The Guardian's HQ loomed ahead, its mountain base carved into the rugged landscape like an impenetrable fortress of steel and stone. From the outside, it resembled nothing more than a natural formation, but within, it was a different story entirely. The interior buzzed with activity, a controlled chaos of cutting-edge technology and young heroes sharpening themselves against the grindstone of relentless training.
As William walked through the entrance, flanked by Cecil and Brit, his gaze swept the vast facility with an impassive, calculating stare. Out of sheer habit, his mind mapped every exit, every structural weak point, every potential blind spot an enemy might exploit. Even in the heart of a supposed stronghold, his instincts demanded vigilance.
The air vibrated with the sounds of combat, dull thuds of fists meeting flesh, the sharp crackle of energy discharges, the grunts of exertion. Dozens of young heroes engaged in battle simulations or sparred in controlled environments, each trying to push past their limits. But none of them caught William's attention.
None, except one.
His eyes locked onto a designated area marked with stark warning signs: Restricted Training Zone: Enhanced Individuals Only.
Within, a lone figure was locked in an unrelenting struggle against a device designed to simulate the crushing mass of a meteorite. Mark Grayson lay on the bench, his arms straining under the immense pressure, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as he exhaled sharply with each push. The reinforced flooring beneath him groaned, protesting against the sheer force being exerted.
William's steps were silent as he approached. He halted at the foot of the bench, watching the young Viltrumite with an unreadable expression. A moment later, he raised a hand and casually pressed down on the weight.
The effect was immediate.
Mark's muscles burned as the weight nearly doubled in intensity. His teeth clenched, arms shaking from the unexpected increase in resistance. He barely held back a shout.
"HEY, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOI—"
His words died in his throat.
He recognized the man standing over him. The warrior from the battle footage. The one who had dismantled the Flaxan army like they were nothing more than pests.
William met his gaze, unmoved.
An Unlikely Teacher
Mark barely managed to rack the weight before sitting up, rolling his shoulders to work out the tension. He was still catching his breath when he looked up at William again.
"You're strong," he admitted, wiping sweat from his brow. "Stronger than anyone I've seen besides my dad."
William remained silent, his gaze sharp and unreadable.
Mark hesitated, then stood, meeting his eyes with new resolve. "I want to train with you."
Brit let out a low whistle. "Kid's got guts."
Cecil merely raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange closely.
William exhaled through his nose. "No."
Mark blinked, caught off guard by the immediate rejection. "What? Why not?"
William turned slightly, gesturing to the other young heroes in training. "You have a team. A support system. People to help you grow."
His gaze flicked back to Mark, his voice edged with finality. "I train alone."
Mark clenched his fists, his voice growing sharper. "That's the same thing my dad used to say… before he nearly beat me to death."
William paused.
For the first time, something flickered in his expression, something deep and unreadable.
Mark pressed on. "I know I'm strong, but I can be stronger. And you—" he pointed at William "—you took down an entire army by yourself. If I'm going to be ready for whatever's coming, I need to push past my limits. And I think you can help me do that."
Silence stretched between them.
William studied him carefully, weighing not just his strength but his will. He saw the fire in Mark's eyes, not arrogance, not desperation, but something real. Something that could be honed.
He exhaled. "Fine," he said at last. "But don't expect me to go easy on you."
Mark grinned. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
Cecil adjusted his glasses, watching with amusement, and something else. He knew what this meant.
This was the beginning of something monumental.
The wasteland trembled.
A deafening boom echoed as Mark Grayson's body rocketed through the air, carving a deep trench in the earth before crashing into the rocky terrain. Dust and shattered stone billowed into the sky, obscuring the scene.
Pain surged through his body. Every nerve screamed. His lungs burned as he gasped for breath. His vision blurred from the sheer force of the impact.
A shadow loomed over him.
William Parker stood at the edge of the crater, arms crossed, looking down at him with an expression bordering on disappointment. His two-toned black and red hair shifted slightly in the wind, his stance as relaxed as if he were waiting in line for coffee.
"You asked me to train you," William said, his voice even but edged with something sharp. "So get up."
Mark coughed, forcing himself onto his hands and knees. His body was battered, bruises blooming across his skin, muscles screaming in protest.
But he had fought his father before. Survived him. He wasn't going to give up now.
"I… I'm not done…" Mark spat out blood, gritting his teeth.
William's gaze sharpened. Without warning, he blurred forward.
A knee obliterated the air between them.
The impact lifted Mark clean off his feet. Ribs cracked. He barely had time to register the pain before a devastating backhand sent him careening through the sky, his body skipping off the ground like a ragdoll.
Darkness threatened to take him.
Something pressed against his lips.
A small, bitter object was shoved into his mouth, and before he could react, a sudden surge of warmth flooded his body. Bones realigned. Torn muscles knitted themselves back together. Pain evaporated.
