and that ‘GDA’ of his when, in flying over the city, he glimpsed a commotion going on below. Some buffoon causing earthquakes, and prattling incessantly in a grating voice.
Conquest descended to the street level, asphalt split open by manmade tremors, his imposing form hovering and silhouetted by the sunlight. His metal arm curled into a fist, and the earthquake-r stopped what he was doing to gawk at the Viltrumite.
“Stand down, worm,” Conquest snarled. He had to constantly remind himself to hold back, here; get too into it, splatter too much blood and guts, and you’ll frighten the Earthlings.
But the diminutive fool merely threw his head back and cackled. “Hah! Why should I— oof!”
He was quickly interrupted by a massive fist pummeling him, launching him against a far building. Conquest squinted. The guy didn’t land with a great splatter of crimson, so he was probably alive.
A loud cacophony erupted, and Conquest jerked at the sound, head swiveling around as he spotted the source: a small crowd gathered, all of whom were staring at him with awe, with grins, with cheers.
“Thank you!” “Thank you, sir!” “We appreciate you!” rang the voices of the humans, and… what a feeling it was. Were all humans so kind, so gracious? For the first time he could remember, Conquest smiled. A genuine smile, not borne of bloodlust, but of joy.
Conquest’s smile broadened, and he waved his hand, mirroring the others.
“Oh, thank you! You saved my business from gettin’ wrecked!” An Earth woman approached him, a smile on her face, her hands clasped together.
“You… are welcome,” Conquest replied. Something about this place rendered the talkative Viltrumite quite laconic. He drifted down to stand upon the pavement and looked at the Earth woman, who was easily a couple heads shorter than him. Her eyes sparkled, or maybe it was merely the reflection of the fading sun. Judging by appearance alone, she was probably in the middle of her lifespan for a human; her face was lightly wrinkled, and there were hints of grey in her dark hair that caught the light just so.
She was beautiful.
“You’re a real angel, sir.” Her drawl was slow and sweet like honey. Metal dangled from her ears and clinked when she moved. “You ought to stay a while! Dinner’s on the house for superheroes.” She winked.
“Um…” He scratched the back of his neck. Should he do this? What if Earth food was incompatible with his digestive system? What if it was gross? “Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you, miss.”
“Of course, sugar!”
…Sugar?
“On the house, you said?” He echoed, faintly dazed and confused by that figure of speech. Was he to dine on the roof? But the woman just nodded emphatically and gestured for him to sit down. This must be some Earth custom, forcing someone to sit at a table and give them food in thanks. The wooden chair creaked under his bulk.
She gave him a menu, and Conquest could hardly make sense of any of the items on it.
“I-If you’d like a suggestion, the fried chicken platter is real popular.” Her hands were clasped together, and she smiled at him. “I’ll give you extra sides and a peach cobbler, too. A big fella’s gotta eat.”
“Yes. Yes, that would be excellent, thank you,” he replied, and she beamed at him. His cheeks were warm. He committed atrocities on how many planets, and yet speaking to one human woman was impossibly difficult.
She placed down plates that could easily fit in the palm of his hand, laden with what he assumed was the fried chicken, along with sides of curved noodles drenched in yellow sauce, green beans, slices of yellowish bread, and lastly a sweet-smelling dessert with slices of an orange-yellow fruit.
He dug in and— damn. The food alone made him excited to stay here. Is all Earth food this delicious?
The Earth woman was so kind, and a strange, warm feeling suffused his chest. The lines around her eyes and mouth crinkled when she smiled and laughed, and she did both very often.
She sat across from him with her own little plate of cobbler.
“So, what’s your name?” Her voice was melodic. He put down his fork.
“…Conquest.”
“Your… real name?”
“It is my real name.” How many times must I repeat it?
“Conquest?” She shook her head, puzzled. Even when she teased him, she was sweet. “What were your mama and daddy thinkin’?”
He didn’t reply because he knew what they were thinking, and it would only anger him more. He had pushed his indignation deep down millennia ago. If he was to be treated like a weapon, like a rabid dog all his life, then there was nothing to do but get over it and channel his rage into something productive.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” she offered. “Just wasn’t expectin’ it. Thought you looked more like a Stan, or a Carl.”
“No, it’s… fine,” he stated. “I like Carl better, anyway.”
“Well, alright then, Carl.” She grinned then stuck out her hand, adorned with various rings with different gems, spiral designs, jewelry clearly crafted by hand. “I’m Jenny.”
He shook her hand, a hand so small in his own hand of metal, and he was especially careful with her.
“It’s good to make your acquaintance. Jenny.” Damn it, why is this so hard?
“It’s my daddy’s restaurant, but he passed not too long ago,” she explained, “so now my brothers and I own the place. But I do most of the day-to-day stuff. And I like to cook, don’t get me wrong, but I really love art. I made my jewelry, and I painted those.” She pointed to various landscape paintings on the wall.
