Chapter 27: Young Heroes Team
The voice was righteous and confident.
It carried a kind of inexplicable pride, as if to say, "I was born at the top of the food chain, so how could you possibly look down on me?"
Mark unceremoniously flicked him on the forehead.
A crisp "thunk" sound followed.
"It's a fundamental difference in race."
Mark withdrew his hand, his tone as calm as if he were explaining why two plus two equals four:
"I am a Viltrumite. An alien, get it?"
"My home planet and Earth are… several hundred light-years apart."
"So my eighteen is not the same as your eighteen."
Rex clutched his forehead, grimacing, but his mind was clearly still racing.
"What the…"
He muttered, his expression shifting from pain to a strange, twisted look of mixed awe and complexity:
"Another alien… I've already seen enough aliens today…"
He was referring to the stragglers from planet F who were being detained by the Global Defense Agency, waiting to be processed.
Those remnants of the army who, due to old age and infirmity, had almost lost their combat effectiveness by the later stages of the invasion.
Mark glanced at him and then said, very lightly and casually:
"Don't worry, at least you won't be seeing any more planetF aliens."
When he said this, his tone was as flat as if he were saying, "The weather should be nice tomorrow."
Rex looked up, meeting Mark's calm, ripple-less black eyes.
There was no sense of seeking credit in that gaze, no intention to show off, and not even any emotion—as if he were merely stating an objective fact.
But Rex understood the true message conveyed in those eyes.
Annihilated.
He opened his mouth, and a dry, ambiguous monosyllable escaped his throat:
"Hiss…"
He drew in a breath so long and deep it was enough to reverse Earth's greenhouse effect by 0.001 percent.
Mark did not deny it, merely nodding slightly.
Yes, he had wiped them all out.
Rex did not ask for details.
He even subconsciously took half a step back.
He remembered that night, the figure wearing a ridiculous KFC paper bag who had caught his molecular compression bomb—which was enough to blow up half a city block—with his bare hands, as easily as snuffing out a cigarette butt.
He remembered the back of that figure as he charged into the portal, his clothes fluttering in the energy vortex, never looking back.
He remembered the words he had shouted at the time: "What the fuck are you doing?"
Now he knew the answer.
To wipe out all the invaders from an entire planet.
Rex swallowed, feeling for the first time that his mouth, when it actually needed to speak, was at a loss for words.
And this extremely brief "little topic" between the two men, where understanding weighed more than words.
Was clearly not caught at all by the two female members nearby.
Who would have thought?
Who would associate "that mysterious hero who wore a paper bag and saved Times Square" with something as horrific as "genocide"?
In the eyes of Eve and Debbie, Mark Grayson's image was that of the mysterious overachiever in the high school library who beat challengers to a pulp but was always in the right.
He was the young hero who, upon awakening his powers, charged without hesitation into an alien battlefield to protect Earth.
He was the good son who, even when returning home covered in blood, the first thing he did was smile and tell his mom, "I just had an accident."
The epitome of righteousness.
Earth-savior level, no arguments accepted.
"Alright, Mom."
Mark withdrew his gaze from Rex and turned to Debbie.
The relaxed smile of "it's really no big deal" naturally returned to his face.
He reached out to put his arm around Debbie's shoulder and led her toward the exit of the teleportation room.
The movement was intimate and natural, as if he were just late coming home from school and his mother had been waiting anxiously at the school gate.
"Let's go home."
He said, "I think in a couple of days, Dad should be mostly recovered."
He paused, tilted his head slightly, and said in a tone of "I'm just making a small suggestion":
"We should prepare a good meal, waiting for him to come back and enjoy it together."
He thought for a moment and added:
"How about polar bear? I can find time to catch one in the next two days."
Nighttime.
Mark, clean and shaven, was currently going to town on the bear paw on his plate.
He used a dinner knife to cut off a layer of fat, along with some lean meat, dipped it in sauce, put it in his mouth, and nodded with satisfaction.
"Blueberry sauce goes really well with bear paw."
Very few races in the world eat polar bear, mainly the Inuit.
They live in the Arctic and mainly eat raw food in their daily lives.
But Mark had always believed that food tastes best when paired with other ingredients from its surrounding environment.
The only things in the Inuit region that could count as "seasoning" were the naturally salty seawater, berries, and moss.
Mark had brought some of each back and carefully prepared this dish.
Tasting it now, the flavor was indeed quite good, with a nice balance of fat and lean.
Debbie tasted a piece of lean meat and frowned slightly.
"Carnivore meat just doesn't taste that good."
Meat from carnivores usually has a sour taste.
Mark had tried his best to process the polar bear.
Before it could react, he had used a Viltrumite Hand Chopto sever its head, and then quickly removed the paws and other meat.
And the internal organs.
At least it wouldn't develop extra sour, foul odors due to fear or terror.
Mark commented while eating.
Debbie also nodded, saying that at least the bear heart soup tasted pretty good.
It was a soup stewed with the whole heart of the polar bear; it was very flavorful and had some auk tongues added to it.
It was the same principle as how British nobles used to like making soup with the tips of lark tongues.
The organs that secrete saliva carry a natural umami flavor, especially in birds.
After eating three bear paws in one go, Mark patted his stomach in satisfaction.
Finally, he had eaten some food that normal people should eat.
The things on planet F were really not meant for human consumption.
Mark had no cannibalistic tendencies.
Although the planet F aliens weren't of his race, as long as they were humanoid, he preferred not to eat them if he could help it.
So Mark generally only ate the more bizarre animals from there, though the taste was hard to describe.
But for a Viltrumite, it was at least edible.
He ladled another bowl of soup and sipped it slowly.
Just then, Debbie walked over and pressed on his shoulder.
"Have you grown taller, Mark?"
Mark was startled.
Indeed, having spent a year on planet F, he was now nineteen, so it was normal for him to have grown a bit more.
Mark's height had now reached one meter eighty-five.
It could only be said that he had grown very quickly, after all, yesterday, he had only been one meter seventy-five.
Fortunately, Omni-Man Nolan wasn't home right now, otherwise, if the father and son compared heights, it would be even more obvious.
Chapter 28: What Kind of Alien Standard Is This?
Nolan Grayson's height is 1.88 meters.
He used to be much taller than Mark Grayson, but now Mark Grayson is almost the same height as him.
The contrast is even more obvious this way.
I can't exactly tell my mother that I wiped out a race and a civilization over there, and grew 10 centimeters taller in the process, right!?
I can't let Debbie notice this issue!
Mark Grayson instantly utilized the super intelligence contained within his super brain!
He thought of a solution in 0.5 seconds!
"It can't be helped, Mom, who told you to make such delicious food!"
"I was about to get fat from eating, but because of my bloodline awakening, my digestion speed became very good, and all the nutrients I stored up were converted into height~"
Mark Grayson explained with a smile, "The growth rate of Viltrum is like this; my digestive ability is too strong now."
Debbie was stunned for a moment, then she felt that what Mark Grayson said made sense.
That's true, her son can now tear steel with his bare hands, so growing a bit faster is normal.
And growing faster is a good thing.
Debbie really likes how tall and strong her son looks.
The next day, at school.
After finishing a class, Mark Grayson got up and went out to use the restroom.
Just as he walked to the corner of the corridor, he saw Eveleaning against the window, as if she was specifically waiting for someone.
Eve's grades have always been good, and she and MarkGrayson were originally just nodding acquaintances.
But after yesterday's battle, she knew that Mark Grayson was that guy wearing the Mr. KFC paper bag, and things between them became a bit subtle for a moment.
