In the wake of the Viltrumite Empire ravaging Galvan Prime, a young man is thrust into a world of monsters, magic, and superheroes when he wakes up in the body of fifteen-year-old Ben Tennyson as he acquires the Omnitrix. He might not be Invincible, but he's got a universe of possibilities at his disposal... and dying isn't on the table.
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Omni-Blood (SI Ben 10 x Invincible)
- Thread starter Arsenal597
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User Total Arsenal597 2
Prologue: Azmuth's Fall
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Arsenal597
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There comes a time in every being's life where they must stare down their own mortality. For the Galvan known as Azmuth, that time had been circling him like a carrion bird for years.
Ever since he began forging the Omnitrix — a device that could let anyone walk in the skin of another species — the universe had never stopped hunting him. Some came for knowledge. Others for power. All of them wanted a piece of what he'd built.
He'd known from the start what it could become in the wrong hands: a weapon capable of turning entire star systems to ash. But Azmuth had dreamed of something better — a bridge, not a blade. Dreams like his rarely survived contact with empires.
A faint tremor shuddered through the lab. Warning lights flickered against the smooth metal walls. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
So, this is it.
He wouldn't live to see the fruits of his labor… but he'd make damn sure the Viltrumites never got their hands on it either.
His fingers moved quickly across the console, finishing the arrangements to launch the Omnitrix off-world. His defenses wouldn't hold forever. Depending on how many the General had sent, he had a few precious minutes—an hour at most. Time was a luxury he no longer owned.
Azmuth straightened on the platform, claws tapping against the smooth surface as lines of alien script scrolled down the holographic screen before him. The Omnitrix's containment pod was suspended in the center of the room, encased in layers of energy fields and adaptive shielding he'd designed himself — and even as he looked at it, he knew it wasn't enough for what was coming.
"They found me faster than expected," he murmured, more to the machines than himself.
Above the main console, a constellation of sensor data expanded like a spiderweb. Point after point blinked red. The defense grid was failing in neat, brutal intervals as though someone was peeling away the planet's skin. It was one of the few things Azmuth found admirable about them. They were efficient and merciless.
Azmuth's claws moved with deliberate precision, entering command after command. Lines of code locked into place. Energy conduits flared to life, running down the walls in molten gold veins. The pod's propulsion array thrummed, impatient, like a heartbeat against the silence.
He'd accepted death long ago. It was a logical inevitability, not a tragedy. What mattered was what came after. What would outlive him.
And the Omnitrix had to outlive him.
A sharp, wailing alarm tore through the lab, rising in pitch as the security feeds began collapsing one by one. He didn't need to see the footage. He could picture it clearly. Viltrumites cutting through armored lines like tissue. It was almost poetic, in its brutality.
He approached the pod, placing a small hand against the outer casing. For a moment, his eyes softened.
"You were supposed to be more than this," he said quietly. "More than a war prize."
He keyed in the final launch coordinates, bypassing the last of the fail-safes. The pod's guidance system flickered alive — a lone light cutting through a room that suddenly felt very small.
Another tremor rolled through the lab, strong enough to knock a panel loose from the ceiling. Sparks rained down, the ventilation hissing like a dying animal.
"Not yet," Azmuth whispered, raising a claw to stabilize the energy shields around the pod.
He didn't look at the doors. They wouldn't come through them. Viltrumites didn't use doors. The next sound wasn't a tremor, but a crack — sharp, clean, and devastating, like the sky itself had snapped in half.
The roof caved in a heartbeat later. A storm of steel, glass, and fractured alloy exploded downward, scattering across the lab floor like a shower of knives. The force nearly threw him from the platform, but Azmuth braced himself, digging his claws into the metal as he looked up.
There, hovering in the open wound of the roof, framed by the burning sky, was him.
Conquest.
Even after all these years, the sight of a Viltrumite could still make the stars feel smaller. Muscles coiled like forged cable beneath a skin that didn't seem to notice the atmospheric burn. His cape, dark and tattered at the edges, moved ominously through the windless sky.
Azmuth had heard stories about Conquest, the empire's favorite butcher. He'd never imagined he'd be important enough to warrant his presence.
A slow, bitter smile crept across his face.
"So the General sent you," he said dryly, his voice flat as a blade. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted."
Conquest said nothing. His eyes burned the way dying suns do, with a cold, predatory brightness. He hovered there, hands loose at his side, as though the world below him was an inconvenience. Blood still stained the knuckles of one hand. Someone else had already learned what disobeying the Viltrum empire brought.
Azmuth felt no fear, though. Only a cold, sharpened clarity.
"Would you enjoy it if I were to beg for my life?" Azmuth asked, his hand never leaving the console. One last press, and the lab's lights shifted from gold to white. The launch system rumbled beneath the floor. "You'll find yourself sorely disappointed."
