Korr was unable to recognize the exact moment when the gel began to drain from his capsule. The subtle sensation of being dragged by gravity was barely felt at first, as if the liquid that had kept him suspended for what felt like an eternity, decided to descend on its own, dragging him along in the process.
By the time he understood what was happening, that liquid had already abandoned him. Then he felt again that sensation he had long forgotten, deep within his body. The weight of his own body welcomed him, and the new sensation of the surface under the soles of his feet allowed him to discover something new about the lacking impressions of whatever that place was.
That sensation seemed gratifying to him, despite how weak he felt. He had to collapse onto the ground, because his mind imposed upon him the intuitive knowledge of being able to use his legs, get up, and stand on his two appendages. But his body did not even respond to him, barely, but it was already working on it.
The echoes of sounds flooded his ears, accustomed to the silence in which he had remained submerged, it felt disconcerting, until fascination flooded his body. At least, if he ignored the matter of his possible madness due to isolation, he could confirm that he was truly alive.
His vision, somewhat blurry from the fluids, now appeared with disconcerting clarity. He took the opportunity to observe around him, to glimpse the place that had become his purgatory. The walls of his prison were lined with capsules similar to the one he had once been in. Rows and rows of them, innumerable, stretching beyond what his sight could reach.
He looked at his capsule for a moment, and then coughed up the contents that seemed to obstruct his lungs. Then, air entered through his nostrils, and his lungs expanded in an almost violent spasm, but he managed to compose himself.
"Damn," he thought to himself. Now that he was free, he felt that it was time to at least explore this place. So, regardless of the dangers that awaited him, he decided that he would have to find a way out.
So he tried to muster some strength to get up, but the attempts were just that, attempts. His little feet, tiny, wrinkled, and so foreign to the sensations he had experienced, seemed to be made of lead.
But korr kept fighting, trying to make those chubby limbs obey him. But halfway through, the effort overcame him and he fell.
His new knees, weak and inexperienced, gave way under the weight of his own body. He tried so many times that the only option to escape his position was to crawl on all fours. His chubby hands were his columns amidst that absolute whiteness, and feeling confident in himself, he began to crawl.
He took one crawl, then two. Then three, four, seven, twelve, until he felt tired, and had to stop. However, during that period of time, his body began to feel more his own, and with it, he began to feel more control and strength.
That breeding system that had invaded his mind and explained his apparently new physiology was beginning to do its thing.
Here, everything seemed new to him, everything, even this body of the "Viltrumite race," according to what he had been taught.
It was at that moment that he felt he would have enough strength to be able to stand on his own, and so he tried. His knees trembled like those of a newborn colt, and his head, a little disproportionate for his neck, barely stayed up. He wobbled with dangerous instability, but by the time he could remain on his two legs, he stood as upright as possible.
"Good! I'm standing, dammit." He thought to himself, although he refused to smile at the titanic feat he was experiencing.
For the love of god, he had done 10 and 40 kilometer marathons during his twenties, and now he struggled to take a single step. The white, clean floor felt cold, his skin felt the cold, the cold wanted to gnaw at his marrow, because he was naked. But nakedness was the least of it. He just wanted to survive.
Then he began his walk for the last 20 meters, alternating with brief rests that threatened the energy within his infant body.
However, during the process of one of those rests, the sound of the wind seemed to stir, to maximize, as if advancing, approaching him.
Then, an oppressive fear seized his body. That sensation seemed to transform into an intangible pressure that slipped into the interstices of his consciousness.
That voice was the first real human voice he heard after so long.
"This child is too impulsive."
That voice, although deep, like in hero movies with that purple-skinned antagonist, but more intimidating, felt very human.
Although it sounded completely different from any imaginable human language, and although it barely even sounded like Russian speech, he knew it was absolutely different, and surprisingly, he did understand it.
That voice in the capsule had recorded that unknown language, the imperial language, as if recorded in fire, leaving the scars of a communication beyond intuition.
But he still felt fear. Because the recipient of that voice was not human. He was human once. He knew the history of his species, its capabilities, limits, and aspirations. But this presence, this being, despite looking so similar, so identical, like a mirage of humanity itself, definitely was not. This being was not human. After all, beyond dialect, humans could not fly.
That went against the laws of physics.
Newton's Third Law, the Laws of Thermodynamics, Special and General Relativity, Conservation of Angular Momentum, damn Aerodynamics.
This man seemed to excrete upon the total accumulated years of human discoveries, as if 1261 years of knowledge meant nothing.
Korr knew about the "Viltrumites," but...
"I didn't think that whole hallucination in the capsule was real." He thought. He feared even more that it was all real.
There, at the far end of the room that stretched into the infinite white, that man remained suspended. Korr was unable to move a single nerve after observing in disbelief the simple movement of that subject, extraterrestrial, without a doubt, towards his direction.
He felt more terror because that being was a soldier, everyone in the empire was one from birth.
His body, as massive as a giant of flesh, advanced through the air without apparent effort, as if gravity had favorites, and that being was one.
His clothing, an immaculate white suit, seemed to stand out against the light of the place, a white purer than snow itself.
Three bars adorned his chest like an emblem, although he could recognize the status of that being thanks to the knowledge that had been embedded in him. He was a general of this species.
The figure descended in a silent landing. His white boots touched the ground just a few meters from the disturbed korr, as stiff as a pole.
Every fiber of his being, his innate instinct for survival and submission screamed at him to kneel, to kneel and beg for mercy for a quick death. Looking into the eyes of that being, he could only see slaughter, indiscriminate slaughter, a supremacist sociopathic genocider, a Viltrumite.
But he could not do it. He could not dominate his body, and he simply remained there, without making a single move. Like prey playing dead in front of its predator.
Instead, the eyes of that being seemed to narrow, calculating from a distance the insignificance of the tiny, fragile, bothersome infant, to which he would be tied for the next 20 orbits.
He had only seen him for a short time, but he was already hating him. He hoped that, in the name of the empire, this worm would not make him waste his time. He was his first descendant of his genetic line, and upon this first one depended whether his lineage would continue to strengthen Viltrum.
So, he simply observed him.
The seconds stretched between breaths, until they became fleeting eternities. Despite feeling the gaze of that giant of human skin, he still did nothing. Those eyes as dark as onyx examined him as if they could look into his very bones. And then, with a snort, the giant spoke.
"You stood up, that is excellent. Any offspring that comes out of the capsule usually takes about 6 segments, even a cycle. But you did it in less than half a fraction."
His words, so deep and thunderous, were like a cold breath that froze korr's blood. He seemed grateful that he had managed to figure out the discovery of walking on his own.
Korr, however, gave no response. Not because he could, he was simply too afraid. Nor did it seem that this being was asking him a question.