Trigon Unleashed Chapter 2: First Servant.

Chapter 2: First Servant.

(General P.O.V)

It did not take long for the Eternals to realize they had brought something unnatural into their midst.

At first, it had seemed almost comical—Trigon, a tiny red-skinned infant, being raised among some of the most powerful and ancient beings in the universe.

But the humor quickly faded as the reality of his existence became apparent.

The first time it happened, it was subtle. Trigon had been hungry, crying in frustration, and the air inside the ship had grown heavy, oppressive. Makkari had been the first to notice, her usually light-footed steps turning sluggish as if she were wading through thick mud.

Then, an object—one of Phastos’ mapping device—simply disintegrated.

Not shattered. Not broken. It simply ceased to be.

Phastos had spent hours afterward staring at the place where his work had once been, running his fingers over the untouched metal of the ship's floor, trying to understand what had happened.

Then came the energy surges.

Trigon's emotions—hunger, discomfort, frustration—manifested in violent outbursts of crimson energy.

They were unpredictable, unrelenting.

One moment, he would be cooing softly in Thena’s arms; the next, a blast of red light would tear through the ship’s hull, forcing Phastos into yet another round of frantic repairs.

"This is getting out of hand." Phastos muttered as he examined the latest damage, a month after Trigon's arrival.

A large section of their ship's ceiling was charred black, the metal warped beyond recognition. "That’s four times this month! Terra(Earth) doesn’t have the cosmic metal I need to keep fixing this ship!"

Across the room, Trigon sat in Thena’s lap, small fingers tangled in her golden hair, his four red eyes staring curiously at Phastos.

"He’s just a child," Thena said, brushing the baby’s white hair gently. "A child needs guidance, not condemnation."

"A child shouldn’t be able to bend cosmic energy at will," Ikaris interjected, arms crossed tightly. "Face it, Thena. He’s not like us. He never was. And if we’re not careful, we won’t be able to stop whatever he’s becoming."

The air in the chamber grew tense.

Finally, Ajax raised a hand, with a voice of reason. "Thena, I believe what the others are trying to say is, we need to understand what we’ve taken in before it’s too late."

-0-

The following day decision was made.

Despite her reluctance, Thena allowed Makkari to bring Trigon into the meeting chamber.

The speedster arrived within seconds, cradling the child effortlessly in her arms.

Trigon, unaware of the growing unease surrounding him, giggled as he clutched at Makkari’s wrist, his small fingers tracing the golden patterns of her armor.

Thena took him out of her hands and held him protectively.

Druig stepped forward. He had been silent through most of the discussion, listening. Calculating.

"If we truly want answers," he said, "then let’s find them."

Thena gave a curt nod and Druig extended two fingers toward the child's forehead.

Thena tensed, watching his every move.

Druig ignored her and closed his eyes.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Druig froze.

The color drained from his face. His breathing hitched.

A moment passed. Then another.

The others watched in growing unease. Sersi was the first to step forward. "Druig?"

The Eternal’s eyes snapped open, and he jerked his hand away as if burned.

"What did you see?" Ikaris demanded.

Druig let out a slow, shaky breath. "Nothing."

Silence fell over the room.

"What do you mean, ‘nothing’?" Sersi asked cautiously.

Druig swallowed, his gaze flickering toward Trigon, who was still staring up at him with innocent curiosity. "I mean there is nothing in his mind. No thoughts. No memories. Just… an unending darkness."

A chill passed through the group.

Even Ikaris, who had been the most vocal about Trigon being unnatural, looked unsettled.

"That doesn’t make sense." Phastos muttered.

Druig ran a hand through his hair. "You don’t understand. It wasn’t just emptiness. It was... consuming. No mind, no emotions—just an abyss. And when I tried to go deeper…" He hesitated. "It felt like something was watching me back."

For the first time in ever, Druig looked shaken.

Phastos cleared his throat, trying to shake off the unease. "Well," he said, forcing his voice to be steady, "if we can’t see into his mind, maybe we can understand him biologically. A simple blood sample might tell us more about his origins."

The moment he stepped forward, a blade of pure golden energy was at his throat.

Phastos froze.

The room tensed.

Thena stood before him, her cosmic sword humming in the air, eyes cold and unwavering.

"No one," she said softly, "touches him." No one but Ikaris noticed the way Gilgamesh stepped beside Thena in quiet support.