"Where is it, worm? Tell me, and I shall make your end quick." Conquest smiled, his crooked teeth glistening with saliva. "They wished to bring you in alive, but… I can always make an exception."
The pod began to rise on its cradle.
"Whatever happens next," Azmuth said quietly, almost to himself, "you will not have it."
Conquest tilted his head, a slight, cruel thing, like a wolf entertaining the sound of a trapped animal.
The alarms howled louder now, overlapping. Every system left in the lab was collapsing under the weight of incoming assault. Energy shields buckled like stretched glass. A gust of hot air swept through the gash in the ceiling, carrying the distant screams of defense drones being torn apart.
Azmuth's gaze didn't waver. His people would rebuild. They always did. But there would be no Omnitrix in Viltrumite hands. Not in this lifetime. Not in any.
The pod shuddered as it locked into its launch sequence. Conquest's eyes flicked to it — the first sign of movement since he'd arrived.
"The rest of your planet knows when to surrender. When to give up." Conquest sighed. "I've heard stories about you, Azmuth. You've been called one of the greatest minds in the entire universe. Yet, I find you to be incredibly foolish to resist the Empire."
"Perhaps I am. It does not matter." Azmuth smirked. The floor beneath the pod split apart with a mechanical roar, revealing the dark launch chamber below. Energy spiraled down the shaft in a radiant column, aligning perfectly with the stars above. "Your precious empire brutalizes all who dare cross their path. That in itself is foolish, but I wager it's a lost cause trying to get that through your primitive skull."
"Hmmph," Conquest chuckled, at last descending slowly into the lab. "Understand, this is your only chance. To refuse is to prolong your suffering. I am offering you a quick death."
"I understand. But as I said…" Azmuth tapped the final command. "You will not have the Omnitrix."
The pod launched, tearing through the night sky like a comet set free, leaving a streak of white-blue light in its wake. Conquest's eyes narrowed.
"How disappointing."
Then Conquest descended.
Azmuth stood his ground, hands folding behind his back as Conquest fell upon him like a shadow. Death no longer frightened him. Only failure ever had.
But he would not go down without a fight.
Hey guys, this is the other story I've been working on in the background recently. With me being off work for the next month, this has presented me with the opportunity to write a lot more. With this story in particular, it is a SI story, but there will be plenty of the other characters thrown in there. Let me know what you all think, and I'll catch you in the next chapter.
Reviews are highly appreciated. They let me know what you think and help motivate me to keep writing.
Also, if you'd like to support my writing, I do have a Patreon where depending on the tier you can get up to 5 chapters early. If the story gets popular enough I may try to get some artwork commissioned as I like having visuals.
Want to join my discord server where you can talk about the story? Link will be below!
discord.gg/dQkeJPkxdD
Ever since he began forging the Omnitrix — a device that could let anyone walk in the skin of another species — the universe had never stopped hunting him. Some came for knowledge. Others for power. All of them wanted a piece of what he'd built.
He'd known from the start what it could become in the wrong hands: a weapon capable of turning entire star systems to ash. But Azmuth had dreamed of something better — a bridge, not a blade. Dreams like his rarely survived contact with empires.
A faint tremor shuddered through the lab. Warning lights flickered against the smooth metal walls. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
So, this is it.
He wouldn't live to see the fruits of his labor… but he'd make damn sure the Viltrumites never got their hands on it either.
His fingers moved quickly across the console, finishing the arrangements to launch the Omnitrix off-world. His defenses wouldn't hold forever. Depending on how many the General had sent, he had a few precious minutes—an hour at most. Time was a luxury he no longer owned.
Azmuth straightened on the platform, claws tapping against the smooth surface as lines of alien script scrolled down the holographic screen before him. The Omnitrix's containment pod was suspended in the center of the room, encased in layers of energy fields and adaptive shielding he'd designed himself — and even as he looked at it, he knew it wasn't enough for what was coming.
"They found me faster than expected," he murmured, more to the machines than himself.
Above the main console, a constellation of sensor data expanded like a spiderweb. Point after point blinked red. The defense grid was failing in neat, brutal intervals as though someone was peeling away the planet's skin. It was one of the few things Azmuth found admirable about them. They were efficient and merciless.
Azmuth's claws moved with deliberate precision, entering command after command. Lines of code locked into place. Energy conduits flared to life, running down the walls in molten gold veins. The pod's propulsion array thrummed, impatient, like a heartbeat against the silence.
He'd accepted death long ago. It was a logical inevitability, not a tragedy. What mattered was what came after. What would outlive him.
And the Omnitrix had to outlive him.
A sharp, wailing alarm tore through the lab, rising in pitch as the security feeds began collapsing one by one. He didn't need to see the footage. He could picture it clearly. Viltrumites cutting through armored lines like tissue. It was almost poetic, in its brutality.