Mark's eyes shot open.
William stood over him, holding a small bag in one hand. "That was a senzu bean."
Mark blinked. His completely broken body had been restored in seconds.
"You'll be needing a lot of them."
Hour One
Mark tried to match William's speed. He failed.A blur. A fist in his stomach.BOOM.Senzu Bean.
Hour Two
Mark swung wildly. William caught his fist, barely reacting.A flick of his wrist, and Mark was hurled through a mountain.BOOM.Senzu Bean.
Hour Three
William sent him into the sky, only to teleport above him.An axe-kick cratered the ground.BOOM.Senzu Bean.
Hour Five
Mark landed a punch. A single, solid hit.William didn't flinch."That's it?"The counter hit Mark so hard he saw white.Senzu Bean.
By the eighth hour, Mark was barely standing. His breath was ragged, his uniform in tatters. His Viltrumite healing factor struggled to keep up.
And William still wasn't satisfied.
"You're holding back."
Mark spat blood, glaring up at him. "I-I'm not—"
William grabbed his face and slammed him into the ground with enough force to send shockwaves across the battlefield.
Another senzu bean.
Mark coughed, his mind reeling as his body was restored again. The cycle repeated. Each round pushing him beyond his limits.
William wasn't just training him.
He was breaking him.
As the sun began to set, Mark stood on shaking legs. His arms felt like lead. But his eyes…
His eyes burned with something new.
Something feral.
William smirked.
"Again."
Mark didn't hesitate.
He lunged forward, fists clenched. And this time—
This time, William actually had to block.
For the first time, he grinned.
This was getting interesting.
The training had started as grueling, but as the days bled into weeks, it became downright merciless. William didn't just push Mark to his limits, he shattered them, forcing the young Viltrumite to adapt or be destroyed. Each session was a brutal cycle: pain, near-death, and a brief moment of respite, courtesy of the precious senzu beans that William rationed out only when absolutely necessary, like a cruel lifeline.
Mark lost track of the number of times his body had been torn apart and rebuilt. Every time his bones snapped or his muscles shredded from overexertion, a senzu bean would be tossed his way, and the agonizing cycle would begin anew. His strikes, once slow and sluggish, grew faster, more precise. His resilience, though continually tested, hardened. His instincts, once unrefined, became razor-sharp. And William noticed.
One evening, the sun dipped beneath the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with hues of orange and purple. Sweat streamed down Mark's face, his body battered and bloodied. William, standing across from him, finally took a step back, crossing his arms. The air hummed with the residual heat of their battle, and the wind seemed to hold its breath. "You're not dying as easily anymore. That means it's time for the next step."
Mark could barely stand, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His uniform was shredded, clinging to his body like torn paper. His skin was a mottled canvas of bruises, some already fading, others still raw. His Viltrumite healing factor had been working overtime, yet the pain felt fresh with each breath he drew. His legs were unsteady beneath him, but he forced himself upright, glaring at William through bloodshot eyes. "Next step? You mean more of this... torture?"
William's smirk widened, a flicker of crimson and gold swirling around his body, his aura radiating with an intensity that seemed to distort the air around him. "No," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Now we spar."
Mark's pulse quickened. He had fought his father, had been crushed beneath the weight of Nolan's overwhelming strength. But William… William was something else entirely. There was no telling what he was capable of. Mark's mind screamed at him to hesitate, but his body refused. The fight was instinct, survival.
In the blink of an eye, William blurred from view. Mark's senses screamed a warning just a fraction too late. A fist crashed into his abdomen with the force of a freight train, propelling him into the air. His breath was stolen from his lungs, his vision blurring from the sudden impact. He barely had time to stabilize himself before William appeared in front of him again, this time driving his knee into Mark's chest, sending him plummeting back toward the ground.
The earth beneath him cracked open upon impact, sending tremors through the landscape. Mark groaned, struggling to push himself up, only to find William standing over him, his aura burning with intensity. "You've got guts, kid," William said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "But that won't save you."
Mark spat blood onto the ground, his fists trembling at his sides. He could feel the power surging within him, raw, untamed, and desperate. He wasn't just being beaten now. He was fighting. With a roar, he lunged at William, throwing everything he had into his attacks. His punches came faster, sharper, his movements more calculated. For the first time, his strikes weren't being effortlessly dodged or blocked.
But William was no slouch. Each of Mark's attacks was met with a counter, swift and brutal. William's movements were effortless, his speed a blur. Every punch Mark threw, every kick he landed, William dodged or redirected with ease. The gap between them was still vast, but Mark could feel it, the shift. He wasn't just being crushed. He was pushing back.