"What's wrong, Eve?"
Mark Grayson didn't think there was anything wrong with it.
Which emperor would have an issue with their own subjects?
Eve walked forward two steps and leaned into his ear.
The young girl's scent drifted into his nostrils, carrying a faint smell of laundry detergent.
"I hope you can come to our young heroes' gathering tonight."
She paused, her voice soft but serious: "The Global Guardians have suffered heavy casualties, and this worldneeds us. I hope you can come and help."
These words fell into Mark Grayson's ears and were automatically converted to—My world needs me.
He nodded: "Sure, I'll treat it as after-school exercise."
After dinner, Mark Grayson flew directly to the Global Defense Agency youth team headquarters.
Robot stood at the entrance to welcome him.
To entertain Mark Grayson, it specifically purchased a large pile of food and laid it out on the long table:
Pizza, fried chicken, fries, cola—all hard currency in the eyes of Earth's teenagers.
Although Robot itself cannot eat these things.
Its Original Body, due to some physiological defects, has been soaking in a culture dish to sustain life, and this metal body is just a remotely controlled substitute.
But it still stubbornly set out plates, napkins, and even beverage cups.
—At least it had to treat the guest well.
"Wow! Pizza!"
Rex, like a dog that saw a bone, was the first to pounce on it, grabbing a piece and stuffing it into his mouth.
"Robot, you finally have some gourmet spirit!"
As he ate, he pulled at the cheese, stretching out long strings, and with a look of intoxication, he tilted his head back to suck the whole string of cheese into his mouth, chewing vigorously with smacking sounds.
Kate the Dupli-Kate was also sitting at the table, eating fries in small bites, as quiet as a cat.
In mid-air, Eve had already changed into her battle suit—that iconic leotard of Atom Eve.
She looked down at Mark Grayson and raised an eyebrow.
"You're just wearing this casual outfit?"
Mark Grayson looked down at himself—gray hoodie, casual pants, sneakers.
"It'll have to do," he said, "I don't have time to go make a suit."
Eve smiled.
"Then I'll make one for you."
Free clothes, why not take them?
Mark Grayson nodded immediately and started making requests without hesitation.
"Let's make blue the main color, and add some red and gold for decoration.
It's best to have a logo on the chest, something simple, the letter 'M' or an Earth pattern would be fine. A cape on the back, red."
Originally, Mark Grayson wanted an SM logo on his chest.
As for the specific meaning, I believe everyone who understands, understands.
But on second thought, having two letters on his chest just wasn't cool enough.
Since Superman hits people every day and acts as the S.
But Mark Grayson's goal next is to get beaten up every day, so he can only be the M.
When he becomes the invincible young hero!
That will be the M turning over to sit on the S!
Eve listened to him talking and gesturing, and her mouth twitched.
"Didn't you just say you weren't picky? You have quite a lot of requirements now."
Mark Grayson was righteous: "Since I'm the one wearing it, I naturally want it to be perfect."
Eve didn't say anything else and bowed her head to adjust the clothes using her Atomic Power.
Two minutes later, Mark Grayson got his new uniform as he wished.
Blue background, gold lines outlining his sharp muscle contours, with a simple letter "M" on the chest, edged in red.
On the back was a bright red cape that reached his waist, made of solid material, flapping loudly when it caught the wind.
He spun around twice in front of the mirror Eve had just conjured, very satisfied.
That Superman-style aesthetic of wearing red underwear on the outside, I don't know which genius editor came up with that.
This blue and gold color scheme is much more pleasing to the eye.
That night, at the youth team headquarters.
Mark Grayson descended from the roof in his new uniform, his red cape slowly falling behind him.
Rex was stuffing the third slice of pizza into his mouth, looked up, saw him, and was stunned.
"Yo, Mr. KFC," he said with the pizza in his mouth, indistinctly, "Finally looking a bit like a hero."
"My name is Mark Grayson," Mark Grayson corrected, paused, "You can also call me Homelander."
"Homelander?" Rex's eyebrows twisted into a knot, "What kind of weird nickname is that? It's not cool at all, not even as good as my Bomb Hero."
"At least when I hear others call me that, I feel very comfortable." Mark Grayson smiled.
Rex rolled his eyes, but couldn't be bothered to argue.
Whatever, call him whatever he wants.
He reached out and grabbed a slice of pizza, directly shoving it toward Mark Grayson's mouth.
Mark Grayson opened his mouth to bite it, and then—"Slurp."
The whole piece of pizza disappeared into his mouth instantly, as if sucked away by a vacuum cleaner.
He chewed twice and swallowed.
The whole process took less than two seconds.
Rex looked at his empty hand, petrified on the spot.
"Holy crap... no wonder it's you, you actually eat like that?"
He immediately ignited his competitive spirit, grabbed two slices of pizza, and stacked them together.
He opened his mouth wide and forcibly stuffed them both in.
His cheeks bulged like a hamster's, and he chewed a dozen times with difficulty before swallowing.
"How about that!" He stiffened his neck, "You go!"
Mark Grayson smiled.
He reached out and took the entire unopened box of pizza from the center of the table—12 inches, thick crust, supreme flavor.
Then, he folded the entire pizza in half, and then in half again.
Like eating a pie, he finished it in three bites.
Rex stared at the empty pizza box, his expression like someone who had been constipated for a week.
"You f*cking..."
"You can't compare with me,"
Mark Grayson patted his shoulder, his tone comforting, "Not to mention pizza, even if it were a cow, I could eat it for you to see."
Rex opened his mouth, but in the end, he didn't say anything.
He just silently withdrew his gaze and lowered his head to gnaw on the slice of pizza in his hand that had already gone cold.
Damn it, Viltrum.
Are all aliens this amazing?
In the past there were Saiyans, now there are Viltrum?
What, is the standard for you aliens to have an incredibly huge appetite!?
So what if you can eat a lot, I'm not envious at all, really!
I'm not envious at all!
Chapter 29: An Omni-Man Who Belongs to Humanity
"He looks so great, Donald."
Cecil Stedman stood with his arms crossed, watching the scene inside the Teen Team Headquarters through the surveillance monitor.
On the screen, Mark was bickering with Rex over a slice of pizza, laughing like an ordinary high school student.
"A teenager with a generous heart and a mind far superior to his peers."
Cecil murmured, "What's even more precious is that even with such a mature mind, he is still willing to dedicate himself to humanity. Even if it's not everything, he is worthy of the name superhero."
He knew very well the power of Viltrum.
But what's even rarer is that someone possessing such power can still hang out with a brat like Rex.
Although it's not the most accurate way to describe it, he did feel a sense of accomplishment, like watching his own child getting along with others in kindergarten.
"But he still can't compare to you, boss."
Donald Ferguson stood half a step behind him and reminded him in a low voice, "You are the hero. And he, he's still just a kid."
He sensed a shift in Cecil's mood.
This Director of the Global Defense Agency was always cold and hard, and notoriously critical when judging people.
For so many years, the only teenage hero who truly caught his eye was Robot, because that kid possessed a calmness and tactical mind far beyond his age.
And now, there was one more, Mark Grayson.
But Mark Grayson was not a pure Earthling.
"Don't you have too many prejudices against aliens, Donald?"
Cecil shrugged indifferently and raised a hand to touch the scar on the right side of his face.
That was the only piece of skin he had left that truly belonged to him.
Years ago, during a gas leak incident he personally led the team to handle, the gas eroded the skin all over his body.
Now, except for the right side of his face and a small patch on his chin, the rest was all grafted.
