Ultramen had their own unique ways of transforming into human form. Some used glasses, some relied on sticks, and the newer generation preferred all kinds of colorful, strange gadgets to push, pull, and wave around.
But Liam's personal favorite was the method pioneered by the legendary Jack: mental transformation.
No tools, no assistance—just pure will. As long as the thought was there, as long as the intent was strong enough, his body could expand into that towering form instantly, becoming bigger, stronger, unstoppable.
Of course, Jack had once needed to share that transformation with a human host, Hideki Go. That led to frequent clashes of will. Sometimes the Ultraman wanted to transform and the human didn't, or vice versa.
The results could be… awkward.
If Go wanted to transform but Jack refused, he could sprint under a collapsing tower, hammer the mental "Q key," and still get no response—making his teammates suspect he was trolling them on purpose.
And when Jack wanted to transform but Go resisted? Go would simply leap from a seventy-story rooftop, leaving no room for argument: "Transform or not, we're both going down."
But Liam was different. He wasn't a symbiosis, wasn't a guest in a human body. He was Ultraman. No host, no tug-of-war, no suicidal games of chicken. Unless he developed multiple personalities, he could transform anytime he wished.
So for the demons, it happened in an instant.
The silver giant appeared, the diamond-like crystal on his chest gleaming, his body still haloed in lingering divine light as his colossal fist drew back and came roaring down.
The Ultra Brothers' punches were said to carry anywhere from 100,000 to 200,000 tons of force—and in rare empowered states, even move planets.
Liam wasn't in that league. He was a scientist, not a warrior forged by endless battles. 100,000 tons was already close to his limit.
But for the demon before him, it was already more than enough.
Fettos froze the moment Liam's gaze locked on him. Recognition flared instantly.
That giant.
The same one who had annihilated the starfish-shaped alien not long ago.
The one the humans called Ultraman.
Rumors had reached the demons, but until this moment they had dismissed them as exaggerated tales. Now, facing the descending meteor-like fist, Fettos knew better.
The air itself became a hurricane, answering the giant's strike. The wind pressure roared like a tide, the sacred hall quaking as if divine judgment itself was about to fall.
He would die.
Fettos knew it with perfect clarity.
The power was too vast, too overwhelming. No defense could save him.
Instinct took over. Dark runes flared across his skin, spreading into the sanctuary's stonework. Ancient, forbidden incantations—scripts older than nations—twisted reality itself.
And in their desperate translation, they cried out a single word:
—Help!
The Eternal Rock, as shown even in the Shazam legends, was a nexus of magical realms. The Wizard once guarded it, but with the sanctuary corrupted, demons and evil spirits clawed to break free.
The incantation was answered.
A vortex opened, a window into writhing chaos. Out of it pressed a massive claw, followed by the colossal frame of a nightmare—Demon Pitts.
His thirty-meter effigy had long stood sealed in the sanctuary's walls, a black statue of snarling rage. Now that stone prison crumbled. He emerged from the abyss, burning with vengeance against the weakened Wizard.
But just as Pitts forced his head through the vortex, he saw it—Liam's fist crashing down.
Fettos was obliterated, smashed through the floor in a thunderous quake. Dust rained as the entire hall shook.
And Pitts… froze.
Two ugly eyes blinked in shock. His monstrous face all but said:
'What… is that?'
The Wizard was supposed to be weak, an easy target. But where had this silver giant come from?
Then Liam, standing tall in divine light, slowly turned. His golden eyes locked on Pitts with a dangerous, unblinking stare.
For the first time, Pitts—the thirty-meter terror—felt small. Like a little brother cowering before an older sibling.
He hesitated only a moment.
Then he did the unthinkable. He retracted his head. Slowly at first, then frantically, as if rewinding a videotape. In an instant, he had vanished back into the vortex.
'Excuse me. Wrong room. My mistake.'
The demons outside were dumbstruck.
They had thought victory was certain the moment Pitts appeared. A powerhouse like him? Surely nothing could stand in his way.
Instead, the "big brother" had peeked in, turned pale, and run without a fight.
Worse still—he didn't even get away.
Inside the abyss, Pitts sprinted through chaos, desperate to escape. But suddenly heat engulfed him. Blinding light surged like a newborn sun.
He turned back.
The portal behind him hadn't yet closed. And through it stretched a massive silver hand, radiating endless golden brilliance.
Like the Five-Finger Mountain trapping the Monkey King, it closed around him.
Outside, the demons watched in horror as Liam blurred forward, his body glowing, afterimages trailing behind him. He thrust his arm into the closing portal—then pulled it back clutching a massive black tail.
Attached to that tail, kicking and clawing helplessly, was the mighty Pitts.
Liam wasn't even sure he'd catch him at first. His speed was nowhere near the elites of the Space Garrison. While top Ultras could cruise at Mach 4 to 6 in atmosphere, Liam's running speed barely reached Mach 2. With intense training in his youth, he had once managed Mach 3—but centuries of neglect had dulled his edge.
Still, he was fast enough.
RUMBLE!
Pitts slammed into the stone floor, dragged out by his tail like a hooked beast.
The demon staggered, trying to rise—only to be met with a blinding fist to the face.
Combat was the foundation of the Land of Light's training, and Liam had mastered the basics well.
He opened with a feint—left hand snapping forward, drawing Pitts's focus—then smashed a right hook across his jaw. A left hook followed, then an uppercut, then a brutal rear straight that cracked like thunder.
Fists hammered relentlessly, each blow a mountain collapsing. In moments, Pitts's monstrous face was a bruised, swollen pulp. His body crumpled bonelessly, collapsing into the dust, unmoving.
Liam dusted his hands together, then turned. His golden eyes swept the hall, landing on the remaining demons.
Next?
The demons trembled.
Then, almost in unison, they dropped to their knees, prostrating themselves before him.
Demons prided themselves on adaptability. On bending before breaking.
And right now, they understood one truth:
The other guy's fist was simply bigger.