Thragg stood as one of the greatest Viltrumites to ever live, a towering force of nature whose very presence commanded awe and fear. His stature alone set him apart, massive, imposing, regal in a warrior's way. His upper torso was sculpted by centuries of brutal combat and conditioning, grotesquely powerful, muscles layered thickly upon each other like armor forged from flesh. With every movement, they rippled like tightly coiled steel beneath skin.
His broad shoulders sloped into long, sinewy arms, each one packed with dense muscle and lethal potential. His face, rugged and sharp, was framed by close-cropped, jet-black hair. A thick, commanding mustache crowned his upper lip, reinforcing the aura of authority and danger he exuded. He was the apex of Viltrumite evolution, their champion, their executioner, their king.
Yet in this moment, none of it mattered.
He fought not as a ruler, not as a symbol, but as a desperate man—clinging savagely to the boy who threatened to end everything he had ever stood for. Nolan Grayson—once Nowl-Ahn—had betrayed their race, and his bloodline now carried that same treachery. His son, Mark Grayson, was the embodiment of that betrayal.
Thragg's rage burned hotter than the inferno around them, for the boy he grappled with had no right to be this strong.
The searing heat of the sun blistered his skin, peeled at his flesh, tested even his formidable physiology. Still, he held on. His massive hand clamped down on Mark's shoulder like a vice. Then, summoning a reservoir of fury, he smashed his forehead into the boy's face. The impact sent a concussive wave through the void. Blood sprayed from Mark's nose, only to be vaporized instantly by the unbearable heat.
But the boy refused to yield.
Driven by something Thragg could not understand, Mark roared and surged forward, dragging Thragg deeper into the blazing core. His fist crashed into Thragg's abdomen with shocking force, enough to make the older Viltrumite convulse. For the first time in ages, his grip slipped.
Thragg tumbled further into the abyss.
"How? How?!" he howled, the words torn from his throat like a primal scream. Fury overtook him, drowning him in helpless, blinding hatred. This... child dared to challenge the birthright of the strongest Viltrumite alive?
He had saved their people. He had preserved their bloodline. He had avenged Argall and carried forward the legacy of their once-mighty empire. He had earned the right to rule, forged in endless war, in blood, in death.
And now, this?
As his vision dimmed, swallowed by the solar fires, a strange serenity began to settle in. The pain faded. His body—what remained of it—ceased to resist. Thragg, the titan, the last great conqueror, was consumed by the sun.
Reduced to ash. Forgotten by the stars.