He intentionally kept this piece of original skin to remember that pain, and to always look at everything with a calm gaze.
"Are there few Mutants on Earth nowadays? Strictly speaking, Mark has half human blood; he is biologically much closer to us than other heroes."
Donald was silent.
Cecil continued, his voice carrying a rare sense of certainty: "I'm not just admiring him, Donald. He is an invincible hero, do you understand?"
He paused.
"Nolan is very invincible, right? He is Omni-Man, he could wipe out the entire Global Guardians by himself."
Donald's eyelid twitched.
"But there was one guy," Donald said in a low voice, "who took down Omni-Man — and all the other members of the Global Guardians."
"Yes, yes, I know about that guy."
Cecil waved his hand and turned to walk out of the surveillance room.
He walked down the corridor to a place he often visited alone.
The hall of the Global Guardians Headquarters.
It had already been cleaned up by his orders; the bloodstains, wreckage, and traces of the battle had all been wiped away.
The walls were repainted, the floor polished like a mirror, as if that slaughter had never happened.
But he often came here to ponder.
Because it was right here that Earth's defensive capabilities suffered a collapse.
Seven people.
Seven of Earth's most powerful Guardians.
Overnight, they all turned into cold corpses.
"But he is still powerful, Donald."
He suddenly spoke again, as if talking to himself, "Mark Grayson, he possesses potential no less than Nolan's. He can possess that kind of power."
He turned around and looked at his subordinate.
"Imagine that, an 'Omni-Man' who truly belongs to humanity."
His voice was very soft, but it carried something burning.
"Even if Nolan is fighting for humanity now, he can never be considered one of our own kind. Only Mark — he inherited human thoughts, he inherited human will."
He stared into Donald's eyes, enunciating every word: "He is an Earthling, Donald. Please remember this forever. Even after I die and you take over my duties, you must always keep this in mind."
Donald opened his mouth, wanting to say something.
"Of course," Cecil suddenly laughed, "you have to be able to complete that power struggle first."
He laughed, exhaling a puff of white mist.
It was indeed a bit cold in the hall.
But as Cecil looked at the white mist, his eyes suddenly changed.
He slowly put his hand into his pocket.
The next second—
"Bang! Bang!"
He whipped out his gun and fired two shots at a shadow a dozen meters away!
The laser beams hit the target precisely, scorching two charred bullet holes into the wall.
And right next to the bullet holes, the air twisted, and a figure slowly appeared.
The person was wearing a crisp suit and a vintage fedora, looking like a cowboy who had walked out of a Western movie.
But his skin was bright red, with short horns growing on both sides of his forehead, and a thick, hairy red tail dragging behind him — like an upright-walking red kangaroo.
"Demon Detective" Damien.
Cecil narrowed his eyes, his gun barrel pointed steadily at the figure.
Damien looked down at the polished floor beneath his feet, as if he could see something else through the ground.
Then he crouched down and pressed his palm against the floor.
He closed his eyes.
In that moment, he "saw" it.
Immortal had his throat sliced open by a sharp hand blade.
War Woman had her abdomen pierced through by a punch.
Red Rush's head exploded like a watermelon.
Martian Man's neck was snapped, and his body collapsed limply.
Dark Knight's wrists were crushed, and his throat was strangled.
Ghost's heart was ripped out with bare hands.
Aquarus's chest was punched through, turning into a puddle of Water that seeped into the ground.
Wailing.
Blood.
Despair.
Finally, there was the only standing figure, the "hero" he had thought, adjusting his breathing amidst the corpses, then lying down to feign unconsciousness.
Damien opened his eyes and took a deep breath.
"I should be glad you didn't blow my head off with that shot,"
His voice was low and hoarse:
"Even a demon can't take a laser gun blast directly to the head."
"You should have just told me the business."
Cecil put away his gun, but not completely, "Otherwise, my next shot will definitely blow your head off."
He walked toward Damien, his footsteps echoing in the hall.
"I was just about to."
Damien stood up and brushed invisible dust off his suit, "The real business."
He looked at Cecil, his crimson eyes reflecting the cold light.
"All the Superheroes were severely injured, wailing in pain. Then they all died. Only one person survived."
He paused.
"Here, I found no traces of anyone else."
Cecil's pupils constricted slightly.
"Ha," he sneered, "No traces of anyone else? You mean — Omni-Man is the killer?"
He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower: "There are so many supervillains in the world with teleportation abilities, with abilities to erase their own traces. Don't tell me you can't think of a single one. A Demon Detective shouldn't have such a limited intelligence network."
"Exclude all the impossible options, and what remains," Damien said calmly, "no matter how surprising, is the truth."
Cecil's gaze turned cold.
"Enough."
He enunciated each word, "If you only came here to deliver a strange speech, then I will blow your head off with my laser gun right now. Damien, I won't hold you accountable for breaking into the Defense Agency Headquarters. Now, get out of here immediately."
He stared into those crimson eyes: "As a demon, you should just stay honestly in Hell!"
Damien locked eyes with him for a few seconds.
Then, he nodded slightly.
"I will find out the truth."
He said, "I will prove it to you."
His figure began to fade, like a melting shadow, slowly disappearing into the air.
Cecil stood where he was, motionless.
Until the last trace of the red shadow completely dissipated, he let out a cold snort and turned to walk toward the door.
The alloy door behind him closed slowly.
Only his own footsteps remained in the corridor.
Cecil's eyes turned completely cold.
I hope it's really not what I think it is.
Chapter 30: Don't Let Me Down
The weather was suitably gloomy on the day of the Global Guardians' funeral.
Seven coffins, draped with the flags of their respective organizations, were neatly lined up in the center of the square.
On Immortal's coffin lay a faded, old-fashioned Stars and Stripes—an honor he had received when he was active during World War II.
War Woman's coffin was covered with the Amazonian crest, Red Rush's with a totem from some Eastern nation, and Martian Man's with a meteorite fragment from their home planet.
Nearly every superhero from around the globe was present.
The notable figures stood in the front row, while the obscure ones crowded in the back.
There were also some who were purely there to join the crowd, but even they had composed their expressions into solemn masks at that moment.
Mark wore the black formal suit that Debbie had specifically bought for him, sitting with his mother in the family section.
This suit had been bought in an emergency yesterday because his sudden growth to six feet one inch meant his old suit no longer fit.
Debbie had grumbled while taking him to the mall, picking out this well-tailored black set, the cuffs and pant legs fitting just right.
"I don't even know how many more new clothes I'll have to buy in the future," Debbie had muttered at the time.
Mark hadn't replied.
Now, he sat there, his expression perfectly conveying grief—eyes downcast, mouth slightly pursed, and even the frequency of his blinks was slower than usual.
This was expression management he had practiced in front of the mirror, as any superfluous facial movement in such a setting could be interpreted as disrespect.
Debbie was genuinely heartbroken.
She had been friends with War Woman for many years, was quite familiar with Red Rush, and Immortal had eaten at their house several times.
At that moment, she held Mark's hand; her fingers were ice-cold, her eyes slightly red, but no tears fell.
"It will get better," Mark whispered to her.
Debbie nodded without speaking.
The funeral lasted two hours.
Finally, there was a twenty-one-gun salute, and seven white doves were released from cages, circling once before flying off to an unknown destination.
The crowd gradually dispersed.
Mark helped Debbie stand up, and they slowly walked out of the square.
He felt no grief, but he knew his mother was deeply saddened.
Even if only to comfort Debbie's emotions, he was willing to play the part of a true hero's descendant at this moment.
The next day.
