It reeks of blood. Hundreds are dead. Buildings are mutilated around you, their concrete structures like toothpicks in the face of the strength of a Viltrumite. Blood, death, and destruction. It's all around you as you lay on the shattered ground, your head swimming from the sheer number of blows Conquest had dealt you.

Your breath rattles in your chest and you can just barely see Conquest above you. This is no self-proclaimed savior, as the other Viltrumites tended to be. No, in his own words, he "enjoys this".

Knowing you don't even have the strength to move your pinky finger anymore, he leans down, takes in a heavy breath, and whispers in your ear, "...I am so lonely. All the other Viltrumites are scared of me. No one talks to me. No one wants to be my friend; they think I am unstable. They send me from planet to planet, committing atrocities in their name. And as I get better at it, they fear me more and more. I am a victim of my own success..."Conquest". I don't even get a real name, only a purpose. I am capable of so much more and no one sees it. Some days I feel so alone I could cry, but I don't. I never do. Because what would be the point? Not a single person in the entire universe would care...."