The battlefield reeked of burned flesh and alien metals, the aftermath of the Flaxan invasion leaving the cityscape scarred beyond recognition. Buildings smoldered in a haze of smoke, their once proud structures now reduced to twisted ruins. Streets that had been bustling with life only hours ago were now littered with the cold, unmoving bodies of invaders. A few lingered, Flaxans barely clinging to life, their bodies twisted and broken by the force of their defeat. The air held an eerie stillness, the weight of destruction pressing down on every corner of the devastated city.
The Guardians of the Globe had arrived, their expressions shifting between awe, disbelief, and something more primal as they surveyed the carnage before them. They were seasoned heroes, but even they could not ignore the scale of the devastation.
William stood among the wreckage, a solitary figure amidst the ruin. His fists were clenched at his sides, his breathing steady, despite the blood that stained the streets around him. His two-toned hair was matted with soot and sweat, his clothes tattered and ripped from the battle, yet he stood unflinching. His eyes, cold and focused, remained fixed on the Flaxan corpses strewn across the city.
The last Flaxan portal had been forcefully shut, its massive rift vanishing into nothingness as if it had never existed. The invaders would not return, at least not anytime soon. The force he had exerted to close the portal had left him exhausted, but the job was done. The threat was over.
"Holy hell…" Rex Splode muttered, stepping over a collapsed streetlight as he eyed the remains of the alien forces scattered across the street. "You did all this? Alone?"
William's response was casual, though there was a sharp edge in his tone. "Most of it."
His voice was even, betraying none of the physical toll the battle had taken on him. He'd been through worse. His eyes narrowed as they swept over the battlefield, scanning for any survivors, any lingering threats. But there were none. Only the shattered remains of the Flaxan invasion force.
Atom Eve hovered nearby, her eyes wide with shock as she scanned the area. She was silent for a long moment, as if struggling to process the carnage in front of her. "I've never seen anyone take on an entire invasion force like that… not even Omni-Man."
The name hung in the air like a ghost, an unspoken comparison that none of them dared speak aloud. But William didn't react. He had no need to respond. His mind was elsewhere, on the remnants of the invaders, still flickering with the faintest signs of life. He was scanning for survivors, not because he was a savior, but because it was his duty to ensure the area was truly secure.
Cecil Stedman's voice crackled through their earpieces, a familiar sound in the wake of battle. "We're sending in cleanup teams. Keep the civilians clear and secure the area."
The Guardians, ever the dutiful soldiers, nodded in response, their movements mechanical as they moved to follow orders. But Brit approached William, his eyes never leaving the taller man. His sharp gaze never wavered, and there was something almost calculating in his expression.
"You handled yourself well," Brit said, his voice low and respectful. "Better than well. We could use someone like you."
William didn't immediately respond, his focus still on the Flaxan bodies. He wasn't interested in praise. "I work alone."
"That's what Nolan used to say," Brit countered, a note of dry humor in his voice. "Look where that got us."
A flicker of something, something unreadable, passed over William's face. But it was gone as quickly as it had come. He didn't take the bait. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the carnage, his voice low. "I'm not him."
Green Ghost, who had been hovering nearby, phased through a wrecked vehicle, her spectral form barely visible in the fading light of day. "We know," she said, her tone softer than usual, "That's why we're asking. We need more power on our side. And after this? You're clearly the real deal."
William exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression betraying nothing. He didn't respond, but the weight of their words lingered in the air. Their expectations hung heavily on his shoulders, pushing against him, demanding a decision. He hadn't come to Earth looking for a team. He had come because it had been necessary.
A few hours later, across the city, in a dimly lit hospital room, Mark Grayson's breath hitched as he jolted awake. His entire body jerked as if he'd been struck by an electrical current, his heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to escape his ribcage.
The heart monitor beside him beeped erratically, the rapid pulse of his heartbeat echoing in the otherwise silent room. He sat up, disoriented, his skin cold and clammy, a sheen of sweat clinging to his body. His mother, Debbie, who had been dozing in a chair beside his bed, was startled awake, her eyes wide with panic.
"Mark!" she cried, her voice cracking as she reached for him, her hands trembling. "You're awake!"