The Global Defense Agency Headquarters, Cecil's office.
Outside the window was a hazy gray sky; inside were cold-toned metal walls and various monitoring screens.
A figure made of steel, trailing a fiery wake, landed precisely on the helipad outside the window, then pushed open the side door and walked in.
Steam hissed from the vents of the Robot's metal armor, still warm from high-speed flight.
He walked to Cecil's desk and stopped.
"Did you need me for something, Director?"
His voice was calm as always, betraying no emotion.
After all, for the Robot, he mostly operated using this remotely controlled body; his main unit was still soaking in a petri dish.
His emotions were never easily revealed.
Cecil was seated behind his desk, holding a file.
He looked up at the Robot, then set the file down and interlaced his hands on the desk.
"Earth's defensive capabilities are somewhat weak right now."
He got straight to the point. "The Global Guardians are gone. The remaining heroes are either not strong enough or unwilling to be constrained.
I need a combat-ready team that can be mobilized at any time."
The Robot listened quietly.
"I have decided to grant you authorization," Cecil continued. "You will form an entirely new team of young heroes, to be called the Young Heroes Team.
You will personally select the members and be responsible for their training.
As long as it's within reason, I will fully support you in terms of resources."
"That sounds good," the Robot nodded.
Forming a team, recruiting promising young people, training them, and leading them—this was indeed something he excelled at.
Furthermore, given the current situation, Earth indeed needed more fighting heroes.
"The main priority should be recruiting Invincible, if possible."
Cecil added another sentence.
Invincible. That was the official title Mark had recently acquired—although he seemed to prefer that inexplicable moniker, 'Homelander'.
The Robot gave a rare chuckle.
"Of course, I hope to recruit Mark," he said. "He is a true hero."
Cecil raised an eyebrow, a slight smile touching his lips.
"I am very pleased that you finally share my view on some matters."
That afternoon, the Robot found Mark.
Mark was at home eating the pork rib soup Debbie had stewed.
Hearing the knock, he put down his bowl, wiped his mouth with a tissue, and then slowly went to open the door.
The Robot's steel body stood outside, with the dull gray sky behind him.
"Yo, Robot," Mark stepped aside. "Come in and sit? My mom made soup."
"Thank you for the invitation, but my current body cannot consume food."
The Robot waved his hand. "I am here on official business."
He paused and spoke directly: "Cecil has tasked me with forming the new Young Heroes Team, and I want to invite you to join."
Mark leaned against the doorframe and smiled after listening.
"I am already a hero of humanity," he said. "You know that.
But you also understand that I have quite a few things going on at home—my dad just recovered, my mom needs care, and there are some... personal matters to handle."
He looked at the Robot, his tone sincere: "If help is needed, I will not refuse.
If there's a mission, just tell me directly.
But joining outright... I'm sorry, that would be too restrictive for me."
The Robot nodded.
This was mostly what he had expected.
It was clear that Mark simply desired more freedom; he would do what needed to be done, as the incident on Planet F had already proven that.
Single-handedly infiltrating an enemy planet and eliminating all invaders on their home turf—such boldness and initiative were not possessed by just any hero.
He was a hero truly dedicated to humanity.
He just didn't want his abilities to be confined by a set of rules.
The Robot completely understood this point.
When you are powerful, the whole world will be more lenient with you.
"Alright then," the Robot said. "But I hope you can do me a favor."
"Name it."
"I will be recruiting some new heroes next," the Robotexplained. "I need a test exercise to examine their abilities.
Are you willing to help?"
Mark paused for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"Of course," he said, a hint of amusement in his smile. "I'd be delighted to be of service."
It was a rare opportunity to test the strength of Earth's new generation of heroes; how could he pass that up?
"Then it's settled," the Robot nodded. "I will inform you of the specific time and place."
"Deal."
The Robot turned, flames erupted from the back of his armor, and he shot into the sky.
Mark stood at the doorway watching the steel figure vanish into the horizon, then turned and went back inside.
The pork rib soup was still warm.
He sat down and continued drinking, his mind already calculating.
How much power should he use then? Ten percent? Or fifty?
He shouldn't scare those newcomers.
After all, he had killed people on Planet F for a whole year.
Could those newcomers even be half as tough as Jack was back then?
He felt a bit of anticipation.
Chapter 31: I Can Elbow You All Day
Inside the Young Heroes Team training base, it was currently as lively as a bustling market.
Countless Superheroes were gathered here, standing in small groups of two or three, sizing each other up and whispering.
There were those in spandex, those with capes, those wearing masks, and some who looked exactly like ordinary passersby.
But those who could be selected by the Robot and sent here were certainly not ordinary people.
Mark was hovering in the Shadow high above, arms crossed, looking down at the panorama of life below with great interest.
He spotted a few guys with particularly peculiar styles at a glance.
Standing towards the east was a man wearing blue and gold armor; his muscles stretched the metal plate armor, revealing well-defined lines. He held a round shield in his hand, its edges polished to a shine.
His skin was pitch black, his face firm, and his gaze as resolute as if carved into stone.
He was standing straight, like a flagpole nailed to the ground, turning a deaf ear to the surrounding noise.
Mark took a second look at him.
This outfit... Captain America?
No, Captain America is red, white, and blue; this is a blue and gold color scheme.
And Captain America is White; this guy is clearly of authentic African descent.
Interesting. Could his name be Captain Africa?
Squatting to the west was a guy in a red and blue spandex suit, slim, crouching in the Shadow of a corner.
His suit had distinct spiderweb patterns, and he wore a full-coverage mask, revealing only his eyes.
But those two eyes were darting around, and his mouth hadn't stopped moving either.
"So this is the new Young Heroes Team training base? It looks pretty big, much bigger than that community center I was at before.
However, the ventilation system seems average; there's a smell of disinfectant, maybe it was just cleaned.
Do you guys think they will provide us with locker rooms? I heard the Global Defense Agency locker rooms have private showers; that would be great if it's true..."
He was squatting there alone, his mouth like an opened faucet, chattering endlessly.
He looked like a genius capable of breaking the fourth wall, but in the eyes of others, he just seemed mentally ill.
The few heroes nearby all silently stepped two paces away from him.
As expected, the first impression every Spider-Man in every Universe gives other heroes is that they have a big mouth.
The most outrageous one was the one in the middle.
A burly guy was currently lying on the ground.
His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, white foam kept pouring from his mouth, and low "hissing" growls came from his throat.
His hands, no, his claws.
His fingernails had turned into bone-white Claws, a dozen centimeters long, dug deep into the metal plate of the floor.
He glared with bloodshot eyes, scanning everyone around him, his expression ferocious, as if he would pounce at any moment to bite someone's throat out.
The surrounding heroes had already cleared a five-meter diameter vacuum zone for him.
Mark watched from high above, his mouth twitching.
What the hell... has rabies become sentient?
Which screenwriter came up with this parody of Wolverine Logan!
Wolverine might be a bit irritable in the story, but you can't just turn him into a rabid dog, right?!
He shook his head and refocused his attention on the man in the blue and gold armor.
Among a bunch of misfits, this was the only one who looked relatively normal.
Just then, on the high platform in the center of the training base, a steel figure descended from the sky.
The Robot landed on the platform, and the moment its metal combat boots touched the ground, there was a crisp "thud".
It scanned the heroes below, and its voice clearly spread throughout the entire hall via loudspeakers:
"Everyone, if you want to join the new Young Heroes Team, then you just need to walk through this door."
It turned around, and a huge alloy iron door behind it was tightly closed.
