I'd misjudged what super strength or rather viltrumite strength would feel like.
I thought it would be loud. Heavy. A burning in my bones, a pressure in my blood—like a freight train caged inside my skin, waiting to scream through the rails of my muscles.
But it wasn't.
It was…nothing.
No weight, no drag. Lifting a car, cracking concrete, tossing debris the size of trucks—it all came without effort, without feedback. The world folded around me like it had been holding its breath. I exhaled, and it yielded.
No resistance. No strain. Just absence.
And that…that messed with me. How do you measure force when there's nothing left to push back? How do you feel powerful when the world just crumbles like paper at your touch?
Durability? Same deal. Shrapnel bounced off me like raindrops. A steel beam broke across my shoulder, and I barely noticed. Concrete cracked. Asphalt shredded. Buildings wept and sagged.
Boom.
A sound tore across the sky. Breaking me out of my musings.
I looked east.
There in the far east, two gods were tearing each other apart, less than twenty hours since the Invincible War ended. Days after the skies rained Mark-shaped doomsday, cities burned in dozens, their ashes still warm.
The earth hadn't healed, if it even will. The wounds were raw, bleeding.
And into that grief came Conquest.
The name alone—Conquest. No first name, no subtlety. Just pure chaos and merciless.
East Coast—Manhattan to Miami, shattered. Skyscrapers splintered, subways caved, sand and dust became a living storm. Every fist thrown left reverberations that flattened streets, crumbled homes, and carved new graves.
And still they fought.
Boom. Again.
The aftershocks ripped through neighborhoods. Windows shattered, asphalt buckled, innocents crushed by falling concrete. Chaos lived in every vibration, but I didn't care.
Because It presented an opportunity. The final Step...
...Step 10. Become Invincible. Literally.
I was a blur, zero to Mach 2 in a heartbeat, tracking their fight to the beach.
The shoreline stretched before me—a canvas of ruined sand, toppled piers, broken boardwalks.
Below Conquest slammed Mark into the ground again. His fist a piston, choking the boy hero with a precision born of centuries. Mark's body flailed, eyes wide with panic, jaw slack, tears and blood streaking his face. A masterpiece of futility.
And then—
A voice, ragged and raw:
"Mark!"
I froze.
Atom Eve. She was glowing. Pink energy radiated outward, bending reality like it was clay. The air shimmered, the sand rippled, the waves stuttered under the force of her light.
Conquest turned just enough to notice.
His arrogance. His error.
"Get away from him," she cried, hands splayed. Light surged. Reality screamed. A blast of energy, enveloped the beach in a pink storm.
Conquest braced—but even Viltrumite durability had its limits. Flesh smoked. Skin blistered. He screamed—a sound plenty visceral.
And yet, even broken, he stood. Looking like a blub of muscle and hate, steam hissing from shredded tissue. One eye burned with unyielding rage.
Mark froze.
Mid-crawl, mid-gasp, fingers scraping against broken asphalt as he reached for Eve, who was now sagging in the air, her glow dimming, flickering like a dying star.
"Stay down," Mark croaked.
"This time," Conquest growled, voice gravel dragged across facial bone, "I'll make sure she's dead."
Then Mark roared—a primal sound, jagged with grief and fury. He launched himself at Conquest, every motion unrefined, fueled purely by desperation.
Fist met chest. Impact sent shockwaves into the sand, craters forming beneath them. Mark followed, straddling Conquest, fists pounding in rhythm with every ounce of human—or Viltrumite—strength he could summon. Blood sprayed, the world narrowing to knuckles and broken bones.
Conquest's hand shot up, seizing Mark's arm. A sickening crack split the air—bone. Flesh. Pain unfiltered. But Mark reared back, forehead smashing into Conquest's skull again and again.
Conquest's head lolled, a ruin. One eye gone, the other a blazing orb. Jaw shattered. Teeth scattered like broken porcelain.
Mark's strength bled. His vision blurred. With a final shuddering gasp, he collapsed beside the unconscious Conquest.
Perfect.
The moment I'd been waiting for.
I descended, landing beside Mark. His chest rose faintly. Eyes half-open, unseeing. I knelt, shadow falling over him.
"I have nothing against you, Mark Grayson… well, maybe a little. You're a selfish prick... But that's not why this'll happen to you, I will kill you, and replace you, be you. And Its because You stand between me and my goal—not now but you will, and I can't let that happen, Its nothing personal"
Without waiting for a reply, in a single motion, I severed his head.
I launched into the sky, hands grasping both mark's severed head and body, dragging it Through the earths atmosphere, Outer space greeted me cold, indifferent. Weightless. No drag, no air resistance, no feedback. Mach speeds felt like walking. Earth fell away beneath me.
I stripped him out of his bloodied costume. Then hurled Mark's remains into the void—a temporary disposal.
I slipped into his costume. Still warm with his blood.
Then came the harder part. I clenched my jaw, drove my fist into my face. Once. Twice. Bone crunched, pain sharp, grounding. Swollen eyes, split lips. Blood pooled in my mouth. Twisted both arms until the bones snapped.
Then fell back into the earth, like a meteor—just a silent one—very necessary else risk my plan of over 2 decades be ruined.
And now the finishing touch, let the lights camera action.
I collapsed into the sand beside the beaten blob of muscly blood—that is conquest, mirroring what was mark visage after their clash, gasping, sand cold against my cheek, limbs mangled. And waited. Patient and hoping that my acting will sell the cake—it isn't hard, I trained for it. All my life—for this.
Two minutes later.
Zzzt.
Light flared.
Cecil Stedman.
Hand on earpiece. Other already reaching for stim injector. His eyes scanned the beach—scorched sand, two unconscious bodies.
Eve... and...
Mark, broken, alive…in my mind.
Step 10. Complete.