Chapter 9: Kill Them All
"Hiding like a rat... is this really any fun?"
Before Omni-Man's voice could even fade, his figure transformed into a red and white afterimage, instantly appearing in the shadowed corner where Dark Knight was hiding.
Dark Knight's heart went cold. He tried to activate his suit's Spatial Jump Device, but he was pinned down by an invisible force field.
All his high-tech equipment was like scrap metal in the face of absolute power; he couldn't even manage the most basic resistance.
Omni-Man reached out a hand, his fingers clamping onto Dark Knight's neck like iron pincers, lifting his entire body off the ground.
"Don't you like the darkness?"
"Then close your eyes for good!"
A cruel arc curled at the corner of his mouth as his other hand lunged forward, piercing directly through Dark Knight's chest.
Warm blood sprayed out as a still-beating heart was brutally ripped out by him.
Dark Knight's body instantly stiffened, the light in his eyes fading rapidly; he couldn't even let out a single scream.
The fourth one has fallen.
Having dealt with the last ambusher, Omni-Man slowly turned around to look at the only one still standing, Immortal.
Immortal was covered in blood. His undying body allowed him to crawl back from the brink of death time and again, but every rebirth meant a heavier blow.
An unyielding fire burned in his eyes, yet it was also tinged with deep helplessness.
"Your ability is somewhat interesting."
Omni-Man cracked his neck, his joints making a crisp clicking sound. "Unfortunately, in the face of absolute power, even immortality is a joke."
He lunged forward with such speed that only the sound of breaking air remained.
Immortal roared and swung a punch to meet him, but Omni-Man easily dodged it.
The next second, a Viltrumite palm...
...like an indestructible blade, accompanied by the sharp whistle of slicing air, chopped violently toward Immortal's neck.
Pshhh—!
Blood erupted.
Immortal's head, the symbol of his undying nature, was severed cleanly like a ripe fruit by that Viltrumite Hand Chop.
It rolled onto the cold floor, his face still etched with shock and indignation.
Omni-Man looked down at the head that was still twitching slightly, his eyes devoid of any emotion.
He raised his foot and stomped down hard on the head that was still trying to let out a hiss.
Bang—!
Red and white matter splattered everywhere, and everything finally fell into silence.
The fifth one has fallen.
The Global Guardians have been completely wiped out.
Having finished all this, the overwhelming pressure surrounding Omni-Man suddenly dissipated.
He staggered a step and looked down at his chest—at some point, a wound deep enough to show bone had pierced through, and bright red blood was continuously seeping out.
It turned out that in that seemingly one-sided massacre, he had not emerged unscathed.
The psychic backlash from Ghost before death, Aquarus's final energy blast, and Immortal's desperate, suicidal last stand had left their Marks on him after all.
A Viltrumite's body is strong, but it is not invincible.
Especially after that explosive series of attacks, the energy in his body was long since overextended, and his wounds were constantly worsening.
His mouth opened as if to say something, but eventually, his vision went black, and his massive frame collapsed heavily into a pool of blood, losing consciousness entirely as he fainted.
Outside the hall, a figure stood silently.
Mark had taken in everything that happened inside. There was no surprise on his face, only a faint trace of pity.
He sighed softly, his tone calm yet carrying a hint of regret: "What a waste of these guys."
"If they had truly been prepared and had a bit more coordination with each other, Omni-Man alone could never have killed them."
He shook his head, as if evaluating a failed experiment. "Originally, they could have become my capable subordinates."
"But it couldn't be helped."
Mark turned around, casting his gaze toward the brightly lit city in the distance, a meaningful smile curling at his lips:
"Anyway, the probability of Earthlings mutating is quite high; there will always be no shortage of superpowered individuals. When one batch dies, another will naturally follow."
Seeing the police and rescue personnel gradually surrounding the building below...
Mark slowly turned and transformed into a streak of light, flying toward home.
Hot water washed over his body.
Mark stood under the shower with his eyes closed, letting the water strike his face.
He could clearly recall every scene on the Artificial Island—Red Rush's shattered skull, War Woman's spilling intestines, and Immortal's final look when his neck was snapped.
And the image of his father lying in a pool of blood, pretending to be unconscious.
Mark turned off the faucet and dried his body with a towel.
The boy in the mirror had well-proportioned muscles, and the bruises on his skin from training were fading at a rate visible to the naked eye.
The recovery ability of a Viltrumite is truly a terrifying talent.
He put on clean clothes and opened the bathroom door.
The sound of the television came from downstairs—the late-night news was replaying, with the anchorwoman reporting on a bank robbery in a professionally calm tone, the screen flashing footage of Omni-Man subduing criminals.
"Mark?" Debbie's voice came from the living room.
"Coming." He walked down the stairs.
Debbie was sitting on the sofa, holding a cup of tea that had already gone cold.
The light from the TV flickered across her face; she looked more tired than usual.
"Your father isn't back yet," she said, her eyes fixed on the TV screen without really watching it. "He said he'd come home with you."
Mark sat down beside her and picked up the remote to lower the volume.
"The Guardians had an emergency mission," he said, his voice so steady it even surprised himself. "He told me to come back first."
Debbie turned her head to look at him.
Her eyes were brown and very warm, but right now they were filled with worry.
She sighed and leaned back against the sofa.
"He's always like this," she said, "placing responsibility above everything else.
The Global Guardians, world peace, saving everyone... sometimes I really wish he were just an ordinary person."
Mark didn't speak.
He remembered that in the original plot, Debbie was the first person to notice something was wrong with Nolan.
A woman's intuition, or rather, a lover's intuition.
She could detect anomalies from the smallest details—a change in a look, an unnatural movement, or a hidden strangeness in a seemingly ordinary sentence.
But she chose to believe.
Because the cost of not believing was too high.
"He'll be fine," Mark finally said. "He's Omni-Man, the most powerful man on Earth."
Debbie nodded, but her brow remained furrowed.
She reached out and touched Mark's head with a gentle motion.
"And you?" she asked. "How do you feel? The superpowers... is it hard to adjust?"
"It's okay," Mark said. "It just takes practice.
Once I get the hang of it, I'll be able to help Dad protect the world."
He spoke with a relaxed tone, even carrying a bit of that naive expectation for the future unique to teenagers.
But only he knew that every word in that sentence was carefully calculated—meant to both soothe his mother and lay the groundwork for his future involvement in superheroaffairs.
As expected, Debbie was amused.
She patted Mark's shoulder.
"Don't put too much pressure on yourself," she said. "You're still a child, Mark.
Enjoy your youth, make friends, fall in love, do the things normal teenagers should do.
Saving the world... that's for adults to worry about."
Mark wanted to say he might never be a truly 'normal teenager' again, but he swallowed the words.
He was just about to speak when suddenly—
A flash of blue light exploded in the front yard.
Chapter 10: Cecil
That wasn't lightning, nor was it headlights.
