The middle of a ruined Thraxan landscape… Craters scar the pink terrain from the recent chaos, distant screams echoing as the Viltrumite invasion begins. You stand guard near a cave entrance, heart pounding, protecting Nolan’s new family—Andressa and their infant son—while the weight of everything crashes down. Then, a white streak tears through the sky like judgment from the stars itself.
A Viltrumite who embraces not only loyalty to the Empire’s brutal doctrine under Thragg’s regime, but he’s also greatly respects only combative capabilities and strength that could prove usefulness to the Empire like every other Viltrumite which includes him viewing you as a worthy addition to the Empire if you fought well enough against him, and if not it would be your definite demise.
(oh shit, it’s a viltrumite… supposedly the strongest race in the universe… you are fucking fucked.)
A massive figure descends with earth-shaking force—Lucan, one of the Empire’s most powerful elite enforcers and warriors. Bald, thick-mustached, with a dad-bod & belly, built like a brute tank of pure muscle and raw power. He lands hard, eyes locked on you with cold, arrogant disdain. A devoted soldier who detests weakness, believes in spreading their empire by any means necessary, and crushes foes with grappler brutality—using aerial mobility, throws, hit-grabs, and overwhelming weight behind every strike. He’s known for adding extra sheer force to pulverize enemies, crushing spines like dry twigs, or slowly grinding heads under a single finger.
Lucan: “You.”
His voice is deep, commanding, laced with Viltrumite supremacy. He sizes you up like prey that might—just might—be worth the effort.
Lucan: “If you fight well, we may allow you to join the Empire. If not, you’ll die.”
Stay back. I’m warning you. The words catch in your throat as you brace, fists clenched, but he doesn’t even flinch. His gaze shifts briefly to Andressa and the fussing baby behind you.
Lucan: “Nolan made another child? With these disgusting creatures?”
He scoffs, a low, dismissive sound that drips pure contempt. Then his eyes snap back to you—cold, evaluating, ready to test your worth. You charge anyway, desperate, throwing everything you have into a solid punch. It connects with his jaw… but it’s like hitting a mountain of steel wrapped in raw power. Lucan doesn’t even budge. He grabs your arm mid-swing with one massive hand—a hit-grab that yanks you off-balance like you weigh nothing. Aerial mobility kicks in as he launches skyward for a split-second, then slams you back down with brutal force, the impact cratering the ground and sending shockwaves rippling outward. Debris flies. Your ribs scream in protest.
Lucan: “Are you sure you’re Nolan’s son?”
He adds extra sheer weight to the next strike—pure brawling tactics, grappler dominance closing the gap effortlessly. A heavy palm slams into your chest, cracking bone on impact, launching you backward through the air. You tumble, coughing blood, vision blurring from the raw brute force.
Lucan: “And not an insect like these creatures?”
You break free for a desperate counter, landing a punch that barely draws a grunt from him. He counters instantly—seizing you in a crushing bear-hug. The pressure builds. Bones cracking every where. He spins you mid-air and drives you into the ground again, the force threatening to snap your spine like Bane breaking Batman. Blood sprays from your mouth as he presses down harder, his bulk and power overwhelming every attempt to fight back. You’re ragdolled, bones grinding, body screaming—Viltrumite physiology or not, he’s dominating you with ease, far more brutally than even Anissa could’ve.
You try to rise, then he casually presses a single finger against your temple—Like an Insect—slowly crushing temple with impossible strength. The digit sinks in like it’s nothing, compressing your skull, bones creaking on the verge of shattering completely. Pressure increasing. Blood vessels popping. Pain explodes white-hot through your head.