"Is everyone here? They are? All right, then."
Since the Viltrumite warship outperformed their previous spacecraft in every respect, Zuo Ci and the others had simply decided to switch ships. Naturally, that meant dealing with the biggest problem left aboard.
What were they supposed to do with its original crew?
Because of the Scourge Virus created by the former Alliance Speaker-the old geezer who looked a lot like Socrates-fewer than fifty pure-blooded Viltrumites remained.
As a result, 99 percent of their army actually consisted of natives from the planets they had conquered.
And those people happened to be the hardest to deal with.
On the one hand, they weren't utter bastards like the Viltrumites. Most of them could even be considered victims, poor souls forced to fight.
On the other hand, they weren't good people either. Forced or not, their hands were soaked in blood, and a few words couldn't wipe that away.
Allen and the others wanted to just wipe them all out on the spot, but Superman felt they shouldn't kill people so casually. That brought things to a stalemate.
In the end, they turned to Zuo Ci.
Back in the present, Zuo Ci floated high above the floor of the warship's largest conference room, with aliens of every shape and size standing beneath him.
"Good morning, or good evening, you unlucky bastards!
Now, those of you with ears, prick them up! Those without ears, find a way to prick some up, and listen carefully to my next orders!"
To make himself look more imposing, Zuo Ci even conjured several illusions behind him. Countless bolts of lightning and raging storms swept in, creating quite the spectacle.
The trick worked beautifully. The aliens, who had been chattering nonstop, instantly fell silent, too frightened to make a sound.
"I never