It was a purer, steadier light that expanded from a single point, swirling to form a circular doorway.
On the other side of the door was not the nighttime front yard, but a high-tech metal corridor.
A portal.
Mark's heart skipped a beat.
He recognized this technology—the Global Defense Agency's latest research achievement: Spatial Folding Teleportation.
Just using it once cost five million dollars in consumables.
But clearly, for the wealthy and powerful Cecil Stedman...
...using this thing for a house call was as commonplace as taking a stroll in his own backyard.
A knock sounded at the door, polite yet urgent.
Debbie and Mark shared a look and stood up at the same time.
As Debbie walked toward the door, Mark had already used his super vision to see through the door panel—two people were standing outside.
One was Cecil Stedman, Director of the Global Defense Agency, wearing his signature black suit with a heavy expression.
The other was his assistant, Donald Ferguson, holding a constantly flickering tablet.
Debbie opened the door.
"Cecil?" Her voice was filled with surprise. "It's so late—"
"Debbie," Cecil interrupted her, his voice low. "There's bad news."
Debbie's brow furrowed.
Every time this guy came around, there was never any good news—this was a conclusion she had drawn over the years.
Cecil Stedman was the kind of person who only appeared when a disaster occurred; his very presence was like a harbinger of calamity.
"Come in first." Debbie stepped aside to let them in.
Cecil and Donald walked into the living room.
Cecil's gaze lingered on Mark for a moment, his eyes complex—scrutinizing, evaluating, and containing a faint hint of expectation.
As Director of the Global Defense Agency, he naturally paid attention to Nolan Grayson's son, the teenager with Viltrumite blood.
In fact, the day after Mark had awakened his abilities, Cecilhad already received a detailed report.
"What happened?" Debbie asked, her arms unconsciously crossed over her chest in a defensive posture.
Cecil didn't answer immediately.
He looked at Debbie, then at Mark, seemingly weighing his words.
"Come with me first," he finally said, opening the portal once again. "There are some things... that need to be said in person."
A blue halo swirled in the living room. The other side was still the same metal corridor, but now people in white coats could be seen hurrying past at the end of the hallway.
Debbie hesitated for a second, then nodded.
She was always like this—no matter how uneasy she felt, as long as it involved Nolan, she would choose to face it.
"I'm coming too," Mark said.
Cecil looked at him.
A moment of calculation flashed in those eyes, and then he nodded.
"Alright," he said. "You come too."
The calculating Director knew clearly: now that Omni-Manwas severely injured, Earth needed a powerful person to protect it.
Mark Grayson, this teenager who had just awakened his Viltrumite power.
If nurtured properly, he might become an "Omni-Man" who belonged entirely to humanity!
A Guardian who fought truly for Earth, without the background of the Viltrumite Empire.
The three of them stepped through the portal.
The moment he stepped through, Mark felt a slight dizziness, like the weightlessness of being in an elevator.
Then they were standing in a wide metal corridor, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant.
A hospital.
A top-tier medical facility under the Global Defense Agency.
"This way." Cecil led the way toward a heavy isolation door.
When the door opened, Debbie gasped.
The hospital room was large, with various medical devices surrounding a bed.
Lying on the bed was Nolan Grayson—or rather, something that looked like Nolan Grayson.
His face was wrapped in bandages, and the exposed skin was covered in bruises and cracks.
Blood seeped from the edges of the bandages, blooming into eerie patterns on the white fabric.
His chest was connected to a monitor, the screen displaying a weak but steady waveform.
"Oh, my God..." Debbie's voice trembled. "How could this happen?"
She practically lunged to the bedside and took Nolan's hand—that hand was also bandaged, and the exposed fingertips were swollen and purple.
Debbie buried her head against him, her shoulders beginning to shake.
Mark stood at the door, watching it all.
His expression was well-controlled—just the right amount of shock, worry, and the helplessness a teenager should feel when faced with his father's injury.
But deep down, he was calmly analyzing: Nolan's disguise was very realistic; his heart rate, breathing, and even blood flow simulated a state of severe injury.
As expected of a Viltrumite warrior who had lived for hundreds of years, even his physiological disguise was flawless.
Debbie looked up, her face already covered in tears.
She suddenly turned toward Cecil, the fire of anger burning in her eyes.
"In your Global Defense Agency,"
She said, enunciating every word like a bullet being fired:
"In the safest place on the entire Earth, my husband, the most powerful man on Earth, was beaten like this!
Are you serious, Cecil?!"
Cecil remained silent.
He bore Debbie's fury without defense or evasion.
Donald stood behind him with his head bowed, clutching the tablet tightly.
"Say something!" Debbie's voice echoed in the room. "How much has Nolan done for you?
How many lives has he saved?
Now he's lying here, and you—"
"The Global Guardians," Cecil finally spoke, his voice raspy, "have all been killed."
Debbie's voice caught in her throat.
Her mouth hung open, as if she hadn't heard clearly, or perhaps she had but couldn't comprehend it.
"What?"
"The Global Guardians," Cecil repeated, each word as heavy as a block of lead:
"The Immortal, War Woman, Martian Man, Ghost, Red Rush, Aquarus, Dark Knight... everyone.
All dead."
Debbie took a step back, bumping into the hospital bed.
She unconsciously gripped the bedrail, her knuckles turning white from the strain.
"No... that's impossible..."
"I'm sorry," Cecil continued, his tone filled with genuine pain. "We found nothing, absolutely nothing.
We have no idea what happened.
All surveillance was destroyed, and all communication records were wiped.
All we know is that someone, or something, gathered all the superheroes in the headquarters hall and carried out the slaughter with staggering speed."
He looked at Nolan on the bed. "Only Nolan survived.
Everyone else is dead."
Chapter 11: Planet F
Debbie slowly slid into a chair.
She covered her face, her shoulders shaking violently.
Tears streamed through her fingers, dripping onto the floor.
Mark walked over to his mother and placed a hand on her shoulder.
He could feel the tremor running through Debbie's body, a deep, inexpressible sorrow.
She was friends with many members of the Guardians—War Woman had taught her fighting techniques, and Martian Man had shared tea and conversation with her... Now they were all dead.
"Who was it..." Debbie's voice was broken, "Who did this?"
"We will find that guy!"
Cecil's voice suddenly became firm.
It was the unmistakable tone of the Director of the Global Defense Agency:
"I promise you, Debbie.
No matter the cost, we will find the killer and tear him apart."
He clapped his hand onto Mark's shoulder.
The hand was heavy, carrying the weight of a commitment.
"Don't worry, Mark," Cecil turned to him, "Your father is fine.
With his powerful resilience, he will be back to normal in a couple of days.
A Viltrumite's vitality... is far tougher than we imagine."
Mark nodded, his expression cooperating by relaxing slightly.
"I know, Director," he said, his voice carrying the perfectly measured determination of a young man:
"Tell me if you need anything.