Phastos swallowed carefully. "Thena, it’s just a sample—"

"If you harm him," she continued, her voice carrying an unmistakable promise of violence, "I will kill you."

The others moved carefully, prepared to de-escalate the situation if necessary.

Ajax stepped forward with a calming hand. "Thena, lower your weapon."

For a long moment, Thena didn’t move. Then, with a small flick of her wrist, the sword vanished.

Ajax turned to Phastos. "Apologize."

Phastos hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. I’m sorry."

Thena said nothing. She simply picked up Trigon and walked away.

The discussion was over.

That night, Druig found himself unable to rest. His mind was restless, as if something was pulling at him.

Then, suddenly, it happened.

He was ripped from his body, dragged into a dimension of pure, oppressive darkness.

Druig landed on nothing, yet he stood. The air—if it could be called that—was thick with something ancient. Something wrong.

Then, four glowing red eyes appeared before him.

The sheer presence of them nearly shattered his mind.

Druig had stood before Celestials. He had felt their infinite cosmic hub of power, their insurmountable will pressing against his soul.

This was stronger. Far stronger.

A force beyond gods.

Druig gasped as an overwhelming aura crushed down on him, forcing him to his knees. His mind—his very will—was being subjugated.

And then, a voice echoed through the abyss.

"You already know who I am."

Druig shuddered. He had never bowed to anyone like this. Not to Ajax. Not to Arishem.

Yet here and now, he knelt.

It was not forced.

It was natural.

An acknowledgment of absolute dominion.

His lips parted, and without hesitation, he spoke the words that now felt written into his very soul.

"Master."

(Omake)

Deep in the wild plains of ancient Mesopotamia, under the vast open sky, Gilgamesh and Thena embarked on a grand quest... for milk.

The problem was simple: little Trigon refused to drink anything but fresh milk, and their ship didn’t exactly come equipped with a Celestial Baby Formula Generator.

Thus, two of the strongest Eternals decided to go on the ever-important mission of hunting down wild cows.

“You know,” Gilgamesh muttered as they stalked through the tall grass, “back in the day, I fought Deviants, protected kings, and wrestled gods. And now… I’m a milkman.”

Thena smirked. “The strongest milkman.”

Gilgamesh rolled his eyes. “If Ikaris hears about this, I’m never going to live it down.”

They finally found a herd of large, shaggy wild cows grazing lazily in the open plain.

Thena wasted no time, raising her hands and weaving intricate golden constructs—ropes of cosmic energy wrapped around the biggest, most regal of the cows, securing it in place. The animal let out an indignant 'moo!', thrashing for freedom.

“Alright, big guy,” Gilgamesh said, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s get this over with.”

With all the grace of an Eternal warrior, he squatted down and started milking, the fresh milk squirting into a glowing construct bucket beside him.

“See?” he grinned at Thena. “All these years of training, and it turns out this is my true calling.”

Thena crossed her arms, watching in amusement. “You’ll be the savior of dairy lovers everywhere.”

They both heard a giggling sound behind them.

Thena frowned. Gilgamesh sighed. “Please tell me the baby is still in the carrier.”

They turned.

Trigon was on the ground, having crawled away from the spot they had left him. His little red eyes gleamed with mischief. His mouth...was wide open.

Unnaturally wide.

A terrifying void-like abyss had formed in place of his usual mouth, an endless chasm defying all logic.

Before their very eyes, Trigon scooped up a whole cow—horns, hooves, and all—and swallowed it whole.

Then another.

And another.

The wild herd panicked with a chorus of panicked 'moos', stampeding in all directions, but it didn’t matter.

Trigon’s little body barely moved as he continued his all-you-can-eat spree, engulfing the animals one by one, his mouth stretching to incomprehensible proportions.

Within moments, the entire plain was devoid of cows, including the one Gilgamesh had been milking.

Only silence remained.

Gilgamesh and Thena stared.

Trigon let out a small burp and licked his lips. Then, satisfied, he crawled to them, giggling.

Gilgamesh slowly turned to Thena. His face was unreadable.

Thena simply looked proud.

She placed a hand on her hip and gestured at the empty field. “Why did you stop milking? Keep going.”

Gilgamesh blinked at her. Then at the now non-existent cows. Then back at her.

A long pause.

Then, with the deepest sigh in Eternal history, he dutifully returned to milking the air.