The door panel looked at least a meter thick, with energy patterns covering its surface, clearly reinforced specially.
"Is the test level inside?"
The man in blue and gold armor stepped out, shield hanging on his arm, his pace steady.
He walked up to the Robot, stood still, and slightly raised his head.
Sunlight shone down from the skylight, gilding his dark face with a golden edge.
"Yes, Captain."
The Robot replied.
After Steve Bucky spoke, all the Superheroes remained quietly in place.
The name Captain Africa is quite famous!
It is said that the superhero was born decades ago during World War II!
He conquered Africa with his outstanding charisma!
He is revered by the people of Africa as Captain Africa.
His classic quote is: "I can elbow you all day!"
But Mark raised an eyebrow from high above.
He had heard of this guy.
Captain Africa, originally named Ognia Kubabitu Tulas Kubikubikubi.
It is said he is the product of a secret biological laboratory in a small African country.
That laboratory tried to replicate the Super Soldier serum from World War II, but by accident, they created an existence with physical capabilities reaching the peak of humanity.
Perhaps it was because the name was a bit funky.
Later, he changed his name to Steve Bucky, meaning to inherit the excellent ideas of advanced civilization.
After Steve escaped the laboratory, he did not choose to live in anonymity but actively became a hero.
Specifically targeting those mercenaries and warlords who were committing crimes across Africa.
The most famous legend about him is: it is said that once, he was alone on a basketball court, fighting a dozen armed villains.
He didn't use any weapons; he just relied on a pair of elbows and managed to elbow all those dozen guys to the ground.
That match lasted an entire afternoon.
It is said that ever since then, local gangs would go weak in the knees when they heard the word "elbow strike".
And it was on that day that the gang members spread Steve Bucky's famous quote:
"I can elbow you all day!"
MAN!!!
He can be called the man among men, the Mamba among Mambas.
The Robot nodded at Steve, acknowledging his self-introduction, and then pointed at the alloy door behind it, saying:
"Behind there is the place to test you.
As long as you, Captain, can pass through there, you can become a member of the new Young Heroes Team."
"Then I'll go over now!"
Steve did not hesitate and strode toward the alloy door, "As long as it is the necessary path to becoming a hero, I will walk it!"
"No matter if the road is long or short, for me, taking a detour is actually a shortcut!"
His pace was firm and powerful, the shield swaying slightly at his side, reflecting the cold light of the metal.
The alloy door sensed someone approaching and slowly slid open to both sides.
Steve stepped inside.
The door slowly closed behind him, cutting off the view of everyone outside.
Steve stood inside the door, vigilantly scanning his surroundings.
This was a fairly ordinary room, about two hundred square meters in size, with smooth walls and a high ceiling.
The floor, walls, and ceiling were all built with some kind of silver-gray alloy, looking quite sturdy.
It should be for the sake of test safety, to prevent battles from affecting the outside.
But the problem is—
Where are the people?
Steve raised his shield to his chest and slowly turned his body.
The entire room was unobstructed, empty, without even a pillar.
No enemies, no traps, nothing at all.
"What kind of test is this?" he muttered, "Are you asking me to run laps in place?"
"Of course not."
A voice sounded from above his head.
Chapter 32 — — Invincible!!! — —
Steve snapped his head up.
A figure was hovering high above, arms crossed, looking down at him from a vantage point.
The figure wore a blue and gold-colored suit, with a red cape hanging silently behind.
The whole person was bathed in the cold light cast from the ceiling, like a floating statue of a deity.
Steve's pupils constricted.
"It's you! Invincible!"
"What 'Invincible'."
The figure curled his lip and descended a bit, bringing himself to eye level with Steve:
"I am Homelander, Mark!"
Steve was stunned for a moment, then began to laugh.
He dropped his defensive stance, lowered his shield, and said sincerely:
"I'm sorry, I can't believe you actually chose such a name for yourself.
But we all call you Invincible; it's the name the world has recognized you by."
He paused, then added: "But if you want me to correct it, I can do that.
Invincible... oh no, Mr. Homelander."
Mark's mouth twitched.
It seemed he couldn't shake the nickname "Invincible" after all?
Even though he would have preferred people calling him something like 'Homelander'.
That way, if someone shouted it in a hurry, the word "Ancestor" would spill out, which sounded so satisfying.
Just like being surrounded by juniors during the New Year shouting "Happy New Year, Ancestor."
What a pity.
Is this the irresistible force of the screenwriter?
Is the English storyboard for Invincible about to cut in the next second?
That standard configuration in anime.
It can pad out the runtime and build up audience anticipation; it's truly the most beastly arrangement of all!
If Mark had to say, any screenwriter who could pull this off is not a human being!
The plot is halfway through, right at the critical moment, and suddenly it cuts away!
— — Invincible!!! — —
"Fine, fine,"
He waved his hand and landed on the ground:
"Invincible it is, then.
You guys really don't understand aesthetics; you can't even appreciate the brilliance of this name.
It's a name that inherits excellent traditional culture!
But I'll let the minority follow the majority; after all, I'm not a narrow-minded person.
Besides, a name is just a codename.
From now on I'll be called...
— — Invincible!!! — —
He stood firm and pointed behind him.
There was another door there, currently tightly shut.
"Come on, Captain Africa."
Mark cracked his neck, making a faint clicking sound:
"As long as you can earn my approval, you can walk out of this door and officially become a member of the Young Heroes Team."
He paused, then added with a smile:
"Of course, if you can knock me to the ground directly and walk through this door, that should better meet the requirements of this test.
What do you think?"
Steve gripped his shield tightly.
He was silent for two seconds, then slowly raised the shield in front of him, assuming a standard defensive stance.
The edge of the shield perfectly protected his vitals, his eyes fixed on Mark over the top rim.
"I will try my best," he said.
This shield was specially commissioned by his friend — — Tony Wayne — — before he came to take the test.
Tony Wayne, the genius who supposedly inherited the legacies of both the Wayne Industries and Stark Industriestechnological empires.
It took him a whole month, using the most advanced alloy smelting technology in the laboratory, to forge this shield.
The material was a composite ratio of high-density Vibranium and Adamantium, touted as one of the hardest metals in the world.
Even if hit head-on by armor-piercing shells, it would only leave a shallow white Mark.
Combined with Steve's peak human body, modified by the Africa Biological Laboratory, plus the combat skills he had honed over more than a hundred years.
That's right, he had lived for over a hundred years, although he looked only in his early thirties.
But he believed he absolutely had the qualifications to stand outside this door.
"I'm coming, Invincible!"
— — Invincible!!! — —
Steve took a deep breath. "Be careful, this shield of mine is very hard!"
Before the words had even faded, he dashed forward!
His speed was extremely fast; the alloy floor beneath his feet was kicked into two shallow footprints, and he shot toward Mark like a cannonball fired from a chamber!
He held the shield in his hand, edge forward, like a heavy hammer — —
No, not a hammer.
It was an extension of an elbow strike.
Steve's most proficient combat technique!
It was to use the edge of the shield to mimic the trajectory of an elbow strike, concentrating maximum pressure to strike the enemy's most vulnerable spot.
He had practiced this move for over a hundred years; he could hit it accurately even with his eyes closed.
But Mark just raised one hand.
"Bang — —!"
The edge of the shield slammed hard into Mark's palm.
Sparks flew everywhere.
Steve felt his full-force strike was like slamming into a mountain.
That force couldn't shake the opponent in the slightest; all the kinetic energy was effortlessly absorbed by that hand.
Mark closed his fingers, gripping the edge of the shield, looked down at this shield touted as the "hardest in the world," and then looked up at Steve.