The sky above them trembled as their blows rang out. The very air seemed to vibrate from the intensity of their clashes. Mark's power surged like a storm, each strike gaining strength, each movement growing more precise. He could feel his speed increasing, his instincts sharpening, but William… William never slowed.
Then, just when Mark thought he had the upper hand, William vanished.
Before he could react, a searing pain exploded in his back as an axe kick landed with devastating force. Mark's body smashed into the earth, creating a crater large enough to swallow a small building. His vision swam, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
"You're getting stronger," William's voice rang out, cold and clinical. "But strength alone isn't enough. You need to think. Adapt. Read your opponent."
Mark wiped the blood from his mouth, eyes burning with a fierce resolve. His breathing was ragged, his muscles screaming in protest, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. "Then let's go again," he rasped.
William's grin widened, showing the gleam of teeth in the dying light. His aura flared again, verdant green, like an emerald sun just before it burned out. "That's the spirit." And in a flash, they were at it again, fighting, clashing, breaking.
The battle continued, each exchange more brutal than the last. Mark's fists flew with precision, his muscles screaming in protest, but he pushed through the pain. His energy surged, his body becoming more accustomed to the relentless combat. His instincts were sharpening, his mind growing more attuned to William's movements. For a brief moment, it felt like he was almost there, on the cusp of something greater.
But then, William's movements shifted. Mark barely had time to react before a knee slammed into his midsection, knocking the wind from his lungs. He staggered back, gasping for air, but William was already on him, relentless as a storm. A series of brutal punches rained down, each one landing with bone-crushing force, and Mark could feel the sharp sting of each blow as his body absorbed the punishment. His vision swirled, his energy beginning to wane as his body pushed past its limits.
His legs felt like lead, his arms heavy as if they were encased in stone. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the blood that dripped from his split lip. He fought to stay on his feet, but each time he tried to rally, William's speed and power overwhelmed him. Mark's body refused to keep up with the demands of the fight.
He swung with everything he had, but William dodged effortlessly, his golden and crimson aura shimmering with a predatory gleam. The elder Viltrumite's movements were a blur, impossible to track. Mark's heart hammered in his chest, every beat a painful reminder that he couldn't keep up. He tried to focus, to read William's next move, but the fatigue weighed down on him like a thousand tons.
And then, in the middle of an attempted strike, Mark felt the world go black.
A sudden surge of energy hit him like a tidal wave, overwhelming his senses and sending him plummeting into darkness. His body went limp, his consciousness shattering as his mind shut down from sheer exhaustion. He never even felt the ground beneath him as he collapsed, his body falling into a crumpled heap.
William watched with cold, calculating eyes as Mark crumpled to the ground, his body finally giving in to the punishment. The young Viltrumite's chest rose and fell unevenly, his breath shallow and ragged, but William could feel the energy still simmering within him. Mark was strong, stronger than he realized, but not yet ready for the level of combat William demanded.
He knelt down, his expression softening ever so slightly as he observed Mark's unconscious form. His young pupil had come so far, yet still had so much further to go.
With a sigh, William hoisted Mark's limp body into his arms with ease, his movements smooth and practiced. His grip was gentle but firm, not allowing the young fighter to slip or fall further. Mark's head lulled against his shoulder, and William could feel the warmth of his breath against his neck.
"You've earned this rest, Mark," William muttered under his breath. His voice was low, almost approving, though there was a hint of disappointment buried beneath the words.
The night sky above them was dark, the stars dimming as the aftershocks of their battle settled. William's verdant green aura faded as he moved, a quiet stillness taking its place as he made his way toward the villa.
He carried Mark through the winding corridors, stepping lightly, avoiding any unnecessary jostling. The walls around them seemed to hum with the energy of their battle, as if the very air still crackled with the remnants of their struggle. Despite his ruthless training, William wasn't without a certain sense of responsibility. He wasn't about to let the kid collapse from exhaustion when he could recover.
Entering Mark's room, William carefully laid him on the bed, adjusting his limbs so that he wouldn't be uncomfortable. Mark's body twitched lightly, the beginnings of his Viltrumite healing already working its magic. His bruises would fade, his muscles would knit together again, but for now, he needed time to rest.
William stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, his gaze lingering on Mark's unconscious form. His mind was already working, calculating the next step, the next lesson. Mark wasn't ready for the next phase of his training, but he would be soon. All he needed was time.
"You're learning," William murmured, his voice a low whisper. "But you'll need more than just power to survive what's coming."
He glanced over his shoulder, toward the window, where the moon hung in the sky like a silent witness to their struggles. In the distance, the faintest shadow moved, a dark reminder of the challenges ahead.
But for now, there was nothing to do but let Mark rest. His body, his mind, and his spirit, all needed to recover before the next test. William lingered for only a moment longer before turning to leave, his footsteps echoing through the quiet hall.
The fight would resume, but for now, there was peace.