He approached the pod, placing a small hand against the outer casing. For a moment, his eyes softened.
"You were supposed to be more than this," he said quietly. "More than a war prize."
He keyed in the final launch coordinates, bypassing the last of the fail-safes. The pod's guidance system flickered alive — a lone light cutting through a room that suddenly felt very small.
Another tremor rolled through the lab, strong enough to knock a panel loose from the ceiling. Sparks rained down, the ventilation hissing like a dying animal.
"Not yet," Azmuth whispered, raising a claw to stabilize the energy shields around the pod.
He didn't look at the doors. They wouldn't come through them. Viltrumites didn't use doors. The next sound wasn't a tremor, but a crack — sharp, clean, and devastating, like the sky itself had snapped in half.
The roof caved in a heartbeat later. A storm of steel, glass, and fractured alloy exploded downward, scattering across the lab floor like a shower of knives. The force nearly threw him from the platform, but Azmuth braced himself, digging his claws into the metal as he looked up.
There, hovering in the open wound of the roof, framed by the burning sky, was him.
Conquest.
Even after all these years, the sight of a Viltrumite could still make the stars feel smaller. Muscles coiled like forged cable beneath a skin that didn't seem to notice the atmospheric burn. His cape, dark and tattered at the edges, moved ominously through the windless sky.
Azmuth had heard stories about Conquest, the empire's favorite butcher. He'd never imagined he'd be important enough to warrant his presence.
A slow, bitter smile crept across his face.
"So the General sent you," he said dryly, his voice flat as a blade. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted."
Conquest said nothing. His eyes burned the way dying suns do, with a cold, predatory brightness. He hovered there, hands loose at his side, as though the world below him was an inconvenience. Blood still stained the knuckles of one hand. Someone else had already learned what disobeying the Viltrum empire brought.
Azmuth felt no fear, though. Only a cold, sharpened clarity.
"Would you enjoy it if I were to beg for my life?" Azmuth asked, his hand never leaving the console. One last press, and the lab's lights shifted from gold to white. The launch system rumbled beneath the floor. "You'll find yourself sorely disappointed."
"Where is it, worm? Tell me, and I shall make your end quick." Conquest smiled, his crooked teeth glistening with saliva. "They wished to bring you in alive, but… I can always make an exception."
The pod began to rise on its cradle.
"Whatever happens next," Azmuth said quietly, almost to himself, "you will not have it."
Conquest tilted his head, a slight, cruel thing, like a wolf entertaining the sound of a trapped animal.
The alarms howled louder now, overlapping. Every system left in the lab was collapsing under the weight of incoming assault. Energy shields buckled like stretched glass. A gust of hot air swept through the gash in the ceiling, carrying the distant screams of defense drones being torn apart.
Azmuth's gaze didn't waver. His people would rebuild. They always did. But there would be no Omnitrix in Viltrumite hands. Not in this lifetime. Not in any.
The pod shuddered as it locked into its launch sequence. Conquest's eyes flicked to it — the first sign of movement since he'd arrived.
"The rest of your planet knows when to surrender. When to give up." Conquest sighed. "I've heard stories about you, Azmuth. You've been called one of the greatest minds in the entire universe. Yet, I find you to be incredibly foolish to resist the Empire."
"Perhaps I am. It does not matter." Azmuth smirked. The floor beneath the pod split apart with a mechanical roar, revealing the dark launch chamber below. Energy spiraled down the shaft in a radiant column, aligning perfectly with the stars above. "Your precious empire brutalizes all who dare cross their path. That in itself is foolish, but I wager it's a lost cause trying to get that through your primitive skull."
"Hmmph," Conquest chuckled, at last descending slowly into the lab. "Understand, this is your only chance. To refuse is to prolong your suffering. I am offering you a quick death."
"I understand. But as I said…" Azmuth tapped the final command. "You will not have the Omnitrix."
The pod launched, tearing through the night sky like a comet set free, leaving a streak of white-blue light in its wake. Conquest's eyes narrowed.
"How disappointing."
Then Conquest descended.
Azmuth stood his ground, hands folding behind his back as Conquest fell upon him like a shadow. Death no longer frightened him. Only failure ever had.
But he would not go down without a fight.
Hey guys, this is the other story I've been working on in the background recently. With me being off work for the next month, this has presented me with the opportunity to write a lot more. With this story in particular, it is a SI story, but there will be plenty of the other characters thrown in there. Let me know what you all think, and I'll catch you in the next chapter.
Reviews are highly appreciated. They let me know what you think and help motivate me to keep writing.
Also, if you'd like to support my writing, I do have a Patreon where depending on the tier you can get up to 5 chapters early. If the story gets popular enough I may try to get some artwork commissioned as I like having visuals.