"The strength of a weapon," he said slowly and deliberately, "is determined by the user."
"Just like what a horse sees is determined by the run!"
The next second, he raised his leg.
The movement didn't look fast; one could even say it was leisurely.
But Steve couldn't react in time at all!
It wasn't that the speed was too fast, but the sense of oppression, the despair of clearly seeing the move but being unable to dodge it.
The instep of Mark's foot slammed hard against the front of the shield!
"Clang — —!!!"
A deafening metallic clash exploded in the confined space.
Steve felt his eardrums go deaf instantly, and the whole world was left with only a buzzing sound.
Even more terrifying was the force transmitted from the shield.
Even with this shield, touted as the hardest in the world, dispersing the impact, that force still surged into his arm like a tsunami.
His bones creaked under the unbearable load, and his elbow and shoulder joints sent waves of tearing pain simultaneously.
Steve knew his bones had been dislocated.
No, not just dislocated.
Possibly a hairline fracture, or even a break.
Without any hesitation, he used the impact of that kick to roll backward violently!
A backflip, then another backflip.
He flipped twice in the air, landing on one knee with the shield propped on the ground, barely steadying himself.
Cold sweat instantly soaked his back.
He lowered his head, gasping for air, feeling his right arm trembling uncontrollably.
The intense pain surged in waves like a tide, making his vision go black.
But he still raised his head and looked at the figure standing motionless in place.
Mark didn't even pursue.
He just stood there, hands hanging casually at his sides, a playful smile on his face.
"Come on, Captain."
Mark spread his arms, tilting his head slightly, his tone as relaxed as if he were inviting a dance partner:
"I could elbow you all day!"
Steve gritted his teeth and slowly stood up.
His right arm was basically useless, at least for the moment, he couldn't put any strength into it.
But he still had his left hand, his shield, and the fighting spirit honed over more than a hundred years.
He switched the shield to his left hand, took a deep breath, resumed his defensive stance, and smiled:
"Same here!"
"MAN!!!"
Chapter 33: The Interesting Hero
"Then I am relieved."
Mark said softly.
Before his voice faded, his figure vanished from where he stood.
It wasn't just fast; he truly disappeared.
Not even an afterimage was left, as if the person standing there moments ago had been an illusion.
Steve's superhuman reflexes screamed warnings in that instant, his body instinctively preparing to defend.
He wanted to raise his shield, wanted to dodge sideways—
But it was too slow.
For Mark, who had awakened his Viltrum bloodline for a full year,
This speed difference was greater than the gap between a human and a snail.
By the time Steve reacted, Mark's fist had already smashed brutally into his face.
"Bang—!"
The sound wasn't like a fist hitting flesh, but more like a sledgehammer driving into mud.
Steve was hit like he was struck head-on by a speeding truck; his body arched like a shrimp, feet lifted off the ground, flying backward like a cannonball.
"Boom!"
He slammed heavily into the alloy wall, embedding himself three inches deep, with spiderweb-like cracks spreading outward from him.
Then, he slid down limply, collapsing to the ground, motionless.
The shield rolled two meters away, letting out a crisp metallic clang.
Mark retracted his fist, stood in place, and looked down at his knuckles.
They were stained with a bit of blood—Steve's blood, bright red, normal, human blood.
He shook his hand, and the blood droplets fell to the floor.
"Hmm, not bad."
He nodded, a satisfied smile on his face.
"Captain, you pass."
By this time, Steve was too weak to answer any of his questions.
He was completely unconscious, his right arm twisted unnaturally, his face bruised purple, blood seeping from his mouth and nose.
But his chest was still rising and falling slightly; at least he was alive.
Mark was very satisfied with his control over his strength.
After all, this was a test, not a murder.
This level of force was just right.
Enough to keep Steve laid up for a few days, but not enough to cause permanent damage.
He walked over, bent down to pick up the shield, and examined it for a moment.
"Good stuff," he murmured.
"Tony Wayne, huh? A little interesting."
He gently placed the shield next to Steve, then turned toward the door and pressed the switch on the wall.
The alloy door slowly opened.
Outside the door, the group of heroes was waiting expectantly.
"What do you think is happening inside?"
"Captain Africa has been in there for almost five minutes, right?"
"Could he have been beaten to death already?"
"How is that possible? Invincible isn't a murderer."
"You can't be sure of that. I heard he single-handedly—"
Discussions erupted everywhere.
A figure in a red and blue spider suit crouched at the very front, eyes fixed intently on the door.
He exuded an aura of restless agitation; his fingers drummed constantly on his thigh, and he muttered under his breath:
"Why isn't he out yet? Why isn't he out yet? Why isn't he out yet...?"
Just then, the alloy door finally moved.
It slid slowly open to the sides, revealing the corridor leading to the testing area.
One hero's eyes lit up, and he stepped forward to enter.
The next second—
"Thwip!"
A white strand of webbing shot through the air, wrapping precisely around his waist.
Before he could react, a great force violently yanked him backward, sending him flying as if lifted by clouds, and he landed hard on his rear.
The perpetrator, meanwhile, leaped like a nimble spider into the alloy door, landing on the corridor just inside.
He turned around, waved enthusiastically at the stunned heroes outside the door,
"Let me have this one!"
His voice was hoarse and excited, carrying a touch of manic laughter.
"I'm very curious what the scene inside is like! If any of you want trouble, then come find me—this most adorable Dead Spider!"
He blew exaggerated kisses, his posture as theatrical as if he were performing a concert.
The heroes outside exchanged glances, none reacting for a moment.
The alloy door slowly closed, cutting off all sight.
Dead Spider turned around and bounced his way inside.
"Let me see, let me see what the legendary Invinciblelooks like. Does he really have three heads and six arms—"
The next second.
A fist rapidly magnified before his eyes.
"Bang!!!"
Dead Spider's head exploded instantly, like a watermelon struck by a baseball bat.
Red and white fragments scattered everywhere. The headless corpse staggered forward two steps, then crashed heavily to the ground.
Mark retracted his fist, looked down at the corpse, and remained expressionless.
"I have a name."
"Homelander."
Silence lasted for about three seconds.
Then, the headless corpse began to twitch.
The flesh at the severed neck started to writhe, as if something was growing wildly inside.
New bone structure extended upward from the cervical vertebrae; new muscle fibers coiled and climbed like vines; new skin covered the area at a visible rate—
In just a few seconds, a completely new head grew out.
It was a distorted face.
Due to excessive radiation and mutation, the skin was a sickly grayish-white, the features slightly misplaced, and the corners of the mouth stretched all the way to the ears, revealing a row of uneven, sharp teeth.
But the eyes were alive, darting around before finally locking onto Mark's face.
Dead Spider reached out and touched his new face.
"You are being so rude, Invincible."
His voice was hoarse, tinged with a hint of grievance.
"I hadn't finished speaking yet."
Mark raised an eyebrow.
A little interesting.
"If you are willing to call me Homelander," he said, "I will be happy to be polite to you."
With that, he moved once more.
This time, he didn't use his full strength—or rather, not the power sufficient to instantly destroy everything.
He just struck punch after punch, as if testing the durability of a new toy.
One punch shattered the chest.
Two punches pulverized the abdomen.
Three punches broke the spine.
Four punches—
Dead Spider's screams mixed with laughter, echoing in the confined space.
But his wounds were healing at an equally astonishing speed.
Ribs mended as soon as they broke, livers regenerated as soon as they rotted, spines healed as soon as they snapped.