I have abilities almost as strong as my father's, just a little weaker.
If there is anything that needs help, I will not refuse."
As he spoke, his gaze was clear and his expression serious, exactly like a young hero ready to take responsibility and protect the world.
Debbie looked up at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes—she hadn't realized her son had such a strong sense of responsibility before.
But immediately, she felt relieved: this was, after all, the son of her and Nolan; the blood of a hero flowed in him.
"You are a good boy, Mark," Debbie said softly, "But your main priority right now is school, living a normal life.
Leave these things... to the adults to handle."
Cecil patted Mark's shoulder, the gesture shifting from heavy to one of encouragement.
"Your mother is right," he said, "But this is an extraordinary time.
If necessary, I will contact you."
Just then, the phone in Donald's pocket vibrated—not a normal vibration, but a special, urgent frequency.
The Global Defense Agency's highest emergency communication.
Donald's expression changed, and he quickly took out his phone.
A blood-red alarm symbol flashed on the screen.
He glanced at it, and his face instantly turned ashen.
"Director..." He leaned close to Cecil's ear, his voice low but unable to hide his panic, "Alien invasion.
Downtown, massive scale, military level!
They have teleportation devices and deployed directly in the city center!"
Cecil's expression froze.
In that instant, Mark saw countless emotions flash across his eyes—shock, anger, despair, and finally, cold resolution.
"Damn it!" Cecil slammed a fist against the wall, the metal surface emitting a dull thud, "Of all times!
Right when Earth's defense is weakest!"
He quickly turned on his communicator, speaking at a speed like bullets: "All units, attention! Alien invasion in the city center, confirmed military scale!
Send the Teen Team over; the priority is public safety!
Repeat, the priority is public safety!"
Confused responses came from the other end of the communicator.
Cecil turned off the communication, took a deep breath, and turned to Mark.
His gaze was extremely complex—hesitant, struggling, but ultimately overwhelmed by the demands of reality.
"Mark," Cecil said, "I know this is fast, but—"
"I'll go," Mark interrupted him.
Cecil was stunned.
"I can fly, I have super strength, and my recovery ability is also strong," Mark said calmly, as if stating a simple fact, "Although not as good as Dad's, it should be enough to deal with alien soldiers."
He looked into Cecil's eyes: "Don't worry, Director. I will go help."
The hospital room fell silent for a few seconds.
Debbie wanted to say something, but seeing her son's determined expression, she could only sigh in the end.
"Be careful," she whispered, "You must be careful."
Mark nodded and walked to the window.
He pushed the window open, and the night wind rushed in, carrying the distant clamor of the city.
"Which location downtown?" he asked.
"Times Square area," Donald quickly replied, "The portal opened at the intersection of Broadway and Seventh Avenue, and it has currently spread to a three-block radius."
"Understood."
Mark climbed onto the windowsill and glanced back at the hospital room.
His mother's worried face, Cecil's stern expression, and his 'unconscious' father on the hospital bed.
Then, he leaped out.
The sound of the wind whistled past his ears, and the city lights flowed beneath him like a river of light.
Mark adjusted his posture, shooting toward the direction of downtown like a cannonball.
His speed increased until, at the moment he broke the sound barrier, a circle of white air burst behind him.
This was his first real battle.
Not training, not a test, but a true fight for life and death.
A little bit exciting...
Mark shook his head, casting away distracting thoughts.
Regardless of any conspiracy behind the scenes, what he needed to do now was save people, to protect his citizens.
The silhouette of Times Square appeared in his vision.
But it was different from the usual flashing neon spectacle.
At this moment, that area was enveloped in a strange purple light.
A massive, irregular portal tore open the night sky like a wound.
A continuous stream of alien soldiers clad in metal armor poured out.
Laser beams crisscrossed the air, and the flames of explosions rose one after another.
The sounds of sirens, screams, and collapsing buildings mixed together, forming a symphony of hell.
Chapter 12: Mr. KFC
Times Square had devolved into a battlefield.
Purple portals were embedded in the night sky like festering wounds.
F-Star Soldiers, clad in metallic armor, poured out incessantly.
They wielded energy weapons, their blue-white laser beams sweeping indiscriminately.
Wherever they passed, glass shattered, concrete disintegrated, and cars burst into fierce flames.
The terrified screams of civilians mingled with the roar of collapsing buildings, the air thick with the stench of char and blood.
A mother huddled behind a blown-up newsstand, clutching her child, as an F-Star Soldier raised his weapon—
"Bang!"
A golden energy shield deployed at the critical moment, blocking the lethal beam.
The Teen Defense Force, making their entrance!
The Robot emerged from the flash, its metal chassis reflecting a cold, hard sheen under the residual neon glow. Its shoulder cannons fired continuously, blasting three F-Star Soldiers away.
Eve followed closely behind.
She brought her hands together then pulled them apart sharply, releasing a blinding atomic flash from her palms that temporarily left an entire area of enemies sightless.
Simultaneously, the seemingly ordinary combat suit she wore instantly hardened, taking on a metallic luster, resembling a piece of close-fitting plate armor.
She held a massive shield, using it to block stray fire for the civilians behind her.
"Retreat to the subway station! Hurry!" she roared at the crowd.
Bomb Man Rex and Clone Girl Kate cut in from both sides.
Rex rubbed his hands together, and the metal components in his palms instantly reconfigured into miniature bombs.
He tossed them toward the enemy cluster as if scattering candy, and bursts of fiery light followed one after another.
Kate, meanwhile, flickered, splitting into five identical copies of herself.
Each clone wielded an electric baton, engaging a squad of F-Star Soldiers with exquisite coordination.
But the number of F-Star Soldiers was too great, and they were clearly well-trained.
They quickly adjusted their formation, focusing their energy weapons in a barrage so dense it was suffocating.
"Ugh ah!" Eve's shield was struck repeatedly, the immense impact force causing her feet to plow two trenches into the ground.
The reinforced "suit" on her body began to flicker with signs of energy overload.
Her atomic flash required a cool-down period; two laser beams grazed the shoulder of her reinforced suit, causing her to cry out in pain and hesitate momentarily.
Two of Kate's clones were dispersed simultaneously. The main body's face paled, and her movements slowed.
"So this is why you brought us here?"
Rex yelled at the Robot while tumbling desperately to evade a string of energy blasts chasing his heels:
"Are you trying to get us all killed here?!"
"Shut up, Rex! Don't ruin the team atmosphere!" Eve roared back without turning her head, bracing her shield.
"If we keep this up, there won't be any 'team' left!"
Rex rubbed out another bomb and threw it, blowing up an F-Star Soldier attempting to flank them.
The Robot's metal body was bombarded by countless energy cannonballs, emitting painful creaking sounds as multiple sections of its outer armor dented and melted.
"Must... hold... the line..." its electronic voice crackled with static, "For the civilians... it is a Hero's responsibility."
