Chapter 2: Arrival on Earth(2)
Viltrum's brutal elite education had drilled one lesson into Luka's mind countless times: Viltrumites must dare to strike any opponent.
Not only must they strike the weak without mercy, but even when facing an overwhelmingly powerful foe, they must still dare to throw a punch.
This bizarre educational philosophy made Viltrumites fight like stubborn, relentless, and utterly fearless warriors.
For example, when the Future Grand Regent sought sparring partners, countless Viltrumites would volunteer, even if it meant risking their lives in the "sparring" session. They were determined to demonstrate their indomitable fighting spirit.
Of course, some might simply crave the chance to battle a stronger opponent. They were willing to die trying to tear a piece of flesh from someone far more powerful than themselves.
Thus, even before becoming Grand Regent, the young Thragg, already vastly superior to ordinary Viltrumites, never sought more than four sparring partners at a time.
This wasn't out of fear, but because Thragg harbored greater ambitions. He refused to fall foolishly along the way.
After all, a coordinated assault by five Viltrumites could very well kill him, no matter how desperately his faction needed his leadership in the civil war.
To be killed in a sparring match only proves one's arrogance in overestimating oneself, failing to recognize reality, and ultimately being weak.
Yes.
If you are killed, you are weak.
It doesn't matter how grueling your training was or how unwavering your will once seemed.
Moreover, Luka was born during Viltrum's civil war, enduring a version of Viltrumite education far more brutal and bloody than the norm.
Heaven knows what kind of torment this era's Viltrumite educational philosophy inflicted on Luka, who had lived a peaceful life on Earth in his previous life.
Though Luka endured and even displayed his innate Viltrumite talent, earning an unprecedented promotion at just fourteen years old to participate in the bloody coming-of-age ceremony alongside seventeen-year-old Viltrumites, for over a decade he had dreamed of returning to Earth, escaping the nightmare of Viltrum.
His core remained stained with a trace of Earth's blue.
That's why he didn't throw a punch at 'Immortal' immediately.
Luka pondered with a bitter expression for a moment, completely baffled by how the Immortal Man, who could be bisected by Omni-Man in the original story, could now radiate such overwhelming power that even a distant glance left him breathless.
"Unless, after the cataclysmic viral outbreak, the surviving Viltrumites on Viltrum underwent another wave of incomprehensible evolution..."
"So I misjudged the power gap between myself and Omni-Man, and I also underestimated Immortal Man's strength."
Ancient memories from a distant past reminded him that there was still a way to survive.
He needed to completely abandon Viltrumite thinking, humbly beg at the feet of the stronger man, and hope that Immortal Man, who also carried the faint hue of peace, wouldn't kill him outright despite his suspicions.
Earth had its own survival rules.
Just like the Viltrumite survival rules he had learned when he was five years old, completely discard the ideas and thinking from the peaceful society.
No struggle, no pain, no hesitation.
Never show any weakness.
Only then could he survive on Viltrum.
Survive until the day hope arrived.
"Immortal" finally arrived outside the escape pod.
His somewhat overlong black hair hung loose, and his full beard obscured his facial expressions.
But the caution and suspicion in his eyes were unmistakable.
At this stage, Immortal Man might not yet be a hero, merely an immortal powerhouse on Earth.
The passage of eons could have reshaped his heart countless times. What a mortal might experience as a once-in-a-lifetime spiritual transformation could be as commonplace as a daily meal for an immortal.
No one would fail to be wary of a strange and unfamiliar alien spacecraft, especially when it was headed straight for their home.
Perhaps the idea that humility could ensure survival was merely a weakling's escape.
In the end, Luka's knees did not buckle.
Everything he had done had led to this moment. Changing his beliefs and abandoning his past should have been easy for him.
Yet he clenched his fists, summoning the last vestiges of strength from his ravaged body, like wringing out a tattered rag.
He squeezed harder.
The coarse fibers tore apart along with years of accumulated dust. Forcing out that last bit of power pushed his life closer to the edge of death.
His brain began to grow hazy from excessive blood loss.
The longing buried deep in his subconscious for fourteen long years made Luka cast one final, lingering glance toward that blue home.
Even if it might not be the same home after all.
Blood continued to gush from his wounds, mingling with the ear-splitting screech of the escape pod being torn open. In the weightless environment, large volumes of blood drifted like crimson silk.
With a light push, he leapt toward that jet-black figure, the one ripping through specialized aerospace metal as easily as tearing tissue paper.
He threw a punch.
Luka's pupils dulled to a lifeless gray from squeezing strength out of his broken body.
Deprived of blood and ravaged by prolonged freezing, his punch was weaker than even the one he'd thrown as a five-year-old.
His injuries were too severe. Perhaps his entire plan to escape and return home had been nothing more than a dream.
Maybe I never had the strength to reach Earth in the first place?
The newcomer effortlessly seized his fist.
The vast disparity in power was like a hydraulic press clamping down on a brittle old matchstick.
No matter how carefully the newcomer handled him, Luka's bones still groaned under the unbearable strain.
Luka's lips had long lost their color. As his pupils dilated, his final thought flashed through his mind.
How can he be so strong?
But then, a warmth far more overwhelming than the earlier aura surged through him, forcibly halting his impending death.
His pupils slowly contracted.
The bearded man's eyes showed none of the wariness he'd displayed when he first approached the escape pod.
Instead, they held an emotion Luka had long forgotten. An emotion no Viltrumite would ever show him.
"I'm sorry for tearing your ship, but I'm afraid you wouldn't last long enough for me to push both you and the ship back."
A warm, large hand enveloped Luka, pulling him into a sturdier, broader chest.
"Your injuries are severe. I have to hold you close to use my bio-field to sustain your life for maybe another dozen seconds or so."
A certain keyword that shouldn't have appeared stirred Luka's fading consciousness. His still somewhat unfocused pupils dazedly shifted, then locked onto a symbol on the other's chest that should have been impossible.
A symbol that, at the very least, shouldn't appear in the same reality as the comic Viltrum existed in.
An 'S', emblazoned on a black undersuit, shimmering with silver light.
Suddenly, the starlight and shadows stretched into countless fragmented strands of colored lines.
The next second, the world changed, and he found himself in a dimly lit room.
The familiar, reassuring gravity lacked the oppressive weight of Viltrum.
It was Earth.
A radiant figure flickered into view during the final seconds of light reflecting in Luka's pupils.