Want to join my discord server where you can talk about the story? Link will be below!
discord.gg/dQkeJPkxdD
Arsenal597
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I will try to get another chapter up within a week.
Lillie Jones
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TheoBelmond
Not too sore, are you?
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Why does the MC need to be in Ben's body? It seems redundant.
CronaAlbarn
Death's favorite reaper
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To sleep with gwen why else?
Zetakille
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Well then....the protag is gonna be operating on a timeline of inevitability. If he can unlock the right forms, and get Master Control working, he could potentially take down one of the lower-tier Viltrumites solo. If he can acquire a Viltrumite sample, then he absolutely could throw hands with Nolan and have an impact, but would lose due to inexperience. If he can unlock a Celestialsapien or Chronosapien, then he's unbeatable.
Although....if he got a DNA sample from a Dornian like Battle Beast, would the Omnitrix form be as powerful as Battle Beast?
Although....if he got a DNA sample from a Dornian like Battle Beast, would the Omnitrix form be as powerful as Battle Beast?
Corvustheo
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Yes love a Ben 10 Si in invincible story.
OCs with the Omnitrix are redundant, boring and feel forced into the story.
Last edited:
Arsenal597
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I mean, you could argue it's redundant to be put into any MC, but I get where you're coming from with Ben. The Omnitrix does give him a crazy power boost and a versatility that's definitely considered overpowered and unfair to a painful degree. But I'm going to be focusing more on the story side of things with Ben being the conduit from which it's told. While yes, there is going to be the Ben 10 and Invincible storylines that unfold... I want to explore how this universe would be when you have both worlds co-existing at once.
Arsenal597
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I can definitely agree with that, given the circumstances.
Arsenal597
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It is definitely a matter of inevitability with this story. A matter of fighting to get to the level he needs to be, while adding in the extra worldbuilding that will be needed as well. As for the Battle-Beast thing... experience would play a key factor in that. So, in my opinion it's more of a yes and no situation.
Arsenal597
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One thing you'll learn with me is that smut is like the last thing I will consider for my writing. There may or may not be certain dialogue lines, or comments. But I will rarely, if ever include something along the lines of smut.
As for Azmuth, you're a smart one. Thanks for reading.
TheoBelmond
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I think I expressed myself poorly.
What I meant is that, since it's the Invincible universe mixed with Ben 10, it doesn't make sense for the protagonist to possess Ben's body. He could be another cousin with his own story. Or he could just be Ben himself, instead of an original character possessing Ben's body.
It doesn't make sense for the protagonist to have to possess Ben's body.
It's like those stories where the MC receives an incredibly powerful ability, but the author decides to add a system on top of it anyway.
Corvustheo
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Albedo would be the one of the few option to explore a SI (that hasn't been done much) being placed into the omniverse or a different variant Ben or his future son or Gwen brother Ken that only appeared once in AF. There's already stories with Original Ben crossover with Invincible on fanfiction.net.
Arsenal597
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Okay, that's fair. There is certainly a lot of room for storytelling. For me, though in this instance I felt more drawn to the Ben SI route than anyone else. Idk, it's just the way my brain worked this story out I suppose.
Arsenal597
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Personally those crossovers on ff were not something I enjoyed tbh. But yeah, Albedo would be a good choice for an SI story.
Chapter 1: Oh Great, Not Another Reboot
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Arsenal597
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The rain had been light when they left Bellwood—just enough to smear the world into gray streaks across the windshield. Seventy miles later, it had turned mean. Wind shoved at the RV's sides like it wanted inside, and the trees lining the road blurred into dark, clawed shapes as the wipers fought to keep up. Thunder rolled somewhere deep in the woods, low and distant, like the sky clearing its throat.
Ben Tennyson sat sideways on the RV's bench seat, one sneaker braced against the wall, the other hooked under the seat for balance. His phone glowed in his hand, the rest of the cabin lit only by the dashboard and the dull, constant flicker of lightning behind the clouds. Max drove with both hands on the wheel, posture relaxed but eyes sharp, the way he always got when the weather turned bad. Gwen sat across from Ben at the small table, knees tucked to her chest, staring out at the rain like she was watching something far away instead of the road streaking past.
Ben scrolled back up the article for the third time, grinning to himself.
OMNI-MAN AND GUARDIANS OF THE GLOBE REPEL MYSTERIOUS ATTACK IN CHICAGO
By Daniel Hargreeve, National Desk
Chicago officials confirmed early this morning that an unidentified group of hostile entities caused widespread damage across the city's west side late last night in what authorities are calling a "highly unusual incident." Multiple eyewitnesses reported seeing distortions in the air moments before the attackers appeared.