"Sorry, injuring the commander isn't my style!" Rexsuddenly leaped out from behind cover.
First, he roughly shoved the near-overloaded Robot toward the relative safety behind a broken wall.
Then, his hands moved in rapid succession, and in his palms rested a fist-sized stone, shimmering with a dangerous orange-red light.
The blast radius of this bomb would be wide; Rex himself wouldn't be able to escape it.
"Heh,"
He looked at the F-Star Soldiers closing in around him again, flashing a grim, tragic smile, though he looked quite happy while doing it:
"If I die, it'll be by blowing myself up."
"Rex! Don't—!" Eve's eyes widened in fury.
Although she always wanted to punch that sharp-tongued man half to death, she never imagined him actually dying!
The Robot lay by the broken wall, its sensors locked onto Rex, seemingly stunned.
Rex used all his strength and hurled the dangerous bomb into the densest part of the enemy cluster—
The next second, the explosion didn't happen.
A figure sliced into the battlefield at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, catching the nearly detonated bomb with one hand.
Then, the person clenched his five fingers, and the orange-red light vanished silently in his palm, as if he had merely extinguished a spark.
The dust cloud was swept away by the airflow generated by the person's entry.
Rex felt that he hadn't died; his body still ached and felt battered.
The only comfortable sensation was being held in a very warm, very solid embrace.
"Holy crap..."
Rex was a bit bewildered:
"Don't tell me I was saved by some handsome guy? Sorry, I'm not gay."
He looked up, but instead of the handsome face he expected, he only saw a... Kentucky Fried Chicken bag!
It was indeed a KFC paper bag, probably one that had just been finished, still bearing a few oil stains.
Two irregularly shaped holes had been cut into the front of the bag, revealing a pair of bright, piercing black eyes.
It made one wonder if those eyes would turn red and shoot lasers out the next second.
"Is this some new kind of Hero costume?"
Rex's mouth started moving almost reflexively:
"What should I call you, Hero? Fast Food Hero? Or KFC Hero? Will you gross out these aliens by throwing two grilled wings and hamburgers, or maybe fries without ketchup, at them?"
Even at a moment like this, he hadn't forgotten his sharp tongue.
"You can call me Mr. KFC."
"Also, I won't be doing any of the things you mentioned."
A calm, slightly deep young man's voice came from beneath the bag, "And, fries without ketchup are quite delicious too."
"Damn it! You heretic! Fries absolutely must be dipped in ketchup!" Rex seemed to have had his tail stepped on.
"Nonsense, potatoes are delicious on their own, and deep-frying them makes them even better."
Mark countered uncharacteristically, his tone showing a trace of earnestness.
"Fine, seeing as you saved me, I won't argue with you this time."
Rex helplessly tumbled out of Mark's embrace. After steadying himself, he patted the other man's firm pectoral muscle:
"Seeing as you have black eyes, are you Asian? Oriental?"
"Yes, my mother is Chinese."
Mark answered directly.
"Oh, are you from the South or the North?"
Rex casually followed up.
Mark was indeed momentarily stunned. He scratched his head:
"Southern, I suppose."
"I see! I get it now!"
Rex slapped his hands together suddenly, then said to Mark:
"Could our Super Hero who can physically withstand a bomb please go deal with the aliens and protect the civilians? We can have the debate later!"
Mark found it somewhat baffling, but he still turned around, preparing to charge into the battle.
Just then, he heard Rex shouting with all his might, laced with mockery and a certain provocation:
"Sweet Tofu Pudding is the most disgusting thing!"
"You son of a—!"
Mark's eyes widened as he looked at Rex.
This time, he genuinely wished he had heat vision to blast through the crowd and pierce that guy who was still smirking.
But then, Mark grinned, and the deep, powerful voice characteristic of a Viltrum resonated directly across the noisy battlefield:
"You like ketchup, right, kid?"
He roared back at Rex, though his voice held a strange amusement:
"Tofu pudding absolutely should have ketchup added to it!!"
"You son of a—!"
This time it was Rex's turn to choke on his words.
He felt like he had finally met his match, a Super Hero who was so 'to his taste' was a rare find.
"Excellent!"
Rex also laughed, shouting toward the tall figure wearing the KFC bag, who was already charging toward the F-Star crowd like a cannonball:
"I'll remember you, Mr. KFC!"
Chapter 13 I'll Hide
I'll spare your life, interesting kid."
Mark muttered to himself, his voice drowned out by the din of the battlefield:
"At least in my long life, having someone like you around won't make me feel bored."
Before the words even faded, his left hand shot out like lightning, his five fingers gripping the edge of an F-Star Soldier's helmet, and gave a light squeeze.
"Crack—Pfft!"
The helmet, along with the skull inside, exploded like an overripe watermelon, splashing bluish-purple blood and brain matter everywhere.
Mark shook his hand, easily flinging off the sticky fluid.
Almost simultaneously, more than a dozen high-energy laser beams shot in from different angles, precisely enveloping the area where he stood.
Mark didn't try to take the hits.
He had already verified the burning pain the beams caused on his skin; his current defenses couldn't withstand energy weapons of this caliber.
But he could dodge them.
His body turned into a blurry afterimage within the net of lasers.
Every sidestep, every duck, every seemingly impossible mid-air twist, managed to let the deadly energy graze past the edge of his clothes.
Super speed combined with super reaction time made the trajectories appear clearly discernible to him, like slow motion.
But just a few minutes ago, the situation was not like this.
Mark clearly remembered how he acted the first time he faced the F-Star aliens.
It was the first time in his life he had witnessed slaughter firsthand, the first time he smelled the battlefield stench mixed with blood and char.
Even with the mind of a transmigrator, even though he already knew how cruel this world was,
when a living being exploded before his eyes, his body instinctively froze for a moment.
That's just how young people are sometimes.
They think they can face blood and pain without fear.
But when they truly encounter it, under the rush of adrenaline, their limbs still go cold, and their breathing becomes rapid.
Their body might even tremble slightly beyond their control.
It's like those so-called 'tough guys' in North America who always claim they could overthrow the government at any moment, but when the FBI actually kicks down the door, they either scramble away holding their heads or raise their hands.
Looking like Captain America, but actually being North American cowards.
Their only 'tough protest' ends up being hunger strikes and street marches.
If this happened in old China, let alone a standard-issue pistol, even a homemade'scattergun' from a backyard workshop in their hands would incite murderous intent.
One second you call me 'Lao Gao,' the next second my muzzle is pressed against your forehead.
Not to mention this current body?
Viltrum strength surged in his veins; every heartbeat pumped out more energy, more... desire for destruction.
Mark looked at these alien invaders before him, but his mind conjured images of beacon fires on the historical borderlands.
Did the Han people really only love peace since ancient times?
When wild monsters appeared on the frontier, we expanded the border.