Mark's head spun, the world around him still hazy. His last memory was a blur, his father's face twisted in a look of cold resolve, the pain that had overtaken him, and then… darkness. But now, as the fog lifted from his mind, something else tugged at the edges of his consciousness, a gnawing sense of unease, a feeling that hadn't been there before.
"I… I felt something," Mark whispered hoarsely, his hand pressing against his forehead. "Like a presence. Something watching."
Debbie's frown deepened as she leaned closer, her concern evident. "You were in a coma for hours. You need rest. You're still recovering."
But Mark wasn't so sure. That feeling, unnatural, terrifying, hadn't been a dream. It had been too real. And somehow, he knew it wasn't over. It wasn't just his body that had been broken. Something else had happened, something darker that lingered in the corners of his mind. He couldn't shake the sensation that Earth was no longer safe. That something far more dangerous was looming on the horizon.
Far beyond Earth's atmosphere, perched on the barren surface of the moon, Omni-Man stood with his arms crossed, his back to the void of space. His gaze was locked onto the planet below, his sharp eyes cutting through the endless expanse of stars. His cape barely moved in the vacuum, a silent testament to his unyielding presence.
He had watched everything, every moment of the battle between William and the Flaxans. Every move, every punch, every precise strike had been calculated, deliberate. William had commanded the battlefield with an efficiency that Nolan could not ignore. There was no doubt in his mind now, William was a problem.
"This planet was supposed to be weak," Nolan muttered under his breath, his voice low and full of bitterness. "Yet it keeps producing exceptions. First Mark… now him."
His jaw tightened as his mind drifted toward his mission. The unyielding expectations of the Viltrum Empire weighed heavily on him. The Flaxans had been nothing more than a distraction, a test of Earth's defenses. But what troubled him wasn't the battle. It was William. The boy was an anomaly, a force unlike any other he had encountered. The way he fought… it had reminded him too much of himself, and that unsettled him more than anything.
He turned his gaze toward the distant stars, his thoughts shifting toward the inevitable. The Viltrumites would come, and when they did, they would not be merciful. Earth's defenses would be shattered, and no one would stand in their way. He would ensure that.
His hand clenched into a fist, the raw power of his emotions pulsing through his veins. "I have to prepare. Before they do."
For the first time in a long while, doubt crept into Nolan's thoughts. Had he underestimated Earth? Had he misjudged the strength of the people who lived here? His eyes burned with an intensity that could shatter mountains, his thoughts a maelstrom of unrelenting focus.
He would find out soon enough. And when he did, Earth would face the true might of the Viltrum Empire.
A week passed, and Mark Grayson was finally recovered enough to leave the treatment facility. His wounds, both physical and emotional, had been tended to, though he still felt the lingering effects of the battle with his father. When Debbie arrived to pick him up, he couldn't shake the exhaustion in his bones, nor the unease that had been gnawing at him ever since he regained consciousness.
As they drove through the city, Mark's mind raced, unable to settle. The world outside seemed normal, life carrying on as if nothing had happened, but he knew better. His father's betrayal, the intense battle with Omni-Man, the carnage, it all weighed heavily on him. But today, there was something else that had been eating at him: his mother's mention of William.
Debbie chattered away, unaware of the storm brewing in her son's mind. "You wouldn't believe it, Mark," she said, her voice light and filled with disbelief. "There was this crazy encounter at a bar, and then the Flaxan invasion hit. This guy, William, he single-handedly took down their entire army, and—" she paused for dramatic effect, her eyes wide as she glanced at Mark. "He left only a handful of casualties. It was like he was untouchable!"
Mark barely registered her words at first. He hadn't heard much about the invasion, only that it was over and that Earth had come out on top. But now that he was hearing about this mysterious figure, his attention sharpened. His mind flickered to the only name he knew that could match such a description, someone who might be powerful enough to take on an entire alien army.
Debbie reached into the console of the car and handed Mark a tablet. "I found a video of it online," she said, with a smile, clearly excited by the chance to show her son what had transpired. "You'll see it for yourself."
Mark hesitated for a moment before taking the device. As he pressed play, the footage began to unfold on the screen. His eyes widened as he watched the battle play out. The video showed a young man, William, moving with precision, his body glowing with an emerald energy that made the air hum with power. The Flaxans, so aggressive and merciless just moments before, were swiftly overwhelmed, their forces falling apart under the young man's systematic dismantling of their war machine.