Omni-Man and the Guardians of the Globe arrived within minutes and successfully eliminated the threat. Government representatives declined to comment on the nature or origin of the assailants, stating only that the situation is "under control."
"We are still gathering data," a spokesperson for a federal emergency response agency said. "The public is not in danger at this time."
Several city blocks remain under a secure perimeter as cleanup and investigation continue. Structural damage is extensive, though civilian casualty numbers have not yet been released.
When asked whether the attackers were extraterrestrial or experimental in nature, officials refused to speculate.
Even the headline made his pulse kick a little faster.
"They cleared three city blocks in under six minutes," Ben said, more to the room than to anyone in particular. "Six. That's insane. You know how long it would take just the National Guard to mobilize for something like that?"
Gwen didn't look away from the window. "Probably longer than six minutes."
"Way longer," Ben said. "And that's with warning. These things just—" He flicked his thumb, pulling up one of the grainy photos someone had snapped from a rooftop. A warped blur of limbs and light half-caught in a flash of lightning. "—dropped in out of nowhere."
Max cleared his throat quietly from the driver's seat.
"Article say what they were?"
"Nope. Just 'unidentified hostile entities,'" Ben read, squinting.
Lightning lit the trees in a sudden white flash, followed a beat later by thunder that rattled the cabinets.
Gwen's fingers curled tighter in the fabric of her hoodie. "Do they know yet if anyone else died?"
Ben shook his head. "They haven't released casualty numbers. Just says 'there was extensive structural damage.'"
She nodded faintly and went quiet again.
Ben hesitated, then added, a little more softly, "My parents said they weren't aliens. Not exactly."
That got Gwen to finally look over. Max's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
"What do you mean not exactly?" she asked.
Ben glanced at Max, then back at his phone. "They said the readings didn't match anything from space. More like… somewhere adjacent. Another dimension or something. They wouldn't give details, but Mom said it like she was trying not to sound freaked out."
Max made a noncommittal noise. "Your parents see a lot of strange things in their line of work."
"Yeah, but they don't usually tell me anything," Ben said. "Which means this one must be big."
Gwen studied him for a second, like she was deciding whether to ask more. Then she looked back out the window.
"Heroes always show up after," she said. "After people are already hurt."
Ben's smile faded just a little. "Yeah. But still… Omni-Man shows up, and it's over. That's kind of the point. He doesn't lose."
Thunder boomed again, closer this time.
They drove in silence for a few minutes after that. The rain thickened, drumming against the roof hard enough to drown out the radio. The farther they got from the highway, the narrower the road became, until the trees pressed in from both sides like they were being herded into the woods. The GPS chirped weakly on the dash, its calm little arrow entirely unbothered by the storm.
Max adjusted his grip on the wheel. "We'll cut through this stretch, then pull over if it gets any worse. No sense hydroplaning in the middle of nowhere."
"Are we still camping tonight?" Ben asked.
"If the weather lets up," Max said. "If not, we find a motel and call it a night."
Gwen nodded without comment.
Rainwater streaked sideways across the windows now. The forest swallowed the road in darkness between each flash of lightning, and each time Ben caught a glimpse of the trees, they felt a little too close for comfort. He locked his phone and stuffed it into his pocket.
"So," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "First stop tomorrow is the meteor crater, right? I still think that's gonna be awesome."
Gwen huffed faintly. "You think everything is gonna be awesome."
"That's not true," Ben said. "I thought the gas station hot dogs were a bad idea."
"And you still ate two," Max added.
"Because I commit to my bad decisions," Ben shot back.
For half a second, Gwen's mouth twitched like she might smile. Then lightning cracked overhead, close enough to make the air feel like it snapped apart, and the moment was gone.
The road dipped suddenly. Max eased off the accelerator as water pooled across the asphalt in shimmering sheets. The RV rolled through it with a hiss.
Then the sky went white.
Not lightning—something brighter. Sharper. A column of light speared down through the trees ahead and vanished behind a rise in the road.
A deep, metallic concussion thumped through the RV like a shockwave.
Max swore under his breath and slammed the brakes.
"What was that?" Gwen asked, suddenly rigid.
Ben was already scrambling to his feet, heart pounding.
"Did you see that?"
Another flash lit the woods, this time lower, and for just an instant Ben saw smoke boiling up through the trees like a dark pillar clawing for the sky.
"We're turning around—" Max started.
Another shockwave hit them hard enough to rattle the cabinets and fling Ben sideways into the table. Gwen cried out as the RV lurched, tires skidding as Max fought the wheel with a clenched jaw.
What followed was a flash of light and Ben's feet leaving the floor. The sound of glass shattering and Gwen's scream was the last thing he heard as everything went black in an instant.