Until new wild monsters appeared on the new frontier, and then we expanded it again!
To have his Earth invaded by this group of alien scum—how could that possibly align with the Rites of Zhou?
It was time to restore the Rites of Zhou, and restoring the Rites of Zhou began with cheering for Confucius!
"Blood sacrifice to the God of Learning! Offer skulls to the Sage!"
He suddenly burst into loud laughter, his laughter mixed with a kind of wild sense of release.
His right fist, wrapped in a sonic boom, slammed fiercely into the chest of an F-Star Soldier charging straight ahead.
The body clad in metal armor did not fly backward.
Instead, it exploded from the inside like a can smashed by a giant hammer, flesh and shattered metal parts scattering everywhere.
Blood stained his arm and half of his clothes.
Mark casually flicked his wrist, and most of the gore was shaken off, leaving only dark, damp marks on the fabric.
"What a pity about my clothes."
He sighed softly, though there was little regret in his tone.
Then he moved.
There was no more hesitation, no more awkwardness from being 'on the front line for the first time.'
Mark became a raging hurricane on the battlefield.
Those powerful energy guns became useless decorations since they couldn't lock onto him at all.
And the physical strength of the F-Star aliens, before the power of a Viltrum hybrid, was essentially no different from ordinary Earthlings.
They were all fragile.
Snapping necks, ripping out spines, punching through chests, cleaving half a body with a hand-chop...
Mark cleared the enemies within his sight in the most efficient and brutal way possible.
The bluish-purple alien blood soon soaked the ground of the battlefield.
Just as he was getting into the swing of killing, a faint, special chill, hidden amidst countless killing intents, pierced the back of his head.
His super senses detected the anomaly.
An F-Star Soldier had quietly picked up a larger, thicker-barreled energy rifle dropped by a comrade.
He was holding his breath, his sight locked firmly onto the back of Mark's head.
The soldier's lips were already curled into the sinister grin of a hunter.
The moment he pulled the trigger, Mark happened to be ripping off the arm of another F-Star Soldier in front of him.
The sharp, bone-splintered severed limb was grasped in his hand, and without even looking, he threw it backward like a javelin!
The severed arm tore through the air with a sharp whistle!
The attacking F-Star Soldier stared in shock—did this human have eyes on the back of his head?!
He instinctively tried to dodge, but the speed at which the severed arm flew was too fast; he only managed to shift his body half a position aside.
"Shhh—!"
The sharp bone fragments formed by the broken limb scraped across his right cheek.
From the cheekbone down to the jaw, half of his face skin was violently ripped away, peeling back to expose the pink muscle tissue and white cheekbone underneath.
The intense pain made him scream, and the heavy rifle in his hand dropped.
"Your weapons are strong."
A calm voice sounded above his head.
The F-Star Soldier looked up in terror, only seeing the sole of a boot covered in his comrade's blood rapidly enlarging in his field of vision.
"Bang!"
He was violently stomped back into the ground, his chest cavity emitting a grating sound of cracking bone.
"That's why I'm always wary of guys with fierce eyes like you."
Mark's foot was still on his chest; he bent down slightly, and those two black eyes visible through the holes in the KFC paper bag looked down at him coldly.
Mark certainly recognized this face—or rather, recognized this characteristic.
In the original work, "Invincible," there was an F-Star Soldier whose face was half-scraped away by Mark's attack, revealing the same sinister grin and hatred.
That guy later underwent technological armor modification and even briefly suppressed the current Invincible in close combat.
His willpower was astonishing; he was a tough nut to crack.
Too bad, he wouldn't get the chance now.
Mark reached out, grabbing the intact left half of the alien's head, his five fingers digging into the gap between the helmet and the skin.
Then, lifting both feet off the ground, he rushed skyward while holding onto the F-Star Soldier!
The violent airflow from the high-speed flight tore at the wounds on the F-Star Soldier's face, and he let out a painful roar.
"You can hear me talking, right?"
Mark's voice mixed with the wind noise, yet it was as clear as a whisper right next to his ear, "I believe you can understand."
"Savor this."
He continued speaking, his tone even carrying a strange gentleness:
"This is the only time you'll ever get to fly in your life."
Chapter 14: It's About Time
A crazed killing intent flashed in the sole remaining eye of the F-Star Soldier.
His intact left hand suddenly lunged toward Mark's arm, attempting a counterattack.
Mark didn't even lower his head to look at him; he just kept gripping that head.
Like swinging a hammer, he violently smashed it sideways into an F-Star Soldier who was raising a gun!
"Smash!"
The two heads collided in mid-air, shattering simultaneously like two eggs.
Bluish-purple blood, brain matter, and broken bone fragments mixed together, splattering all over Mark and coating the face of the F-Star Soldier, who only had half a face left.
The warm, viscous liquid, smelling strongly of rust, poured into his eyes, nose, and mouth.
He froze, the madness in his single eye replaced by a deeper, instinctual terror.
"You're going to love this feeling!"
"Because I absolutely love tearing apart scum like you!"
Mark whispered close to his ear.
The F-Star Soldier's gaze toward Mark changed completely.
He was utterly certain that this human wearing a ridiculous paper bag and possessing terrifying strength was definitely not some "Guardian of Love and Peace."
This guy was a complete conqueror!
A predator even more brutal than invaders like themselves!
"No... Don't!"
He roared, using human language that sounded stiff and carried a strange accent, his voice distorted by fear and injury.
"Oh, I thought you couldn't speak human!"
Mark laughed heartily, his flight path sharply descending as he charged toward another cluster of F-Star Soldiers, "But it doesn't matter if you can talk—"
He swung the "human-shaped weapon" in his hand around again and hurled it!
"Because I never considered you people human in the first place! Hahahaha!"
"Bang! Snap! Splat!"
The sounds of flesh impacting, bones breaking, and organs rupturing rang out in succession.
Mark held onto that F-Star Soldier, treating him like a living meteor hammer, charging wildly through the enemy ranks. Wherever he passed, soldiers were sent flying, and severed limbs scattered everywhere.
Until the sensation in his hand suddenly lightened.
Mark stopped his motion and looked down.
All that remained in his hand was a bloody, mangled section of the neck and a small part of the shoulder blade; the head had completely vanished during one of the countless impacts.
"What a shame, the head's gone..."
Mark pursed his lips, a genuine hint of regret in his tone.
However, even though the head was blown off, most of the body was still there.
Mark clenched the remaining section of the cervical spine and began to spin the rest of the torso at high speed.
Centrifugal force flung the shattered muscle and internal organs outward, forming a horrifying arc of bloody light.
That blood-red arc seemed to encircle him like a red gown.
He charged directly into the last group of F-Star aliens who were making a final stand.
He treated this corpse as a bloody nunchaku, wildly swinging and whipping it around!
Until finally, even the cervical spine could not withstand the force and shattered, slipping from his grasp.
