Claude gave a nod. "Alright."
Then, gazing at the tall tree beside them, he couldn't help but sigh. "Brother, I have to say, your physical strength is seriously impressive."
He flexed his alloy arm and chuckled. "Feels like your flesh and blood are tougher than this piece of steel."
Nathan shook his head modestly. "Maybe we're close in strength, but your alloy arm easily outclasses my body in durability."
"No matter how strong my body gets, if I take a knife or bullet head-on, I'll still bleed like anyone else."
Claude laughed. "You talk like it's actually possible for someone to be totally bulletproof."
He added, "I mean humans, not freaks like the Hulk."
Nathan turned back toward the tree, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Actually, there are people like that."
"In New York, there's a guy they call Power Man—he's got skin tougher than steel. Bullets bounce off him like pebbles."
He was, of course, referring to Luke Cage.
This wasn't just idle admiration. Nathan had set his sights on reaching that level—one day, he wanted to become someone whose very body could serve as both sword and shield.
Claude's eyes widened with disbelief. "The world really is full of surprises. So many people out there with powers—it's crazy."
Next to them, Elizabeth's eyes sparkled. "I want superpowers too!"
Claude laughed, tousling her hair. "Darling, we don't need powers. Daddy will protect you."
Elizabeth beamed and hugged him. "As long as I have Dad, I'm not afraid of anything!"
Claude's heart melted as he gently patted her head. Then he turned back to Nathan. "So, more training today?"
Nathan nodded. "Yeah. I can't afford to stop."
And so, he began again.
Day after day, Nathan honed his skills.
Claude, despite having only one arm, was an experienced warrior with a wealth of knowledge. His guidance was razor-sharp, refined from years of hard-earned experience. As a somewhat well-known figure in the underground world of Marvel's New York, his skills were invaluable.
Across the clearing, tree trunks served as makeshift targets. Circles had been spray-painted on them, the center marked bright red.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Nathan gripped the pistol with unwavering focus, eyes locked on the target.
Each shot cracked through the air.
Wood splintered. Craters formed. His shots were tight and precise, the recoil absorbed by muscle memory and controlled breathing.
Of all the bullets fired, only a few missed the bullseye by mere inches.
In just two weeks, his marksmanship had evolved from novice to near-expert.
Thanks to Claude's coaching and his own phenomenal comprehension, Nathan had surpassed the level of military sharpshooters who'd trained for decades.
Where before he might hit a man's chest, now he could aim for and hit the head—or even thread a shot through the shoulder to disable without killing.
Nathan didn't stop there.
To simulate real combat, he practiced firing while sprinting, ducking, and even riding a motorcycle.
His hand and the gun became one. No matter how his body twisted, jumped, or turned, the gun remained steady in his grip—always locked on target.
Though the high-speed motion affected accuracy slightly, he still managed a 75% bullseye rate, a feat unimaginable for ordinary humans.
Then came the throwing drills.
Nathan picked up a dense, polished alloy shield—his own prototype crafted after analyzing the design of Captain America's iconic Vibranium shield.
He hurled it.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The shield smashed into multiple targets before ricocheting off a tree and arcing back into his hand.
Again and again, Nathan threw the shield and caught it mid-run, using it to strike every marked spot.
Each return was smoother than the last.
His arms ached, his lungs burned, but Nathan felt something stirring in his chest.
Pride.
Two weeks ago, he was just a regular man with some theoretical knowledge. Now, he was nearing superhuman reflexes, thanks to obsession-level discipline and training.
Claude, watching from the side, shook his head in disbelief. "Honestly? That's scary."
"Two weeks ago, you didn't even know how to properly hold a gun. Now? You're outperforming elite soldiers. It's ridiculous."
Elizabeth jumped in place and clapped. "Big brother, you're so cool!"
Nathan shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. "There's still a long way to go."
Claude raised a brow. "Let me guess—you're only satisfied when every bullet hits the bullseye?"
Nathan nodded sincerely. "If I miss even once, that means I still have a margin of error."
Claude groaned. "Talking to you is exhausting. You're not just a perfectionist—you're a freak of nature."
With a sigh, he flexed his one steel-arm. "Alright then. I've got my steel gloves on today, so let's spar."
Nathan cracked his knuckles. "I'll tone down my strength and speed to match yours."
Claude grinned. "How thoughtful of you."
Nathan's voice was calm. "It's not for your sake—it helps me adapt and refine my control."
And with that, the training resumed.
Bang! Bang! Clang!
Their fists collided with bone and steel. The clash of knuckles and grunts of effort echoed through the forest clearing.
Claude was no pushover. Despite missing an arm, he was a brawler through and through. He adapted fast, and his style was unpredictable.
But Nathan…
Nathan had already begun to predict his movements.
In the end, Nathan wrapped his arm around Claude's neck and brought him down in a controlled takedown.
Claude tapped out and wheezed. "You really are terrifying…"
He caught his breath, half-smiling. "You've only been at this two weeks and already you're ahead of seasoned fighters."
Nathan helped him up. "Our skill levels are close. I just studied your rhythm—figured out your weaknesses and adapted."
Claude forced a laugh. "That's even more demoralizing."
"Is this what real talent looks like? No—this is what a monster looks like."
He patted dust from his pants and stood. "Anyway, enough. Let's go eat."
From behind, Elizabeth's voice chirped, "Yay! Dinner!"
She dashed ahead, laughing as she ran back toward their safehouse.
Claude watched her go with soft eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.
Nathan, noticing the change in mood, quietly asked, "Claude… what's wrong with Elizabeth's health?"
Claude's smile vanished.
He paused.
Then spoke.
"She has childhood asthma—chronic. She'll live with it forever. No strenuous activity, no sports."
He looked away, voice lower. "And… she has congenital heart disease."
Nathan frowned. "Can it be treated?"
Claude shook his head. "Not her type. It's one of the more severe ones. I've gone to the best doctors around the world."
"None of them could help."
He exhaled long and slow, the weight of it pressing on his shoulders.
Nathan didn't say anything else.
There were no words that could fix that.
After their meal, Nathan quietly returned to his workshop—a steel-reinforced shed connected to the back of the safehouse.
Inside, a small high-powered arc furnace hissed with energy, blue light illuminating the walls.
Tonight was the final stage.
He was about to finish crafting his own shield—using pure Vibranium he had acquired through a dangerous deal weeks earlier.
He put on his goggles and gloves, lowered the alloy plate into the core furnace, and activated the power system.
The metal glowed.
It would take hours to stabilize the fusion.
But Nathan didn't leave.
He waited.
Watched.
Focused.
Because this was his path—not one given by fate, or powers, or gods.
He wasn't born strong. He was becoming strong.
Not through destiny. Through work.
And he wasn't going to stop.
___________________________________
Get membership in patreon to read more chapters
Extra chapters available in patreon
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31