{Chapter: 163 - Beating Down Ben}
The Fantastic Four had long since given up on the idea of secret identities. They were among the first superhero teams to go public, not out of arrogance, but because hiding had never suited their personalities—especially not Johnny's. The media, the world, the fans—they all knew their names, their faces, their powers, and even their home address. It came with the territory.
That openness had its perks… and its downsides.
In the aftermath of the battle with Aiden that stripped Johnny Storm—the Human Torch—of his powers, media frenzy had reached new heights. Headlines speculated, bloggers theorized, and camera drones hovered above the Baxter Building hoping to catch a glimpse of the once-fiery playboy.
Losing his powers was hard. Losing his freedom was harder.
Johnny hadn't left the building in days. He'd even considered ordering pizza under an alias—until he realized his aliases were as famous as his real name.
Today, though, temptation won.
With Susan and Reed offworld handling a dimensional breach and Ben out of the building for his morning walk (or so Johnny assumed), he threw on a low-brimmed baseball cap and a nondescript windbreaker, hoping to slide under the radar for some comfort food—preferably something greasy and fried. But before he even made it down the block, a squeal of recognition shattered his plan.
"Is that—?"
"Oh my God, it's Johnny Storm!"
Phones were raised. A dozen citizens swarmed. Then came the reporters—like sharks scenting blood in the water.
"Johnny! Johnny! Any comments on the loss of your powers?"
"Are the Fantastic Four breaking up?"
"Are the rumors about the mutant cure true?"
Johnny clenched his jaw, trying to be polite, trying to smile. He signed autographs, gave vague answers, but his patience was wearing thin. The flashes, the overlapping voices—it was suffocating. All he'd wanted was a cheeseburger.
Then came a familiar rumble—footsteps so heavy they made the sidewalk tremble.
Johnny didn't even need to look.
"Ben…" he muttered.
Sure enough, Ben Grimm—The Thing—was shoving his way through the crowd. His rocky hide glistened under the afternoon sun, and he towered over everyone like a brick wall in motion. Cameras snapped like machine gun fire.
A chorus of reporters gasped as Ben gently but firmly pushed them aside like broomsticks.
"Ey, back it up, folks. You're smotherin' the kid," he barked, gravel in his voice and a protective glint in his eye.
But then, as his gaze slid past the crowd, Ben froze.
At the end of the block, casually browsing a street-side vendor's menu, stood a young man with a calm demeanor and unreadable eyes.
Aiden.
Ben's memory flared: the incident where Johnny lost his powers… the night Susan was injured… and the strange reversal that followed—where Johnny was healed, Susan was stabilized, He was cured of his rocky form and all thanks to him. Aiden. The enigma who had stirred chaos and resolution in equal measure.
Ben didn't know what to make of him. Friend? Foe? Frenemy?
But he did know one thing: he owed Aiden a "friendly" punch.
Ben's massive hand pointed like a boulder. "AIDEN! Let's compare notes!"
A hush swept the crowd. Even Johnny blinked in confusion. "Compare notes? What does that even—oh, no."
The reporters lost it. Microphones flew up. Phones zoomed in.
Was this some new grudge match? Was Aiden a new villain? A forgotten ally?
Aiden, in contrast, didn't even flinch. He looked up from the vendor's menu, calmly turned his head, and blinked at the rocky figure marching toward him.
"Is this how you normally compare notes?" Aiden asked, voice neutral, with just a touch of dry sarcasm.
Ben cracked a grin. "Yup."
And with that, the massive man lunged forward, stomping with the weight of a tank. People screamed and scattered as The Thing hurled a wide, sweeping punch toward Aiden's chest.
The punch never landed.
In a flash of movement too fast for the crowd to follow, Aiden tilted back, letting the punch slice the air inches from his chest. He clicked his tongue in mild irritation, as if someone had splashed mud on his boots.
"Seriously?" he asked. "You don't call. You don't text. And then you open with a sucker punch?"
Ben laughed—a deep, thunderous laugh that rumbled in his chest. "Hey, I ain't mad at ya! I just wanna see what you got. You're the one who knocked me out of my rocky butt last time, remember?"
Aiden sighed. "That was helping a friend."
"Exactly! Classic bonding!" Ben reared back for another punch.
The crowd watched in awe. Even the reporters forgot their angles and just stared, wide-eyed, mouths open. What were they even witnessing?
Aiden twisted his body, letting Ben's next punch slide past like a breeze. He stepped in close, poked Ben in the gut—well, what passed for a gut—and said, "You're slow."
Ben grunted. "I'm heavy."
"You're built like a boulder with legs."
"You're damn right I am!" Ben Grimm—better known as The Thing—grinned broadly, flexing his massive, rock-solid arms. "A boulder with attitude!"
Without hesitation, he swung again, his stone fist cutting through the air like a battering ram. But this time, Aiden didn't sidestep or evade. He caught it—caught it—as if Ben's haymaker was nothing more than a light tap.
"What the—?" Ben blinked in surprise.
Then with fluid grace, Aiden shifted his weight and hurled Ben over his shoulder like a martial artist flipping a trainee. It was an incredible sight—nearly half a ton of granite-like superhero flung effortlessly into the air. Ben's body soared upward, at least a full meter off the ground before gravity caught up.