The fatal injuries seemed like water poured into the desert on him, instantly absorbed and gone.
"Oh my god! Oh my god!"
"I sound like a leading lady in an American movie right now!"
Dead Spider shrieked while taking the beating.
"Stop it! You'll hurt my lungs! Then I won't be able to speak these exquisite words! Don't you know that language is an important part of human progress?!"
He chattered on, his mouth never stopping.
Mark finally stopped.
In the past two minutes, he had smashed every organ from Dead Spider's chest to his abdomen.
Liver, spleen, stomach, kidneys, lungs, heart—every single one had been crushed by his hands.
Yet, in just thirty seconds, these organs had recovered once more.
Chapter 34: Beast Girl
Perfect regenerative ability.
It was even stronger than he had imagined.
Mark certainly had ways to kill him completely.
Toss him into the sun, throw him into the earth's molten core, or crush his cells one by one down to the atom.
There were plenty of methods.
But for now, he was quite satisfied.
He looked down at Dead Spider squatting on the ground and suddenly smiled.
"Very good, partner."
"Your superpowers are truly incredibly strong."
Dead Spider was busy mending his tattered battle suit with webbing.
The main task was just using webbing to patch the holes, and using the excess webbing to quickly make himself a new mask.
When he heard Mark, he looked up, revealing a twisted smile.
"Actually, I wish I had superpowers like yours."
He said while sewing, his mouth never stopping its chatter.
"By the way, can you duck into a phone booth and change clothes in under two seconds?"
"I've always wanted to try that, but I can never find a phone booth, and my battle suit is too troublesome to take on and off."
"Actually, I only need one second to do all that."
Mark said with a laugh.
"Well, that's truly unavoidable."
Dead Spider pressed the last bit of webbing onto his shoulder, stood up, and clapped his hands.
"So, can I join now?"
He tilted his head, his smile twisted yet brilliant.
Mark stood up, looking at the guy he had just beaten to a pulp and who had instantly recovered, and nodded.
"Of course, my partner."
He extended his hand.
Dead Spider paused for a moment, then also extended his hand and shook it.
"Welcome to the Young Heroes Team."
"Your current demeanor is a bit unexpected. I thought you were a harsh person."
Dead Spider said with a smile, his expression both twisted and sincere.
"I certainly am that kind of person."
Mark smiled just as gently.
"But for an interesting hero like you, I am always very lenient."
"Hahahahahaha!"
Dead Spider let out a bout of manic laughter.
"Interesting hero! Hahaha, what a great title! I love it, interesting! Mark is interesting! Invincible!"
He stepped closer and slapped Mark hard on the back. The force would have caused internal injuries to an ordinary person, but to Mark, it was just a tickle.
"Although I won't call you Homelander, don't worry! If there's any fatal injury next time, just throw me out there! I'll take it for you!"
He patted his chest to guarantee it, laughing wildly and unrestrainedly.
For some inexplicable reason, Mark actually saw a degree of "equal treatment" in his eyes.
This guy was something else.
Just then, the alloy door opened once more.
A figure cautiously poked in before the whole person walked into the room.
It was a young-looking teenage girl.
She wore shorts and a simple tank top, revealing slender shoulders and a chest so flat there was almost no curve.
Her long brown hair was tied into a high ponytail, swaying gently behind her head as she moved.
Her face was very youthful, slightly chubby like a baby's, looking no older than fourteen or fifteen at most.
She looked around, her gaze sweeping over the dents in the wall, the bloodstains on the floor, and the strange man in the corner rewrapping himself with webbing, finally landing on Mark.
She sighed helplessly.
"Is this the testing location?"
Her voice was clear, carrying the soft, doughy quality unique to teenage girls, yet her tone was surprisingly mature.
"Yes, this is the testing location."
After sending Dead Spider away, Mark returned to the center of the room and looked at the girl before him.
He recognized her instantly.
Beast Girl.
Her real name was unknown, her age unknown, but Mark knew her background clearly—because she was in the original plot.
Her superpower was transformation; she could turn into a monster resembling a green-skinned Orc.
That monster was at least three meters tall, muscles bulging, infinitely strong, with skin thick enough to resist bullets.
But the strangest thing was that the monster's gender was male.
Yes, after transforming into an Orc, he would also possess male characteristics.
Every time she used her ability, there was a price to pay—her physiological age would regress, making her younger.
In fact, the current Beast Girl was already 24 years old.
But she looked only 14.
Ten years of life exchanged for repeated transformations.
This price was undeniably heavy.
"Oh! Invincible! I know you!"
When Beast Girl saw Mark, her eyes instantly lit up.
The mature expression from before vanished instantly, replaced by the surprise of a young girl meeting her idol.
She trotted over and threw her arms around Mark's thigh, patting it vigorously.
"Wow! So hard!"
"But it feels like flesh too! Why would flesh become this hard?"
Mark looked down at her fluffy head and couldn't help but laugh.
"How am I supposed to explain normal male physiology to you?"
Hiss...
There was a strange feeling of being electrified!
Although her body had shrunk, her mind remained sharp!
She, who could sprout male physiological features at any time, was Beast Girl!
Huh, why did I use'sharp' instead of 'flexible' to describe it?
Cough...
Am I perhaps a genius?
Mark extended his hand, placed it on top of Beast Girl's head, and gently stroked it.
It was fluffy, and the texture felt very good.
Beast Girl froze.
She slapped Mark's hand away, put her hands on her hips, and glared up at him, her expression puffed out.
"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to pat the head of a mature woman?"
She tried hard to look imposing, but her youthful face paired with those words made her look comical no matter how you viewed it.
"As far as I know, you are much younger than me!"
"Ah, I'm very sorry."
Mark's tone carried no hint of apology.
"Even though I know your age is greater than mine, I will only treat you like a child, little sister."
As he spoke, he gestured twice in front of his chest with his hand.
The meaning was clear: a bit of a washboard stomach.
Beast Girl's face instantly flushed crimson.
"I was going to chat with you a bit more since you're handsome!"
"But now there's no way! Watch as I smash you directly into the alloy wall!"
She laughed—a laugh born of extreme anger—and then suddenly activated her power!
Her tank top and shorts instantly ripped apart, scattering into fragments.
Her body began to swell, deform, and twist at a visible rate.
Her skin changed from fair to dark green, her muscles bulged like an inflating balloon, and her bones stretched with a cracking sound.
That delicate, youthful girl's face disappeared, replaced by a ferocious, tusked, green-skinned Orc face.
Her height reached at least three meters in mere seconds, her entire body a mass of knotted muscle and bulging veins, like a moving mountain of flesh.
Mark looked up at the behemoth, his expression calm.
"Only at this moment,"
"do I somewhat envy your superpower. You really can become so big!"
The response he received was a deafening roar.
After transforming, Beast Girl's personality became much more berserk, losing all traces of the shyness she displayed as a female.
She raised a fist larger than Mark's head and, accompanied by a howling gale, slammed it viciously toward Mark's face!
"Bang—!"
The fist stopped right in front of Mark's forehead.
It wasn't that she stopped her attack, but—
It had clearly struck!
The green-skinned Orc stood frozen, wide, brass-bell eyes staring.
She watched her fist pressed tightly against Mark's forehead, yet it could not advance an inch further.
Mark felt the force of the punch and wiped his mouth helplessly.
"What can you do besides spit on me with your roar?"
"I can't even feel pain."
Mark looked at the stunned Orc before him and sighed.
"Your strength is a bit weak."
"But considering your strength would be even greater if you were a bit smaller, I'll pass you, since you're much stronger than that group of heroes outside."
