I hang in the air, looking down. Another world that has not yet realized what awaits it. Another useless resistance.

I descend. My landing leaves a crater. Rocks fly, the air shakes from the impact. In front of me are the local defenders. Their armor, their weapons - all this I have seen hundreds of times. They are not the first and they will not be the last.

"Viltrumite..." - one of them says the word with hatred.

I straighten up, feeling an old pain in my right hand, or rather, in what is left of it. I straighten my mustache, clench my fist.

"You should have bowed," I say calmly.

They attack.

I move first. The first defender disappears in a spray of blood. The second one tries to activate the shield, but I break his neck. The third one strikes with a light blade - I dodge, grab his hand and throw him into the building. The fourth one is a mage. He tries to hold me with a spell, but my strength exceeds his.

Resistance is useless. Their courage is useless.

In a few minutes, it is all over. I stand in the ruins, shaking the dust off my uniform.

I raise my head to the sky.

• Who's next?

Silence.

But I know the answer. There is always a next world.

I am Conquest. And my work is not done.