Elsewhere…
Writing has been the key to everything in my life. It's been an anchor in which it's kept me grounded. When I was angry, I could write and get those emotions in a healthy, productive way. It allowed me to express my imagination in a way that didn't come out as lies, because as a five year old child talking to a teacher, coming up with a story about a tree falling on your grandfather and using your super strength to pick it up is rather frowned upon.
As I got older, it became a way to flex my creativity in ways that I couldn't be bothered otherwise. It was a passion, one that I couldn't go a day without being able to write something. Above all else, it acted as an escape from reality. It's part of the many reasons why I love superheroes.
Anyone who knows me, knows that the majority of what I love in fiction has to do with superhuman or supernatural elements. This love started early. From the moment I could first remember watching television, superheroes like Spider-Man captivated my young adolescent mind.
Even now, at the age of twenty-four, nearly twenty-five… I still love them. I don't get the opportunity to watch them as much, but they are still integral to my life. That reality escape I mentioned? I find it easier to escape into a different reality than face the facts. It's hard for me to connect with my family. That's the beautiful part about superheroes. While yes, they might be able to fly, lift cars above their heads, or walk through walls — they're ultimately relatable in some shape or form.
Name your favorite superhero for me. What do you love about them? Is there something about them that speaks to you on a spiritual level? Can you see yourself in them? That's what I'm talking about.
Unfortunately, for me… it's easier to connect with fictional characters than it is my own family at times.
I do not hide the fact I'm estranged with certain parts of my family. I have an alcoholic aunt and uncle that can't go a day without drinking. They fight and argue so often that it's expected that my grandfather gets a call at about eight o'clock in the evening for a ride to the liquor store. I never got along with my cousin for reasons I'm not entirely sure. I think she was jealous about how close I was with my grandfather and grandmother.
About the only ones I can handle speaking to on a daily basis are my grandfather, my mother, and my brother. Even then, it feels like a challenge at times to connect with them. Grandpa's stuck in his ways, no surprise there. Most of what I like he views as stupid, or goofy. He won't bother to watch anything of the sort. I can't be bothered to watch car shows twenty-four hours a day.
With Mom, it just depends on the day of the week. Despite how embarrassing it is to say, she might be the closest thing I have to a best friend nowadays. I had a falling out with my best friend of eight years about two months ago. I've tried being better — learn from the mistakes I made during that fallout, and move on. I lash out at times because I'm in fifty different places at once. Because of that, I can be good with Mom one minute, and the next I don't want anything to do with her.
My brother, he's about the best thing in my life. I always wanted a brother when I was little. When he came into the world, it just felt right, you know? Most of the time I hear stories about brothers not getting along or one of them absolutely despising the younger sibling. With my brother, it was different. We clicked in a way most brothers didn't. We understood each other, and honestly at times it felt like we were conjoined at the hip.
But all good things have to come to an end eventually. My mental health wasn't the greatest in the last few months, and it has certainly had its effects as I mentioned. Between two deaths in the family, bullshit at work hitting the fan, and my own insecurities hitting like a battering ram, I was falling into a pit of despair that I couldn't really escape… and as a result, I lost a few good friends because of it.
It's been affecting the way I spend time with my family too. I don't really speak with my grandpa much anymore, even though we live together and are literally one room apart. It's either he complains too much and pisses me off, or I'm too tired to do anything and go lay down in my room. With mom, it's hit or miss. Like I said, one minute we're fine, and the next we're at each other's throats. With my brother, we're normally pretty decent. With the losses we've suffered in the family recently, he's been quiet. He either plays on his phone, his game system, or watches Youtube. So, even though we're hanging out watching the same thing, it doesn't really feel like we're bonding. It sucks. To be so close to someone and not feel that connection just sucks.
I guess that's why superheroes stuck with me all these years. It's a lot easier to believe in people who can lift mountains than to believe things at home will ever change. Fiction doesn't argue with you or walk away.
God, I wish life could be that simple. I wish that I could get up each and every day, with a genuine purpose. It's not that I hate my life, but I'd be lying if I said I was happy.
That's why when I got home from work, I didn't bother to eat anything. I'm always physically and mentally exhausted anymore. The bare minimum wears me out. Social interaction is the bane of my existence. So, I took my dogs out, got into pajamas, and went straight to bed.
As I closed my eyes, I held Atlas close to me and let myself drift off into slumber.
I wake to rain. Cold, needling, and relentless rain. It's the first thing I register — the way it soaks into everything.
My clothes cling like they're trying to pull me back into the pavement. My hair's plastered to my face, and water's dripping past my eyelashes in steady, uneven trails.
For a second, I don't even breathe. I just stare up at the sky—storm clouds blotting out anything that might've been stars—and let the weight of the downpour blur everything together. My heart's beating too fast. My ears are ringing. Everything's distant and too close at the same time.
Where the hell is Atlas? Wasn't I just holding him when I closed my eyes? Where am I?