But it wasn't just the sheer power that Mark found fascinating. It was the way William moved, how he controlled the battlefield. The image of William effortlessly dispatching the alien invaders made Mark question his own place in the world. This guy wasn't just strong; he was something else entirely.
"Who is this guy?" Mark thought to himself, his mind racing. "Is he another Viltrumite? Or is he something different? Something more?"
He couldn't stop watching as William tore through the invaders, his movements so fluid, so calculated, that it seemed almost unnatural. And then came the moment that truly shocked Mark, the bodies of the Flaxans, once large and imposing, began to age at an alarming rate, their flesh deteriorating in seconds, turning into dust before they could even hit the ground.
Mark's heart skipped a beat. "What the hell?" he gasped aloud, his voice cracking with disbelief. His fingers clenched around the tablet, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. The rapid decay of the alien bodies, followed by the eerie atomization, was beyond anything he had ever witnessed.
"That's… that's impossible!" he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible as he tried to make sense of the scene before him.
Meanwhile, in the distance, the recovery efforts were already underway. William, Sif, and Anissa had joined forces to assist with the cleanup, their combined powers accelerating the process. William stood at the center of the chaos, his emerald energy swirling around him like a living force, green constructs materializing and moving with purpose. He manipulated them with ease, stretching them out over wreckage and lifting large chunks of concrete and metal to uncover anyone trapped beneath.
Atom Eve watched from a distance, her eyes wide in awe. Her gaze remained fixed on the way William controlled the constructs, his focus, his efficiency, the almost mechanical precision with which he moved. She had never seen anyone work like that, and for a moment, she couldn't help but admire him, the sheer scope of his abilities taking her breath away.
Rex Splode, standing nearby, noticed her gaze and shot her a look of frustration. "What's with you?" he asked, his voice sharp, filled with barely concealed anger. "You're not actually impressed by him, are you?"
Atom Eve didn't answer right away. She was too entranced by William's abilities to care about Rex's tone. The way the green constructs seemed to bend to his will, the way he moved without hesitation, it was like he was born for this. She couldn't deny that a part of her felt drawn to him, intrigued by the power he wielded.
With their combined efforts, the trio of heroes saved countless lives, pulling people from the wreckage who would have otherwise been crushed under the weight of the destroyed buildings. They worked without rest, their minds focused on one thing, getting people to safety. Lives were spared, and for many, it was a second chance to live another day.
As the cleanup wound down and the dust began to settle, Cecil Stedman arrived at the scene, flanked by Brit and a wiry, twitchy man who Mark had never seen before. His name, William was later told, was Donald. They approached William, who was still wreathed in the emerald energy of his constructs, his face set in an unreadable expression.
Cecil, ever the professional, extended a hand toward William, his face breaking into a wide, grandfatherly smile. "Hello, nice to see you again," he greeted warmly, his voice full of that same practiced charm. "The name's Cecil."
William's eyes flickered to the outstretched hand, and after a moment of hesitation, he took it, his grip firm but not overpowering. They shook hands briefly, and then William pulled his hand back, his expression still unreadable.
"I know you told Brit that you like to work alone," Cecil continued, his tone taking on a more serious edge, "but I'd like you to at least consider working with us, if working for us is off the table."
William didn't immediately respond, his gaze shifting between the three men in front of him. He wasn't a man who was easily swayed by offers of alliances or teams. He'd always preferred solitude, preferred the control that came with working alone. But this was different. There was something in Cecil's words, something about the way he carried himself, that made William pause. The weight of their request settled over him, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself uncertain.
The question wasn't whether he could work with them, it was whether he even wanted to. The burden of responsibility, of expectation, loomed over him. But deep down, he knew that he couldn't keep fighting alone forever.
"Maybe," William said finally, his voice low, almost a whisper. "But I make no promises."
Cecil nodded, his eyes twinkling with understanding. "That's all I ask for now."
As they parted ways, William's thoughts lingered on the offer. It wasn't just about working with them, it was about the path ahead. The path he had to walk, whether he liked it or not.