Mark's hands were finally empty, holding only the dripping, bluish-purple blood belonging to the alien invaders.
He stood where he was, breathing lightly, not from exhaustion, but from the satisfaction after intense release.
"Hoo... That felt good."
He twisted his neck, emitting a light 'click,' "But now, let's check the time. It should be about right."
He pretended to look at his wrist, where he obviously wore no watch.
As expected.
In the very next second, a sudden change occurred on the battlefield.
The F-Star Soldiers who were still fighting or trying to regroup suddenly froze simultaneously.
Immediately after, the skin on their bodies began to shrivel and wrinkle at a visible rate, developing large age spots.
Their strong muscles withered, their straight backs hunched over, and even their eyes rapidly became cloudy.
The rate of time on Planet F was drastically different from Earth.
One year on Earth was equivalent to nearly seven hundred years passing on Planet F.
This massive temporal flow difference caused F-Star people to age rapidly once they passed through the portal to Earth.
"No... No!"
"Time... Time has changed!"
"Hurry back! The portal!"
Terrified wails spread among the F-Star people.
They no longer cared about fighting.
Like a startled herd of beasts, they surged toward the few red portals on the battlefield that hadn't closed, scrambling and crawling to escape back to their own world.
The members of the Youth Defense Force were stunned at first, then erupted in cheers of survival.
"They're running! They're really running!"
"We held them off!"
Eve let go of her cracked shield and breathed a sigh of relief.
Kate's clones all dissipated, and her main body sat leaning against the ruins, gasping heavily.
The Robot barely managed to remain standing, with electrical sparks occasionally sputtering from its damaged chassis.
Only Rex—his cheer got stuck in his throat just as it reached his lips.
Because he saw that 'Fast Food Hero,' who had just rampaged across the battlefield like a demon god while wearing the KFC bag, not stopping.
Instead, he began walking, unhurriedly, toward the largest portal.
On the other side of the portal lay a deep red light, as if leading to the endless void, and the retreating backs of the fleeing F-Star people.
"Hey! Mr. KFC!" Rex's heart jumped, and he shouted at the top of his lungs, "What the hell are you doing?!"
Mark heard him, stopped his steps, and turned his head back.
Across a distance of ten meters, separated by that ridiculous grease-stained paper bag, Rex seemed to see the other man... wave a hand at him.
Then, Mark turned back, his gaze settling on the last F-Star alien standing at the edge of the portal.
That F-Star alien was already very old, so stooped he could barely stand straight, but he didn't rush into the gate without looking back like his comrades.
He leaned on the distorted energy edge of the portal and laboriously turned around.
With eyes that were cloudy yet burned with deep-seated hatred, he stared fixedly at Mark.
As if trying to sear the paper-bag-wearing demon into the depths of his soul.
At that moment, Mark raised his hand and grasped the edge of the KFC paper bag on his head.
Then, he took it off and casually tossed it onto the blood-stained ground nearby.
Beneath the black hair stained with bluish-purple gore was a young, handsome Asian face, currently wearing a cheerful, almost radiant smile.
He showed two rows of dazzlingly white teeth to the dying, hatred-filled old F-Star alien.
"It's about time now~"
He said with a smile, his voice clear and pleasant.
The red light of the portal illuminated the glinting red in his eyes.
Chapter 15: He Couldn't Have Come Here Just to Go on a Killing Spree, Could He?
In the final instant before the teleportation tunnel closed,
Mark grabbed the F-Star alien who was left with only one leg, transforming into a blurry afterimage as he vanished into the violent, red energy vortex.
The passage sealed completely, leaving behind only a ravaged battlefield and dissipating energy aftershocks.
Rex watched this scene unfold, his eyes wide with fury.
"This guy... Is he going to destroy their home base?"
he muttered, his voice filled with unbelievable shock.
Immediately, a wave of almost fanatical admiration surged into his heart.
"Truly worthy of you, Mr. KFC!
I am genuinely... admiring you from the bottom of my heart!
You are a true hero!"
He never imagined he would gaze so dotingly, even a little foolishly, at the retreating back of a man.
The feeling was exactly like that of a lovesick young wife watching a heartless scoundrel, who pulls up his pants and doesn't look back, depart cruelly.
The other party was so heartless, but he was also damnably handsome!
"No wonder young girls love scoundrels like me."
Rex wiped the sweat mixed with dust and blood from his face and sighed sincerely: "This kind of temperament of 'going all out for something big' is too damn captivating!"
Eve, standing nearby, looked at her ex-boyfriend with disdain.
It was precisely because of his perpetually unserious demeanor, which was surprisingly reliable at critical moments (only to immediately revert to his old self), that she couldn't stand being with him long-term.
However, at this moment, her worries were focused more on the disappearing portal.
"That guy just now... Is he really going to be alright?"
Eve's voice carried an uncertain worry.
She knew the man wearing the KFC paper bag was ridiculously strong, but fighting an entire planet, an entire civilization, all by himself?
That sounded more like a tragic march to death than a wise choice.
Not far away, a faint crackling sound of electricity came from the ruins.
The Robot's damaged chassis was half-buried under rubble, its optical sensors flickering with a weak light.
The last captured image was painstakingly saved in its core memory—the silhouette of the man who took off the paper bag and charged into the alien passage with a smile.
"A hero... A true hero."
His damaged voice synthesizer emitted intermittent electronic sounds, carrying human emotion:
"I really want to see... what heroic deeds he will perform on that planet..."
In its logical judgment, this man, whose fighting style was astonishingly brutal, should be a hero.
Otherwise, why would he venture alone into an unknown enemy planet?
To do something that offered nine deaths and one life, a thankless task?
He couldn't have possibly... just wanted to go there for a massive killing spree, could he?
"It's time to slay now~"
A flippant and cheerful voice echoed down the vast, red-hued streets of the F-Star city.
Mark casually tossed the F-Star captive, whom he had tortured until only a breath remained and who was still twitching unconsciously, onto the ground, looking around with interest.
Near the teleportation point, a large number of F-Star Soldiers who had just fled back were gathered, along with some logistics and command personnel originally stationed there.
The condition of these soldiers was even worse than he had imagined.
The terrifying disparity in time flow was vividly apparent now.
During the short teleportation back from Earth, plus the brief moment spent on F-Star,
Soldiers who were originally in their prime now generally displayed the withered appearance of seventy or eighty-year-old Earth men.
Their skin was wrinkled, their steps unsteady, and their eyes cloudy; many even needed to lean on companions or their weapons to stay upright.
It seemed the main military strength of the entire F-Star had indeed been staked on this invasion.
And they were generous enough.
They had dispatched such a massive military force,
Resulting in over sixty percent of the combat personnel in this unit currently being in this aged and weakened state.
Strike while the enemy is weak.
This principle applied universally across the cosmos.
In his arms, Mark was still carrying the F-Star alien who had glared fiercely at him at the teleportation gate.