Just as I go to move, the pain hits. It rips through my ribs and shoulder like a live wire, sharp enough to make me jolt and suck in a breath that tastes like metal and smoke.
That's when I hear it.
Behind me. Something's burning.
It's not quiet either — whatever's back there is spitting and cracking like it's mad at the rain for trying to put it out. I can smell it before I can really look: the thick, black stink of melting rubber and oil pushing its way down my throat, sour and hot.
I roll onto my side, trying to push myself up, but my arms shake like wet noodles. My palms skid against the soaked concrete, and my breath leaves in short, uneven bursts. My body doesn't feel right. It feels… smaller. Lighter.
It feels wrong.
When I finally manage to get my elbows under me, I look down—and for a heartbeat, the storm isn't what makes me cold anymore. These aren't my arms. They're too skinny. Too short. My sleeves hang weird. My hands don't match the ones I remember having.
"What the hell…" I whisper, except it comes out as more of a croak. My throat's raw, like I've been screaming.
Lightning splits the sky, just enough to throw everything into a harsh flash of white. That's when I see it—the wreck up ahead. An RV. It's lying on its side in a ditch maybe twenty feet away, like something swatted it off the road. Glass glints from the busted windshield, scattered across the mud like a thousand little knives. Smoke billows out the front in thick, choking plumes, curling into the rain.
The side of the RV has a deep indentation. Scratch that. It doesn't look like something swatted it… it looks like something rammed into it.
The smell gets worse the longer I stare at it. The fire's spreading, clawing its way out from under the hood. I can hear it fighting the storm, spitting sparks, almost daring the water to do something about it.
My knees give out a little when I try to stand. Every nerve screams at me to stay down, but instinct won't let me. My fingers dig into the wet road for balance, slipping once, twice, almost three times before I successfully drag myself upright. The world tilts, slow and sickening, and I can feel my stomach twist like it wants to bail on this whole situation.
Another flash of lightning paints everything in harsh silver. There's something written across the side of the RV, letters smeared with soot and mud, but I can't make them out. I know I've seen that shape before though—that exact shape—but the thought just keeps skidding around the edges of my brain like it refuses to land.
A gust of wind tears across the road, pushing the rain sideways. It hits me full in the face, freezing and sharp, and for a second it feels like the world's holding its breath. The fire pops again. Louder this time. My chest tightens.
I glance down at my hands again. Flex my fingers. They're trembling. Not from the cold, not entirely. The rain pools in my palms, tracing down my wrists like the storm itself wants to remind me this is real. This isn't one of my dreams. There's no floaty, weightless feeling. No soft edges. Everything hurts too damn much to be fake.
I swallow hard. The taste of smoke clings to the back of my tongue like it's not going anywhere.
"Where the hell…?" I start to say, but the words trail off.
My legs finally move. One shaky step. Then another. My socks squelch inside shoes that suddenly feel too big. What's wrong with me?
My eyes catch on something past the wreck.
At first, it's just a dip in the ground—muddy and uneven, like the storm chewed a hole straight into the road. But the longer I look, the more it stops feeling like just a dip. There's a crater out there. Big enough that the rain's pooling along its edges and sliding down the sides in little rivers.
In the center, there's… something. A shape. Circular. Half-buried in the muck, like whatever made that hole left a piece of itself behind. I can't see what it is from here, but it's got weight to it. Not physically—just this… pull. Like it's waiting for me.
My chest tightens. There's a flicker of logic in the back of my head yelling at me to move toward the RV instead. Someone could be trapped in there. Someone could be dying. It's the right thing to do.
But I don't.
I can't.
My feet are already moving before I can tell them to stop. Every step squelches through puddles and mud that suck at my shoes. The storm claws at my face, but my eyes don't leave that crater. It's stupid. It's reckless. But the pull gets stronger the closer I get, like gravity doesn't give a damn about good decisions.
I reach the edge, and the ground gives way under me. My knees slide out, and before I can curse or grab onto anything, I'm half-skiing, half-falling down the slick mud wall. Cold water splashes up my legs. My shoulder hits something hard, pain lancing through me like someone jammed a hot needle between my ribs, but I keep going until I hit the bottom with a wet, graceless thud.
The circular shape is right in front of me now, shrouded in rain and mud. I can't tell if it's metal or stone. It's smooth in some places, cracked in others. It almost looks like it's… humming. Or maybe that's just the pounding in my head.
God, my head.
It's like someone's driving an ice pick between my temples, twisting it every few seconds just to make sure I don't forget it's there. I hiss through my teeth and press a hand to the side of my skull, and my fingers slip against something wet and warm.
When I pull my hand back, it's red.
It streaks across my palm in a thick smear, running between my fingers, washed thin by the rain but not disappearing. My stomach lurches, the world pitching sideways for a second. That's my blood.
