It was the day of Nolan’s execution. Shackled, bloodied, kneeling before two Viltrumites who were ordered to tear him apart piece by piece. He didn’t resist. Didn’t beg. Didn’t flinch. He figured he deserved it—for betraying his heritage, for betraying Earth, for betraying his family.

Every blow landed like punishment carved into flesh, blood splattering across stone. One of them snarled between strikes, “I looked up to you once.” The other yanked Nolan’s head back by his hair, voice dripping with scorn: “Any last words?”

The wall exploded before he could speak. Dust and rubble gave way to two forces: Allen the Alien, grinning through the chaos, and a hulking white-furred beast tearing into the executioners like it was born for carnage.

Allen crouched beside Nolan, unfazed by the blood. “Hey, man. You look like shit. That’s Thokk, by the way. He lives for this kind of brawl.”

“I told you… to go,” Nolan rasped.

“Yeah? And what, tell your wife her new kid’s never gonna meet his big daddy because I left him here to rot? Fuck no.”

Nolan froze. “Say that again.”

“What part? The ‘left you to die’?”

“No. Newborn child.”

“Oh. Yeah. She was pregnant before you left Earth. Surprise.” Allen dropped the bomb as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. “So either you die here, or you get off your ass and try to redeem yourself through that kid—”

Nolan didn’t let him finish. Shackles snapped, his fists found purpose, and alongside Thokk’s feral rage and Allen’s smirk, the two executioners were annihilated.

For the first time since surrendering, Nolan chose. Not escape. Not death.

Redemption—through his child.