“Incredible,” he breathed. There was hardly any art on Viltrum aside from the statue of Argall. There was no need for distractions when their main goal in life was expanding the empire, and so engaging in art was largely seen as an unnecessary use of energy. But this small Earth woman created such masterpieces, all within her short lifespan…
“What about you, Carl? Aside from bein’ a superhero.”
“That’s… essentially all I do,” he admitted. He would much rather listen to her and learn about her life in her melodic voice. “I only just got here yesterday. You see, I’m from the planet Viltrum, and I was sent here to help protect the people of Earth.”
“Wow,” she breathed. “Well, I hope you like it here. It can be tough, but there’s good folks. Beautiful nature and wildlife, ‘specially here on the coast. And for what it’s worth, Carl, I’m glad you’re here.”
Conquest… Carl smiled at her. As if acting of its own volition, his large hand moved closer to hers on the table.
How peculiar it was to be regarded as a treasure rather than a monster.
Cecil and his GDA quickly met with Conquest to establish ground rules, a secret identity, et cetera. And Conquest was averse to the idea of some human telling him what to do, but for now, he would grin and bear it.
His superhero name would be Triumph, they said, and suggested acquiring another costume sometime. (His clothing was not a costume, but whatever).
His human backstory was that he was a Vietnam vet (“I have no idea what that is,” Conquest replied, and Cecil silenced him with one hand as Donald passed him a stack of textbooks) and he received VA money, hence how he was able to afford his house, and many other details that made it even more evident that Conquest had a lot of learning to do. When in his secret identity, he was either to remove his robot limb or to use a human prosthetic. (”Can’t have you flaunting alien tech when you’re supposed to be incognito,” Cecil said, but neither did Conquest want to use the humans’ primitive prosthetics.)
“And Christ’s sake, you need a name, man,” Cecil said, then muttered something about the hell kinda planet doesn’t have names.
But now it was easy to choose what his name on Earth would be.
“Carl,” he said. “Carl… West.”
Cecil shrugged. “Alright. Bit boring, but alright. I’d say that about covers it… Carl.”
As Triumph, he was introduced as a new superhero, a heroic alien with valiant intentions. While Conquest insisted that he worked better independently, Cecil suggested the GDA ‘help him out’ while he was still acclimating to Earth. Which, fine. But Conquest was acclimating to this planet more and more each day, and the more time passed, the less he missed Viltrum. The less he missed his fellow Viltrumites. They certainly would not applaud and cheer him on as he battled an immense kaiju, or a colossal squid creature, or any array of animal-themed superheroes; or when he stopped a skyscraper from toppling over, or halted an oil tanker before it careened into the ocean. Was there any greater joy, he wondered, than receiving a drawing from a child (a scribbled depiction of Conquest fighting a monster, a doodle of him playing football with the child); than human younglings scrambling to get a picture with him? Grateful parents asking Conquest to bless their baby, people asking to hug him, humans telling him he was the best? They were all so kind. Of course, he had detractors. The usual critics of superheroes questioned his intentions, as did fellow beings with powers. Jenny assured him they’re just jealous of you, Carl. And who was he to question his first real friend?
As Carl, he visited Jenny’s diner often, clad in Earth civilian clothes, a green plaid shirt tied around his stump arm. He wore a cap with a fish embroidered on it, because apparently, going to a body of water and luring fish with bugs was all the rage.
Jenny wasn’t always there, but Conquest quickly became a regular. People greeted him with “Hey, man!” or “mornin’, Carl,” and they were always smiling.
He drew attention, but not negative attention; it was people staring at him because of his height and his scars, staring at his arm, and quite often he got a solemn nod or a tip of the hat. Many humans thanked him for his service, which always warmed Conquest’s heart (because he did serve for a while, but not in the way they thought). There were humans here with amputated limbs disfigured by accidents or their wars, so Conquest was extended the same respect they would be given. There were kids who looked unsure of him, but most just smiled up at him, and he took great joy in smiling back, making the little human babies laugh, and wishing people a good morning or good night. He passed strangers on the sidewalk who smiled at him and asked how he was, and humans walking with their small animals or their children. Older, grey-haired humans greeted him with a sort of camaraderie; at the local bar, the humans erupted in raucous cheering at a strange game involving bouncy balls, and it was so infectious that Conquest couldn’t help but join them. He received joyful hugs, fist-bumps, and toasts from inebriated humans, who often gave him alcoholic beverages for free. They erupted in laughter when Conquest mistakenly raised his stub arm in trying to emulate the gesture called a ‘high-five’, and a couple of them high-fived his stub. At the park, the small animals approached him for affection and pats; he simply had no choice but to indulge them, and soon considered obtaining one of his own. (He learned, from overhearing a small human girl, that the creatures are called ‘doggies’ and ‘kitty cats’).
There were the criminals and supervillains, yes, but most humans here were so… so good. And he couldn’t help thinking: These are the people I’m meant to weaken and enslave?
For the first time, the thought of conquering a civilization made him sick.