Chapter 5: My Past
"Where I come from, power is everything. The weak have no dignity, existing only as stepping stones for the strong or sacrifices in internal wars."
His voice was soft, a flicker of repulsion and disgust flashing in his eyes before vanishing. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting light on his face and outlining a bizarre contour that was both youthful and weathered.
He didn't conceal Viltrum's bloodthirsty, warlike culture.
But he did embellish his own upbringing, omitting the most brutal details.
For instance, how he had personally killed three older companions during his coming-of-age ceremony to survive.
Or how, for his final chance at escape, he had crushed the last hope of that civilization.
These details were too cruel. He emphasized instead how his heart had always been at odds with the planet's atmosphere, making him an outsider from birth.
"On Viltrum, weakness is the original sin. Every childhood is spent fighting for survival, while adult warriors revel in conquering other civilizations."
Luka continued, exhaustion weighing down his tone.
"From the moment I gained consciousness, all I witnessed was endless combat and slaughter."
"All children are bred by adults assigned to reproductive duties. Each clan frantically breeds for internal wars that can last for thousands of years, with no parental affection or education."
"The adults throw us children into training camps, forcing us to kill each other. Only the final victor or survivor receives further training. Only then do you have a chance to learn your lineage, but even then, you can't acknowledge your parentage. For example, my father… he may have sired over a hundred children through his assigned duties, but not all of them survived."
"He doesn't care about me either."
"I once considered resisting, but the cultural education on Viltrum is the same. They despise the weak and forbid any display of empathy or compassion. They collectively label it as cowardice."
Luka lowered his head slightly, avoiding Tom's increasingly shocked and furious gaze.
These words concealed certain truths about himself.
Although his way of thinking differed from that of pure-blooded Viltrumites, and although his true thoughts were deeply out of place in that merciless environment, Luka had almost never let them show.
Except once.
When he was ten, an instructor forcibly sent him to a battlefield, invoking the glory of conquest and ordering him to eliminate the last survivors.
The elderly. The weak. Women and children. Desperate screams. Blood soaking his body. Shattered bones beneath his feet.
Under years of relentless pressure, something in Luka finally broke.
He turned and charged at the instructor who had once looked upon him with approval.
It did not take long for him to realize just how vast the gap was between himself and a Viltrumite warrior hardened by millennia of conquest and centuries of internal conflict.
From that day forward, Luka never showed the slightest sign of abnormality again. In fact, he began to excel in the eyes of the Viltrumite warriors, surpassing even their expectations.
Initially, like countless protagonists in transmigration stories from his previous life, Luka had dreamed of returning to his homeland one day.
But as his hands became stained with blood time and again, he subconsciously began to suppress his original desire.
Deep down, he even started to fear the thought of returning home.
Night after night, he would wake up screaming from nightmares where he had become a true Viltrumite. In one recurring dream, he descended upon his homeland during a new conquest mission.
Before him stood his aged relatives from his past life, who didn't recognize him.
Behind him echoed the impatient urgings of his conquest leader.
None of this, of course, was shared with Tom.
Luka only described his past decade in numb, general terms.
Tom listened quietly, his hands clenching unconsciously on the table, clearly shaken by the brutal scenes being described.
He had never imagined that in some corner of the universe, a civilization could exist that glorified slaughter and conquest.
Looking at the young man who had fallen silent again, Tom felt a surge of sympathy.
He could sense the bone-deep helplessness in Luka's voice, the kind only those who had endured true suffering could possess.
Tom sighed softly and refrained from pressing further, choosing instead to wait patiently.
If Luka wanted to continue, Tom felt he should give him enough time and space.
After a moment, Luka spoke again.
"I was always looking for a chance to escape that hellish place."
There was a hint of survivor's relief in his voice.
"I seized the opportunity during Viltrum's coming-of-age ceremony, stealing an escape pod from one of the planets Viltrum had conquered."
"During my escape, I was hunted down by other Viltrumites. These wounds are from those encounters."
"I drifted through space for who knows how many light-years. The escape pod's energy was nearly depleted when, perhaps by fate, I drifted to Earth."
He didn't mention killing his companion during the coming-of-age ceremony, nor did he reveal that, despite his rejection of Viltrumite culture, he had been a top candidate for this year's graduating class.
He only needed them to know he was a "rebel" from Viltrum, having completely severed ties with that warmongering civilization. He posed no threat to Earth and might even require protection from his home planet's retribution.
Luka's carefully crafted confession was ninety percent truth and ten percent deception.
He knew that Superman and any team behind him would inevitably maintain high vigilance against a civilization like Viltrum.
As an "anomaly" who had escaped Viltrum, he could serve as a breakthrough for them to understand this potential threat.
If necessary, he could even provide them with some intelligence about Viltrum.
After all, a "rebel" who willingly provides intelligence about the enemy is far more trustworthy than an alien visitor with unknown origins.
More importantly, he needed to access the potentially advanced technology on Earth.
He had to determine whether Viltrum still existed in this universe.
If Viltrum didn't exist, he could safely recuperate on Earth and start a new life.
If it did exist, he needed to prepare for the inevitable pursuit and make plans to defend himself.
"I know the person who saved me is incredibly powerful. I could sense it from his strength and that warm aura around him. I believe he's protecting this planet. He's its guardian."
"I don't mean any harm, and I don't want to cause you any trouble."
"I just want to find a safe place to live, far away from the endless killing and war."
Luka's voice grew softer, as if he lacked confidence in his own request.
Luka hoped that Tom, who claimed to be Superman's friend, would share a similar character.
If Tom could believe him and relay his words to Superman, he wouldn't have to worry about further troubles for the time being.
Tom gently tapped the table, his voice warm and reassuring.
"You've suffered a great deal, child."
His eyes were filled with compassion and a trace of determination.
"Don't worry too much. Superman is a very kind man. He's helped many alien visitors like you who've faced hardship."
"For now, just focus on recovering here. This place is safe, and no one will disturb you."
Luka's lingering anxiety finally eased.
He picked up his spoon again and slowly began to sip the soup.
Unbeknownst to him, a miniature listening device was hidden in the branches of an old locust tree outside the window.
The device's signal receiver was concealed within the tree's bark, silently capturing every sound from inside the living room.
These sounds were converted into encrypted electronic signals and transmitted hundreds of kilometers away to the Batcave on the outskirts of Gotham City.
In the dimly lit Batcave, the only illumination came from the cold glow of the massive display screen.
The screen showed a real-time transcript of Luka's conversation with Tom, accompanied by synchronized annotations of Luka's vocal inflections, heart rate fluctuations, breathing patterns, and other physiological data.
A small window in the corner streamed live footage from a miniature camera embedded in the listening device. Though the image was blurry and the angle suboptimal, it was sufficient to discern Luka's movements and general expressions.
Batman sat in a high-backed chair before the screen, his black armored suit blending seamlessly into the shadows. Only his sharp eyes, gleaming beneath the cowl, revealed his presence.
His fingers rested lightly on the control panel, frozen in place like a statue.
The faint electrical hum emanating from the console merged with the screens' pale light, creating the Batcave's familiar, oppressive atmosphere.
"Viltrum..."
(End of chapter)