Stars folded around Vilgax as he stepped through the dimensional portal. Space rippled like liquid, then solidified into the cold metallic interior of his flagship.
Red lights glowed softly along the ceiling. Drones floated in neat squads. Soldiers in dark armor kneeled in perfect rows the moment he appeared. Their voices boomed in unison:
"ALL HAIL LORD VILGAX!"
But even they sensed something different—an aura thick and oppressive, the faint green glow still pulsing from the Omnitrix on his wrist. Their eyes widened with fear and awe.
The Omnitrix was a myth among alien warlords.
A device whispered about across galaxies.
A tool capable of shaping creation itself.
And now their master wore it.
Vilgax let the silence stretch for a moment. It was good for discipline, good for fear, good for control. Then he finally spoke.
"Rise."
The soldiers obeyed instantly.
His second-in-command, Commander Psykor—a tall, armored alien with a cybernetic eye—stepped forward.
"My lord… your vitals are stabilizing. Regeneration levels exceeding historical maximums. We feared you were gone, but your return marks—"
"Spare me the flattery," Vilgax interrupted calmly. "I have secured the Omnitrix."
Every soldier froze.
Even Psykor's metallic eye flickered in shock.
"My lord… did you say—"
Vilgax raised his arm. The Omnitrix's symbol glowed, casting a green sheen across the chamber.
Psykor stumbled backward, bowing deeply.
"The legends… the ultimate weapon of Azmuth himself… you have done what no being has ever achieved."
Vilgax nodded. "Indeed. And with it, we will reshape the galaxy."
A Strategic Mind at Work
Vilgax marched toward the central command deck. His stride was calm, controlled, but each footstep carried the weight of destiny.
The command deck doors slid open, revealing a circular chamber filled with holographic maps, star charts, and tactical interfaces. A large window showed the quiet blue curve of Earth below.
He stood before the galaxy projection—tens of thousands of stars orbiting slowly around a central axis.
The Omnitrix vibrated slightly on his wrist, already analyzing the data streams around it.
Psykor spoke cautiously. "My lord… what are your orders?"
Vilgax clasped his hands behind his back.
"First, we secure our foothold. Then, we expand."
He tapped a hologram.
A list of major galactic powers appeared:
The Highbreed Empire
The Incursea Confederac
The Vreedle Confederacy
The Amperi Tribunals
The United Galaxies Council
And countless smaller systems
In the original timeline, Vilgax attacked Earth rashly… and lost. Repeatedly.
But this Vilgax had an enhanced mind—calculating, patient, strategic.
"Psykor," Vilgax said slowly, "what is the current status of the Plumbers?"
Commander Psykor tapped his wrist pad. "They are scattered, weakened. Earth has limited Plumber presence. Their command is dormant. They pose minimal threat."
"Incorrect," Vilgax replied. "Max Tennyson is on Earth. Few beings are more dangerous."
Psykor blinked. "A human… dangerous? My lord, surely—"
"Max Tennyson is no ordinary human," Vilgax growled. "He is a former top-level Plumber. He has access to hidden caches and dangerous alliances."
He paused.
"He must not be underestimated."
The Warlord's Plan
Vilgax turned toward the holographic galaxy, his mind racing with calculation.
The system within him whispered endless possibilities.
Conquer Earth immediately?
Crush the Plumber base?
Hunt Ben and Gwen before they grow strong?
Target the Highbreed?
Seek out the DNA samples in the Omnitrix vault?
Establish a throne world?
But quick victory was not his goal.
He sought inevitable victory.
A victory that no timeline could undo.
"Commander Psykor," he said. "Deploy drones to Earth. I want constant surveillance on the Tennyson trio."
"At once, my lord."
Vilgax continued, "However… we will not attack Earth yet."
Psykor hesitated. "But, my lord… with the Omnitrix, Earth cannot defend itself—"
"Earth," Vilgax said coldly, "is a seedbed of potential. Magic. Mutants. Metahumans. Mana-based anomalies. Time travelers. Dimensional breaches. To conquer the galaxy, Earth will be more useful intact."
Psykor swallowed hard. "Then… what will we target?"
Vilgax pointed to a highlighted planet.
A harsh, volcanic world.
"Khoros."
Psykor's eyes widened. "The homeworld of the Tetramands?"
"Correct."
Vilgax turned toward the galaxy map.
"The Tetramands are warriors unmatched in strength. Four Arms is only their weakest representative. If we subjugate Khoros early… we gain an army that no faction will challenge."
Psykor bowed deeply. "Your strategy is without flaw, lord."
"Of course," Vilgax replied. "I have foreseen this path."
He touched the Omnitrix again and felt its immense power pulse.
The path ahead of him unfolded like a chessboard.
Earth left intact.
Khoros conquered.
The galaxy destabilized.
DNA samples collected.
Upgrade acquired and enhanced.
Alien X avoided until necessary.
Paradox tracked.
Highbreed defeated through strategy, not force.
He would become an emperor in months, not decades.
But before any of that… he needed to understand his new power completely.
Training Begins
Vilgax entered the training hall—an enormous chamber reinforced with technology capable of withstanding the punches of a Vaxasaurian or the beams of an Andromeda Star Titan.
Drones floated in the corners, ready to record data.
He raised the Omnitrix.
"Time to test another form."
The dial rose with a soft click.
Vilgax considered his choices carefully.
Heatblast? Good for offense, but predictable.
Diamondhead? Excellent defense.
XLR8? Ideal for maneuverability.
Grey Matter? Useful for analysis.
Upgrade? Perfect for ship integration.
But today… he wanted to begin with something violent.
He slammed the dial down.
Green energy swallowed his body, twisting his limbs, reshaping everything.
When the light died, a massive red-skinned figure stood in the center of the room.
Four arms. Towering size. Muscles that were like boulders stacked upon each other.
The transformation roared:
"FOUR ARMS!"
Vilgax flexed his four massive fists, feeling power swell inside him.
"This form… is crude," he muttered. "But effective."
He punched the reinforced wall once—
and spiderweb cracks appeared instantly.
Drones beeped in alarm.
Vilgax snarled.
"Run full combat simulations."
Dozens of drones activated, firing beams, missiles, and energy bolts.
Vilgax laughed.
And then—
He moved.
He punched.
He slammed.
He leapt.
He tore through wave after wave of machines, crushing everything in his path.
His movements were refined, calculated, precise—not like Ben's wild, childish flailing.
He was using Four Arms at 100% of its potential.
In minutes, the entire training hall was littered with shattered drones.
Fuming smoke filled the air.
The sensors glitched from the overwhelming power readings.
Vilgax let out a long breath.
"And this is only the beginning."
The Omnitrix beeped—a cooldown warning.
Green light flashed—
—and he returned to his original form.
The Conqueror's Declaration
When he returned to the bridge, Psykor awaited him anxiously.
"My lord… the drones have deployed. Earth is under constant watch. The flagship is ready to depart."
Vilgax walked toward the viewing window.
He looked down at Earth—the planet that once birthed the galaxy's greatest hero.
Now it had birthed its greatest threat.
"Commander," he said quietly.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Set our course."
Psykor's eye flickered. "Destination?"
Vilgax raised his hand.
"The homeworld of the Tetramands."
His voice deepened.
"We begin our conquest with Khoros."
The ship engines rumbled.
Stars stretched into streaks of light.
Earth vanished behind them.
And the war for the galaxy officially began.