William sat up in bed, reawakening to the familiar world of Earth. After a brief stretch to ease his muscles, he moved to the mirror, examining the body that had transformed so drastically since he gained the power to traverse worlds.
His reflection was like a living sculpture, every muscle defined with precision. His abdominal ridges carved sharp lines, flowing into angular obliques that framed his torso with an almost predatory elegance. His chest expanded and contracted with quiet strength, dense and proportionate, free of unnecessary bulk. His rounded shoulders tapered into arms built for both speed and power, biceps swelling under his skin, triceps taut like coiled steel, and forearms veined faintly, humming with vitality.
Turning slightly, he observed the sweep of his back, the muscles forming a pronounced V-shape as though crafted from living armor. His waist was firm, his hips balanced, and his thighs were powerful yet streamlined, designed to endure pressure or unleash dynamic force. His calves reflected this symmetry, sharply defined and ready for explosive movement, every fiber poised to propel him forward.
Even his skin seemed to glow faintly, radiating vitality as though it emanated from within.
Thankfully, his size hadn't changed enough to render his wardrobe obsolete. With a quiet sigh of relief, he slipped on slightly loose clothing to conceal the bulk of his transformation and stepped out of his room.
Faint music drifted from his sister's room. Shelby lay sprawled on her bed with a notebook open, her legs swinging idly in the air. She noticed her brother's presence, glanced up with a grin, and immediately began making a series of ridiculous faces.
"Really?" William muttered, suppressing a grin.
Shelby giggled. "What? You're always so serious in the mornings."
Despite himself, he let out a small chuckle before heading out of the room.
Downstairs, William Sr. was engrossed in the TV, watching American Dad. On-screen, Roger the alien, sporting a wig and brandishing a gun, stood in the middle of a standoff. His father laughed, completely immersed. William slipped by quietly, careful not to disturb him, and stepped outside.
After a brisk thirty-minute walk, the gym loomed ahead. Inside, the air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, cologne, and iron. People of all shapes and sizes moved with focused determination, each immersed in their own routine.
William checked in at the front desk and gravitated toward the wall of mirrors lined with free weights.
"Start small," he thought, picking up a pair of twenty-pound dumbbells. They felt almost weightless. He exchanged them for heavier ones, and then heavier still, until he held two-hundred-pound dumbbells without any strain.
A murmur rippled through the nearby crowd. A group of bodybuilders paused mid-set, staring in disbelief. One let out a low whistle.
"No way… that guy's not even flinching," someone whispered.
Still unsatisfied, William moved to the bench press. He loaded a hundred pounds onto the bar, positioned himself on the bench, and gripped the bar steadily.
"Huff!" His breath pushed out as he lifted the bar. The weight, which should have been challenging, rose effortlessly, gliding upward as if it were nothing.
He blinked in astonishment, his heart pounding with exhilaration.
William blinked in astonishment, his heart racing with exhilaration.
One lift wasn't enough. He needed to push the boundaries.
He racked the bar, added another hundred pounds, and positioned himself again. The weight pressed heavily into his palms like solid iron, but as he exhaled and pushed, it rose effortlessly. His muscles worked in flawless harmony, functioning like a finely tuned machine.
Two more plates were added. Then two more. The bar now bowed under the immense load, straining against the rack. A few lifters paused, their attention drawn to the spectacle.
"Is he out of his mind?" one murmured.
Another shook his head. "That's… three-fifty? Maybe more? And no spotter?"
William steadied his breathing and prepared for the next attempt. The strain was undeniable, his chest burned, his arms trembled, but instead of faltering, his body adjusted. The challenge seemed to unlock a hidden well of strength, a dormant power waiting to be unleashed.
"Hrrgh!" he growled, forcing the bar upward. The steel wavered slightly but climbed steadily until it locked out above him. A wave of gasps rippled through the gym.
Carefully setting the bar back in place, William sat up, sweat trickling down his brow, yet his muscles buzzed with energy rather than fatigue. His heart thundered, not from weariness, but from sheer exhilaration.
"This body…" he whispered to himself.
He approached the squat rack with determination, loading it with an intimidating amount of weight that once would have paralyzed him with fear. Stepping beneath the bar, he braced himself and hoisted it onto his shoulders. The crushing weight bore down immediately, but he steadied his stance, descended into a perfect squat, and powered upward. His thighs roared with heat, veins bulging along his legs, yet each movement was precise, strong, and resolute.
By the fifth repetition, a vein throbbed visibly at his temple. By the tenth, his heartbeat synchronized with the rhythm of each push, yet the bar continued to rise as though propelled by sheer force of will.
Setting the bar back onto the rack, William exhaled heavily, his chest heaving. Despite the exertion, he felt far from exhausted. If anything, he felt invigorated, more alive than ever.
A small crowd had gathered nearby, whispering among themselves. Some held up their phones to record. A trainer edged closer, concern etched across his face.
"Kid… you need to slow down. You're going to hurt yourself lifting like that."
William managed a faint smile, concealing the swirl of thoughts racing through his mind. "I'll be fine," he replied.
Disregarding the caution, he pressed on. Deadlifts, bicep curls, pull-ups with heavy chains, each task felt almost effortless. His muscles fired with flawless efficiency, never wavering. He even ventured into plyometric training: towering box jumps that eclipsed his previous attempts, his calves propelling him upward with astonishing power.
Each landing sent a muted thud reverberating through the floor, capturing the attention of everyone in the gym. Eyes followed his every move, some filled with awe, others with unease.