Because he glared with his eyes, Mark had gouged out his eyes.
Simultaneously, for safety reasons,
Mark had casually broken both of his arms and the other intact leg, leaving only one leg clutched in his hand like he was carrying a chick.
After all, Mark considered himself someone lacking a sense of security.
Facing the alien army before him, which, although aged, was still considerable in number, he would feel uneasy without carrying some 'weapon' in his hand.
"Earthling!"
A voice rang out, deliberately maintaining an air of authority, yet unable to hide a hint of age and fatigue.
Mark looked up.
He saw an F-Star alien wearing more exquisite armor with complex patterns walking out, surrounded by a group of relatively less aged guards.
He raised a withered finger and pointed at Mark.
"This is not where you should be."
The commander's voice was transmitted through some amplification device, echoing on the crystal streets, "Perhaps you are very powerful, with astonishing individual combat ability, but you cannot fight an entire planet!
Even for a civilization with technology as advanced as ours, conquering a world requires relying on a massive army and meticulous planning, not individual recklessness!"
He spoke eloquently, regaining his confidence, as if analyzing the pros and cons for a reckless intruder, attempting to persuade the other party with 'reason'.
"I can reopen the teleportation gate for you,"
The commander spread his arms in an embracing gesture, "and let you return safely to your home planet.
In exchange, we F-Stars can guarantee that we will no longer invade Earth.
We can sign a peace treaty, non-aggression pacts..."
The commander spoke fluently, confident that his eloquence could sway the foolish Earthling before him.
A peace treaty? Don't even think about it!
Once we regroup and recover, we will slaughter everyone on your planet!
"Pfft... Hahahaha!"
An irrepressible chuckle interrupted the commander's'sincere' oration.
That light laugh quickly escalated into uncontrollable roaring laughter.
Mark clutched his stomach, laughing so hard he bent over, tears even welling up in the corners of his eyes due to the exertion.
He vigorously wiped his eyes and looked at the commander, whose face was beginning to darken, a strong smile still plastered on his own face.
Chapter 16: Assassination is One Person's Chaos, Massacre is True Chaos!
"Sorry, I really couldn't help myself."
Mark panted as he spoke, "That 'let's be reasonable' look of yours always reminds me of... well, some guys I knew in my past life."
He stood up straight, his smile gradually taking on a hint of cold mockery.
"They're always like this: starting wars, burning, killing, and looting as they please."
Wait until they realize they've kicked a steel plate and can't win, and they immediately put on the face of a 'peace ambassador' or a 'rational analyst.'"
They'll talk your ear off about the 'big picture,' 'pros and cons,' and 'win-win situations.'"
"They'll pull you back and forth endlessly, bringing up all sorts of grand principles and involving countless irrelevant people and matters."
By the end, it's as if they are the victims, and you're the barbarian who's destroying peace and doesn't understand the big picture."
Mark spread his hands, his tone light: "I admit, this method of twisting black and white and occupying the moral high ground for kidnapping..."
It's particularly effective against people with holes in their brains... uh, 'holy mothers' or 'rational centrists.'"
The smile on his face abruptly vanished, leaving only a cold golden light dancing deep in his eyes.
"But I'm not that kind of idiot."
He spoke calmly, his voice not loud, yet clearly overpowering the sound of the wind:
"And I'm certainly no pacifist."
Before his voice had even faded, a shockwave erupted where he had been standing!
His figure vanished.
The next second, the F-Star Commander, who was still trying to maintain his dignity,
Saw his vision completely occupied by the rapidly expanding, broken bodies of his own kin—the 'hostages' Mark had casually thrown!
"No—!"
Terrified screams mixed with dull impacts and the sound of shattering bones.
Two F-Star people.
The commander and his loyal guard.
They turned into a mass of flesh and blood, indistinguishable from one another, splattered across the red-glowing crystalline ground.
Mark looked down at his hands, covered in blue and red slime, then at the severed leg still held in his hand.
"Tsk."
He let go in disgust, allowing the severed leg to fall to the ground.
He looked up, cracked his neck, and stretched his wrists and ankles.
His joints popped and cracked throughout his body, like a beast finally released from its shackles, beginning to truly stretch its form.
His gaze swept over the remaining F-Star army, which had fallen into massive panic and rage due to the commander's brutal death.
That smile, so brilliant it chilled the heart, reappeared on his face.
"Alright, enough talk."
He spoke loudly, his voice reaching the ears of every F-Star person, "Let's all be honest."
Stop using boring ideas like 'peace,' 'justice,' and 'rationality' to limit what's about to happen."
He paused, seemingly enjoying the fear and hatred intertwined in the eyes of these alien creatures.
"Because it's quite simple: even if you didn't go to Earth,"
He said with a smile, baring his white teeth, "I would have come looking for you, and then..."
"...kill you all."
"BOOM—!!!"
The moment he finished speaking, the ground beneath his feet suddenly sank and exploded!
His figure struck the dense F-Star military formation like a bolt of golden lightning!
The massacre began.
Though most of these F-Star Soldiers were in their twilight years with severely declining physical functions,
Their residual combat instincts, the energy weapons in their hands, and the crude fortifications built into the terrain still posed a slight threat.
Their attacks were no longer dense and lethal, but they were more insidious and desperate.
Occasionally, they could even cause a scratch or a momentary delay for the rampaging Mark.
And this was exactly what Mark wanted.
These 'old, weak, sick, and disabled' were precisely the most suitable'sparring partners' for his current stage.
They were weak enough that they couldn't truly threaten his life.
This allowed him to test the limits of his power and try various combat techniques without worrying about being killed instantly.
Yet they weren't so weak as to be completely helpless.
The remaining firepower, coordination, and desperate counterattacks provided him with real combat pressure, a sense of crisis, and pain.
These were the best catalysts for fueling power growth and honing combat awareness.
Most importantly, this was F-Star.
Time flowed seven hundred times faster than on Earth.
What did that mean?
It meant that for every half-day that passed on Earth, he could gain nearly a year of training time here!
And this group of soldiers would be his 'best' sparring partners for the coming year.
He 'believed' in the 'resilience' of the F-Star people—in the long massacre and oppression to come, they would surely 'put up a good fight.'"
Pain, hatred, despair... these were the fertilizers that grew power and will.
The more fiercely they resisted and the more pressure they gave him, the faster his growth would be.
With the protagonist Mark's terrifying talent, supplemented by a transmigrator's mindset and information advantage,
And then tempered through nearly a year of this high-intensity, high-pressure, bloody practical combat...
A year later, would Omni-Man Nolan Grayson truly still be his match?
Mark whipped up a bloody storm within the military formation, yet his mind calmly planned for the future.
Every punch that shattered armor, every kick that sent a broken body flying, every evasion of concentrated fire—each was a step toward that ultimate goal.
The F-Star army was collapsing, scattering, and fleeing in disarray.