"And your intelligence is normal, your cognition is normal. That's quite rare among heroes."
The green-skinned Orc was still dazed, seemingly unable to comprehend why her full-power strike couldn't even make the opponent move.
"I'm afraid you've passed, but the necessary steps still need to be taken!"
Mark retracted his gaze, stretched his wrist, and dropped into a low stance!
"Pay attention, little sister!"
"Take my punch!"
"Knight Punch!!!"
The left fist deals high damage, the right fist deals high damage!!
His fist slammed heavily into Beast Girl's face.
The massive body was like being hit head-on by a train; it lifted off the ground, flying backward like a cannonball, slamming heavily into the alloy wall.
"Boom—!"
Another human-shaped dent appeared on the wall, with web-like cracks spreading outwards.
The green-skinned Orc slumped against the base of the wall, eyes rolled back, completely unconscious.
Her body began to slowly shrink, reverting back to the slender, ragged-clothed appearance of the young girl.
Chapter 35: The Welcome Ceremony
The welcome ceremony for the new Young Heroes Teamwas held in the top-floor hall of the headquarters building.
Though called a "hall," it was more like a converted indoor stadium.
The vaulted ceiling soared twenty meters high, and the surrounding walls were fitted with massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city's dazzling night view.
In the center of the hall sat a long table piled high with all kinds of food.
Pizza, hamburgers, fried chicken, cola, and several plates of cookies that looked like they were freshly baked by some hero's family member.
Robot stood at the head position, his metallic body reflecting a cold, hard sheen under the lights.
Behind him stood five figures.
They were the four new members who had finally passed the tests, along with Atom Eve, Eve, who was present as a'special guest advisor.'
"After a rigorous selection process,"
Robot began, his voice clearly transmitted throughout the hall via loudspeakers, "I announce that the following four individuals officially join the Young Heroes Team."
He turned sideways and introduced them one by one.
"Captain Africa, Steve Bucky."
Steve stepped forward, his iconic circular shield strapped to his arm, a steady smile on his dark face.
His right arm was still wrapped in bandages.
It was a souvenir left by Mark, but given his recovery rate, he could take them off in two more days.
He nodded to everyone without any unnecessary words.
"Dead Spider."
The guy wearing the tattered spider suit hopped out, waved to everyone, and kept muttering under his breath.
"Whoa, so many people, I'm so nervous, look, my hands are shaking. But it's fine, Dead Spider never gets stage fright; the ones who get stage fright are Dead Spiders, I'm a Live Spider—"
"Alright, alright," Robot interrupted him and continued the introduction, "Beast Girl."
The girl, who looked only fourteen, walked out of the group. She had changed into a new set of clothes.
It was still a halter top and hot pants, and her brown ponytail swung back and forth.
"Black Samson."
A tall Black man walked out and nodded silently.
His abilities were super strength and the power to control electricity. It was rumored he once single-handedly withstood the firepower of an entire mercenary unit.
He was a former member of the Defense Force but had lost his superpowers for some unknown reason.
Now, for him to return, he had troubled Tailor to craft a battlesuit that could replicate his original superpowers.
"Finally," Robot pointed to the last figure, "Stretch Man, Rey."
She was a young person in her early twenties, thin and tall, with a slightly shy smile on her face.
Her ability was to stretch any part of her body arbitrarily, making her fighting style extremely bizarre.
"Welcome aboard,"
Robot concluded, "From this moment on, you are members of the Young Heroes Team."
Scattered applause echoed in the hall.
Mark stood in the corner and clapped along.
Although he hadn't joined the Young Heroes Team, he knew very well that he would have plenty of opportunities to cooperate with these guys going forward.
After all, he was that 'on-call' Invincible.
"I'm very happy that I'll be able to cooperate with Invinciblegoing forward."
A familiar voice sounded near his ear.
Mark turned his head and saw Eve had crept up to him at some point, smiling brightly at him.
The scent of the young girl wafted towards him, carrying a faint smell of shampoo.
She was wearing casual clothes today.
A simple white T-shirt and jeans, possessing a bit more youthful energy than her usual combat bodysuit.
"At least this way, my safety is guaranteed," she added, a hint of teasing in her tone.
Mark smiled helplessly.
"I really want to know which guy came up with that name for me," he rubbed his temples, "It's too childish."
"He actually named you quite accurately."
Eve tilted her head and looked at him seriously:
"Your physical body is invincible, and you are very young. The name Invincible really suits you!"
She watched Mark display that 'I'm speechless but can't be bothered to argue' expression, and couldn't help but laugh out loud.
To be honest, she quite enjoyed seeing the usually studious Mark look so embarrassed.
Normally at school, Mark always maintained an unapproachable demeanor, solving problems faster than anyone and answering questions more accurately than anyone, as if a supercomputer was installed in his brain.
This current expression of 'I have no way to deal with you' made him seem more like a normal person.
"This look doesn't fit your top student persona, Eve," Mark said helplessly.
"Even top students are human, aren't they?"
"Besides, I'm a superhero now. All Superheroes need to have strong mental fortitude like mine!"
Eve smiled smugly, then pointed at Mark: "And I'm not like you, a mental deviant."
"I don't think anyone else spends twenty-four hours a day thinking about things nonstop like you do."
She added, with a slight tone of complaint.
Mark patted his own head, a hint of smugness in his expression.
"Can't help it, Super Brain, you know?"
"Super Brain paired with super intelligence, and super reaction speed."
He could guarantee that his IQ was absolutely world-class.
The Viltrum heritage brought not only physical enhancement but also terrifying information processing capabilities.
He could figure out many things that would take ordinary people a long time to ponder in an instant, and his reaction speed was the fastest of the fast.
Eve lightly punched his shoulder, the force neither heavy nor light, like a friendly joke.
"Keep it up, Invincible," she said with a smile, "I look forward to working with you."
"If one day I get defeated by a villain and fall from the sky, you absolutely must fly past me from below in a heroic rescue and hold me in your arms, okay?"
"Maybe I'll even give you a sweet kiss if I'm happy then~~"
Mark shrugged; of course, he wouldn't deny that possibility.
What could be better than a beautiful teenage girl putting her arm around you?
If there was anything better, it would only be a beautiful woman in her late twenties putting her arm around you.
The welcome ceremony lasted for over an hour.
During that time, Dead Spider single-handedly finished half a table of pizza while incessantly chattering.
Captain Africa and Black Samson discussed combat techniques and became increasingly congenial the more they talked.
Beast Girl tried to kill everyone who treated her like a child with her gaze, but with little effect.
Stretch Man, Rey, stayed huddled in a corner the entire time, like a socially anxious cat.
Even though she had been incredibly lively during the test.
But in the end, she had been grasped in Mark's hand and nearly squashed like a flea.
That experience directly caused her to become taciturn.
Finally, the crowd gradually dispersed.
Mark checked the time; it was about time to go home.
He walked out of the headquarters building, lifted off the ground, and shot into the sky.
The night wind whistled past, and the city lights flowed beneath him like a river of light.
A few seconds later, he landed in his own backyard.
The moment he pushed the door open, a familiar atmosphere enveloped him.
The aroma of cooked food, the sound of water flowing in the radiator, and the low murmur of the news broadcast on TV.
But today was a little different.
On the living room sofa sat a person.
Nolan Grayson.
Omni-Man had fully recovered.
He was wearing dark blue loungewear, holding a cup of tea, leaning back on the sofa watching television.
Hearing the door open, he turned his head, his gaze falling upon Mark.