After nearly an hour of relentless effort, William finally reached the treadmill. Setting it to its highest speed, he stepped onto the moving belt. The machine roared as his legs moved with perfect rhythm, each step landing with the precision of a finely tuned engine. Minutes ticked by, yet his breathing remained calm and controlled, his body refusing to falter.
When he eventually stopped, his body was drenched in sweat, clinging to him like a second skin, not from fatigue, but from the sheer intensity of his performance. His muscles thrummed with energy, as though every challenge had only fueled his strength further.
He gripped the side rails and gazed into his reflection in the dark screen of the treadmill.
What have I become?
William tugged his hoodie over his head as he stepped out of the gym, the crisp evening air brushing against his skin. His body still buzzed with an unfamiliar, electric vitality, every step felt springy, every breath sharper than before. The dimly lit streets stretched ahead, cracked pavement forming uneven lines under flickering streetlights. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, his thoughts drifted to the raw power now coiled within him, an intoxicating sensation that teetered on the edge of danger.
He turned into a narrow side street, a shortcut he had taken countless times, when a sharp whistle broke the silence. William's brow furrowed as he looked ahead, his eyes narrowing. Shadows shifted at the far end of the alley, and three figures emerged, their movements marked by the cocky swagger of those searching for trouble. Their tattered clothes belied the menace in their smirks, which exuded anything but weakness.
"Well, well," one of them sneered, a thick chain coiled menacingly around his fist. "Look who wandered into our playground."
The second man cracked his knuckles, his eyes sweeping over William like a butcher sizing up fresh meat. "Fresh face. Bet he's got something worth taking."
The third thug stayed silent, stepping forward to block William's path, a jagged, broken bottle glinting faintly in his grip.
William let out a slow breath, his heartbeat steady and unnervingly calm. The street behind him was barren, cloaked in silence. There was no way to avoid what was coming.
He shifted his stance imperceptibly, letting his weight settle onto the balls of his feet. The air grew tense, heavy with unspoken violence, as the three men began to circle, predatory and calculating.
A faint smile played at the corners of William's lips.
The first thug raised his chain, stepping forward with clear violent intent.
The chain lashed out first, slicing through the air like a metallic serpent. William tilted his head just enough for the links to graze past his ear with a sharp whip-crack. His hand snapped forward, catching the chain mid-swing and yanking hard, throwing the thug off balance.
The man stumbled forward, his eyes wide with surprise. William's elbow struck his jaw with brutal precision, the crack reverberating off the alley walls. The thug crumpled sideways into a heap of trash bags, groaning in pain.
"Shit!" The one armed with the broken bottle lunged, the jagged glass glinting in the dim light. William twisted sharply, his hoodie ripping as the bottle tore through fabric instead of flesh. Pivoting smoothly, he drove his knee into the thug's gut. A guttural wheeze escaped the man, but he stayed upright, slashing upward in desperation.
William caught his wrist, twisted it forcefully, and the bottle shattered against the brick wall, shards of glass scattering to the ground. A swift headbutt sent the thug stumbling backward, blood streaming from his nose.
Then the third man moved. Unlike the others, he hadn't rushed in recklessly. He waited, calculating his moment. His punch came out of nowhere, slamming into William's ribs. For the first time, William felt a real jolt of pain. This one was stronger than he looked.
William staggered back a step, more startled than hurt. A smirk crept across the scarred man's face. "Not so untouchable now, are you?"
The three regrouped, circling him. The one with the chain was back on his feet, blood dripping from a split lip. The bottle-wielder spat crimson, clutching his abdomen but refusing to give in. The scarred man rolled his shoulders, his eyes gleaming with predatory excitement as he sized William up.
William exhaled slowly, easing into a relaxed stance. His muscles buzzed with energy, his senses sharpened.
Three opponents. Three angles. Three weapons.
His lips curved into a faint, confident smile.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's see what this body can really do."
And then they attacked together.
The alley reverberated with the shouts of thugs and the sharp scrape of their boots against the pavement.
The chain-wielder struck first, swinging the heavy links in a wide, menacing arc. William leaned back with ease, allowing the chain to whistle harmlessly past before seizing it and yanking it from the thug's grasp. With a deft motion, he hurled the man sideways into a pile of garbage bins, the crash echoing through the narrow passage.
The bottle-wielder, now stripped of his weapon, balled his fists and charged forward with reckless abandon. His punches were wild, erratic, each aimed at William's head and torso. William, with surgical precision, shifted his weight, blocking, deflecting, and redirecting each strike. When the man overextended, William's elbow slammed into his jaw, sending him reeling backward, dazed but still stubbornly upright.
The scarred fighter circled cautiously, his movements deliberate, his eyes calculating. He lunged suddenly, his fist driving into William's ribs with surprising force. The blow made William grunt, testing his endurance but failing to deter him. It forced him to recalibrate, adjusting his stance mid-fight.
William inhaled deeply, his body coiling like a predator preparing to pounce. He flowed through the chaos with a lethal grace, evading attacks and countering with expertly placed strikes to key vulnerabilities, the ribs, the chin, the solar plexus. Each blow was deliberate, designed to destabilize his opponents without overextending himself.
The three thugs regrouped quickly, their faces slick with sweat, their breathing labored. They attacked as one, a coordinated assault of fists and fury, their strikes pounding like a battering ram. William twisted, ducked, and retaliated, the sharp impact of flesh and bone resounding in the dimly lit alley.
Even against overwhelming odds, William's movements were almost supernatural, a blur of speed and precision. His mind worked like a machine, calculating angles, timing, and force with chilling efficiency. He could feel the surge of raw energy coursing through his body, testing his limits, pushing him further. This wasn't just a fight, it was a trial, a measure of how far he could go before his body failed, or before his enemies did.