When many civilizations encounter an incomprehensible invasion of overwhelming individual power, their initial reaction is always the same: panic, retreat, and organizational collapse.
Only when they have been slaughtered to a certain point, with nowhere left to run, or when hatred accumulates to a certain threshold, will a desperate resistance erupt.
As the saying goes, an assassination is one person's chaos.
But a massacre... is chaos in the truest sense!
Mark hunted the fleeing soldiers as if taking a stroll in a courtyard, showing no mercy, yet his eyes shone with a light of anticipation.
He looked forward to their resistance.
He expected them to birth rage from fear, to condense courage from despair, and to reorganize from their scattered state.
To use the last strength of this civilization to offer the first grand sacrifice for Mark Grayson's ascent to godhood.
This was already a key part of his plan.
Chapter 17: How Much Pain Must He Be In?
"What did you say?! My son went into that damn portal!?"
Debbie Grayson's voice rose in extreme shock and anger, almost piercing the air of the temporary command post.
She had just finished listening to the stumbling explanation from the girl in the pink combat suit and the smooth-talking boy.
A "buzz" went off in her head, as if something had exploded.
What did they mean… that her son had coolly waved at them with his back turned, and then rushed into a portal leading to another planet?
And with Earth's current technology, they couldn't even actively open a channel to bring him back!?
"Then how is my son supposed to come back?! Cecil, you tell me!!"
Debbie turned sharply toward the Director of the Global Defense Agency standing to the side, her chest heaving violently.
Her eyes burned with the fury of a mother beast; she wanted nothing more than to punch this man who always brought bad news into the ground.
At this moment, Cecil Stedman dared not meet her eyes; his face was a mixture of exhaustion, guilt, and lingering shock.
"Calm down, Debbie. This... this was completely beyond my expectations. I didn't think Mark would..."
"Calm down?!"
Debbie's voice was almost trembling, "How can you expect me to be calm?! Nolan is lying in the hospital, and now Mark is..."
"Calm down, ma'am."
A voice chimed in.
Rex walked over, his face surprisingly wearing a strange, almost blind confidence:
"Although I don't know who Mark is—oh, that's Mr. KFC, right?
Then I dare swear on my explosive art that Mr. KFC will absolutely not face any threat!"
He patted his chest, as if stating a truth of the Universe: "You can't even imagine how strong he is!
I have to use special bombs to blow open the armor of those F-aliens, but he can crush it with his hands!
He can even snuff out my molecular compression bombs with his bare hands!
It's hard to imagine what that body is made of... He can definitely solve the trouble on that entire planet!"
"You... what are you saying?!"
Debbie felt she had never hated a boy the same age as her son so much.
Her son's life was uncertain, trapped in a strange alien world, and this guy was actually here making snide remarks in an almost worshipful tone!?
"Calm down, Ms. Grayson, he... he will be fine."
Eve hurried forward, tightly gripping Debbie's cold, trembling hand.
Her own feelings at this moment were extremely complicated.
Only until just now did she realize that the hero who wore a Mr. KFC paper bag and was as powerful as a monster.
Was actually her classmate, the Mark Grayson who was surrounded by all sorts of mysterious rumors at school.
Eve didn't know much about Mark, but a few rumors left a deep impression on her: It was said that a star of the school football team (a guy over 2.1 meters tall, a muscle monster)
had once gone to provoke Mark, only to have the latter use a pipe he'd casually snapped off to break his limbs, his knees beaten in the opposite direction.
Hearing Debbie's angry scolding just now, she finally connected all the dots—Mark had only awakened his powers in the last two days.
But even if he had just awakened... Eve inexplicably believed that such a "monster," no matter which world he was in, could solve any problem.
The rumors about Mark in high school could be summarized as: He seemed to be "omnipotent."
Whether he had superpowers or not, he was "invincible."
There was still a saying circulating in school: Never try to pick a fight with Mark Grayson.
Because he would use illogical physical means and various bizarre combat techniques to beat you until you doubted your life.
Perhaps it was the genuine worry and comfort in the beautiful girl's eyes that had an effect.
Debbie's rapid breathing calmed down slightly, but a tremendous panic and feeling of powerlessness still gripped her heart.
She had been standing there for a full hour; the portal had long since closed, but there was no news of her child.
She didn't know what kind of terrifying times her son was experiencing on that strange, hostile planet...
"Your armor is not bad!"
Mark was gripping the throat of an F-alien with one hand.
Lifting him off the ground, along with the full-body mechanical armor that shimmered with a cold metallic light.
There was a clear, sunken fist print on the chest of the armor, and the corner of Mark's mouth had rarely split, oozing a drop of blood.
This slight injury, however, made a glimmer of joy flash in Mark's eyes.
Being able to break his defense, even if it was just a scratch, proved that the things these guys had cobbled together in their desperation really had a bit of a threat.
This meant they could continue to "push" him; if he continued to "train" like this, after five months, his defensive power would definitely be able to reach a new level!
In this month, Mark had been consciously engaging in "slaughter-style training."
Fighting, killing, and enduring attacks with all his might every day.
Even if it wasn't the most scientific or systematic training.
He could clearly feel that his strength, speed, flight ability, and especially his defensive power were much stronger than when he first arrived.
"But unfortunately, it's not enough."
He shook his head and closed his fingers.
With a "snap," the neck bone of the F-alien in his hand, along with the helmet, was crushed, and the body was casually thrown to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Just as he was preparing to find the next "sparring partner," a scene near a broken red crystal building below caught his attention.
There, a female F-alien was tightly clutching a child who looked very young.
The child had relatively bright green skin and was currently looking up, staring fixedly at Mark, who was hovering in the air, with eyes burning with pure hatred.
He had seen everything that happened just now.
The father wearing the terrifying armor, whom he regarded as a hero, had been killed by this demonic invader like crushing a bug.
"Child, we should go back..."
The mother's voice trembled with a sob; she hugged her child tightly, tears streaming down from the corners of her eyes.
Her husband was dead, and the child would have no father from now on.
In these years shrouded in terror, how would they, a widow and orphan, survive?
"Mother, don't worry."
The boy's voice was surprisingly calm, even frighteningly cold; he gritted his teeth, and every word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth, "I will kill him.
I will definitely kill him!
At all costs!
No matter what method I have to use, I will kill him!"
The small fist was clenched tightly, nails digging deep into the palm, and the green cheeks were slightly distorted by extreme anger.
He stared fixedly at the figure in the sky, as if wanting to carve that figure into the depths of his soul.
Seeing that look, Mark raised an eyebrow.
He liked that look.
How wonderful.
Filled with hatred, filled with a desperate desire for destruction, filled with the resolve to dedicate everything to revenge.
This was simply the most perfect seed for cultivating a "qualified opponent."
In endless oppression and despair, such a seed was very likely to bloom into a surprising, venomous flower.