"Woooooah!" Ben shouted midair. "Okay, now that's new!"
But Aiden wasn't done.
With a sudden burst of acceleration, he sprinted forward and leapt above the airborne Ben. His hand glowed dark green, and in mid-air, a massive green construct—like a battle greave shaped from pure hard light—formed around his leg. He brought it down with punishing force.
BOOOOM!
The impact was explosive.
Ben hit the pavement with the force of a meteorite, cracking the concrete beneath him and leaving a sizable crater in the middle of the city street. A shockwave of air and dust erupted outward, making people stumble and clutch their phones tighter as they tried to capture the impossible scene on camera.
"AIDEN!" Ben's voice echoed out from the crater. "You cheating sonuva—!"
But before he could rise, he caught sight of something—a hammer. No, not just any hammer. A glowing, emerald one, shimmering with energy, hovering right above him.
"You got new powers, don't ya?" Ben grunted.
"I do. And unlike you, I don't skip leg day." Aiden's voice was calm, but his smirk gave away the playful taunt.
He lowered his hand.
WHAM!
The hammer slammed down on Ben's raised forearm.
"Grrrgh—okay, that stung," Ben growled, more surprised than hurt.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Aiden rained down blows from above, his ring creating a barrage of glowing constructs—hammers, anvils, chains, even a giant cartoon-style boxing glove that drew laughter from the crowd. The attacks weren't meant to injure, at least not someone like The Thing. This wasn't vengeance. It was a demonstration.
Ben, despite the grunts of pain and resistance, was loving it.
"Hah! Now that's more like it!" he shouted as he blocked one of the incoming hammers with a rocky forearm, then pushed himself up an inch at a time.
But eventually, even Ben Grimm had to give in. His muscles ached, his rocky exterior steamed slightly from the friction and force, and his legs began to tremble—not in fear, but in raw fatigue.
Finally, Aiden called off the barrage and dismissed the constructs with a flick of his wrist. The glowing hammer dissolved into particles of green light, vanishing into the air like mist.
The crowd, still stunned into silence, didn't even react at first. Then came the thunderous click-click-click of a dozen camera shutters.
Aiden dusted off his shoulders, nodded toward Ben—who was groaning in the crater—and casually stepped toward the edge of the crowd.
He looked back and, with a smirk, said, "Next time, maybe try hugging first before comparing muscle sizes."
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
"OH MY GOD, IT IS HIM!" someone screamed.
"Wait, wait, wasn't he the guy who killed Doctor Octopus?! That was him!"
"Isn't he supposed to be some kind of vigilante? Or was he a hero? Who even is this guy?!"
"Why did he fight The Thing?! Was this revenge?!"
"No, no! Didn't you hear? The Thing charged first!"
"Why'd he say something about hugging?! Is that some kind of... hero code?"
"Man, he looked so cool! Like something out of an anime!"
The crowd erupted into frenzied chatter, recording videos, taking pictures, and even livestreaming the event. The entire time, poor Ben was still lying flat in the crater, a dozen citizens trying—and failing—to help pull him out.
"Okay, okay—stop fussin'," Ben grunted, finally sitting up. "I'm fine, I'm fine. My back just forgot how gravity works for a sec."
Several people panted as they tried to lift him, wiping sweat off their brows.
"Man, you're heavy," one of them muttered.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Ben replied with a chuckle, standing up with a deep rumble in his chest. "Takes a whole crowd to move me—don't that make ya feel proud?"
He looked around at the people, saw the concern in their eyes, and despite his usual annoyance with reporters and paparazzi, something warm stirred in his chest.
One woman stepped forward. "Are you hurt? Should we call an ambulance?"
Ben scratched his head and grinned sheepishly. "Nah, he didn't hurt me. It was just a... friendly workout. We do this sorta thing back in the day all the time. Like a sparring match between friends—except my friends just happen to be cosmic-tier nutcases."
As reporters swarmed him with questions, one voice rose above the others.
"Then can you tell us why you attacked him? Who is he to you? Some old rival? Ex-teammate? Secret brother?!"
Ben blinked, then narrowed his eyes at the crowd.
"You know what?" he muttered. "Y'all care just long enough to get a juicy headline. No more, no less."
With that, he turned and walked away, stone footsteps echoing behind him as the crowd parted to let him through.
---
Meanwhile – A Chinese Restaurant Downtown
The bell above the door jingled softly as Aiden stepped inside, the spicy scent of chili oil and stir-fry hitting him like a warm blanket. The place was packed—families laughing, kids slurping noodles, old couples sharing dumplings in silence.
He slipped into a seat near the window, sighing softly. The chaos of the street behind him already felt distant.
A young waiter rushed over. "Hello sir, what can I get for you?"
"Let's go with your best dishes," Aiden said with a small smile. "Something spicy. Also, I'll need a few extra servings packed to go."
"For friends?" the waiter asked, scribbling on his notepad.
"Something like that." Aiden leaned back in the chair, tapping his fingers lightly. "One of 'em might need something to cheer him up after a rough 'exercise.'"
The waiter chuckled and walked off.
As Aiden gazed out the window, he caught a glimpse of the sky, calm and blue again. The fight had lasted minutes, but the ripple it left behind was going to last a lot longer.
Especially since the world now remembered his face again.