A jagged laugh almost slips out of me, the kind that doesn't sound sane. Here I am, standing in a damn crater in the middle of a thunderstorm, bleeding all over myself, and I can't even explain why this thing feels more important than the burning RV twenty feet away.
But it does.
It feels wrong to look away.
The rain pounds harder as I take a step closer. The mud sucks at my shoes, thick and clingy, like it's trying to drag me down with it. My heart's still thundering in my ears, but it's not the fire or the wreck that's got it doing backflips anymore. It's this thing.
The metal—or whatever the hell this is—doesn't look hot. No steam, no hiss, no angry sizzle when the rain hits it. It's just… there. Silent. Waiting. I stretch a hand out, half-expecting it to bite, half-hoping it won't.
And then it moves.
A thin seam splits down the middle with a sound that cuts clean through the storm—a long, low hiss that crawls up the back of my neck. The sphere peels open like some kind of flower made out of a machine's nightmare, metal plates shifting and locking in place.
Something inside rises into the air.
I stumble back a half-step, blinking through the rain, trying to make sense of it. All I can see is the faint gleam of silver and black, edges too smooth and too deliberate to be anything natural. A faint, steady green glow leaks through the cracks, throwing weird shadows across my face.
That's when I hear it.
"DNA signature recognized."
The voice isn't human. It's too clean, too steady. Mechanical, but not the cheap sci-fi kind that sounds like it's coming from a busted speaker. It's sharp. Real. Like someone just whispered it right into my skull.
I don't even have time to breathe before it moves.
The object inside the orb snaps free of its cradle and launches toward me. I barely manage to flinch before it slams against my wrist with a solid clack. Metal against bone. Cold, shockingly cold.
My back hits the mud, the impact sending a sharp flare of pain through my ribs, but the thing doesn't fall off. It clamps down, hugging my wrist like it was made for it.
"OH SHIT!" I jerk my arm, twisting, yanking, clawing at it with my other hand, but the more I pull, the tighter it seems to hold. I'm back on my feet without even realizing it.
The green glow flares, bathing the rain-slick crater in sickly light. It's so bright it almost swallows the storm for a heartbeat.
The thing on my wrist pulses once. Just once.
Then the voice comes again, colder this time—flat, certain.
"Beginning DNA coupling."
The words barely register before it hits me.
Pain. Not like the ache in my ribs or the sting of a cut. This is deeper. Meaner. It starts at my wrist, right where the device is latched, and then it spreads—snapping through me like wildfire in bone-dry brush. My knees buckle, but I can't even feel myself fall. Every inch of me is screaming. Every nerve is being carved open and rewired with white-hot steel.
I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. My throat locks up, strangled by the raw, choking burn ripping its way through my veins. My body jerks against the ground, muscles seizing like a marionette with broken strings.
For a second—maybe a second, maybe a century—there's nothing else. No rain. No wreck. No storm. Just that fire in my skin, in my blood, in the spaces between every cell.
Then, as fast as it came, it's gone.
The fire gutters out, leaving behind nothing but a hollow ache and a ringing in my ears. My chest heaves, lungs clawing for air they can't seem to hold. The strength just drains out of me all at once, like someone cut a wire. My head hits the mud, cold water seeping through my hair, grounding me and dragging me under all at once.
The edges of my vision start caving in, black creeping in slow and sure. The storm above blurs into a gray smear. My own heartbeat sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else.
And then, through the mess of it, I hear a voice. High, young—somewhere above me.
"Grandpa! He's down here!"
That's the last thing I catch before the darkness wins…
Ben Tennyson sat sideways on the RV's bench seat, one sneaker braced against the wall, the other hooked under the seat for balance. His phone glowed in his hand, the rest of the cabin lit only by the dashboard and the dull, constant flicker of lightning behind the clouds. Max drove with both hands on the wheel, posture relaxed but eyes sharp, the way he always got when the weather turned bad. Gwen sat across from Ben at the small table, knees tucked to her chest, staring out at the rain like she was watching something far away instead of the road streaking past.
Ben scrolled back up the article for the third time, grinning to himself.
OMNI-MAN AND GUARDIANS OF THE GLOBE REPEL MYSTERIOUS ATTACK IN CHICAGO
By Daniel Hargreeve, National Desk
Chicago officials confirmed early this morning that an unidentified group of hostile entities caused widespread damage across the city's west side late last night in what authorities are calling a "highly unusual incident." Multiple eyewitnesses reported seeing distortions in the air moments before the attackers appeared.
Omni-Man and the Guardians of the Globe arrived within minutes and successfully eliminated the threat. Government representatives declined to comment on the nature or origin of the assailants, stating only that the situation is "under control."
"We are still gathering data," a spokesperson for a federal emergency response agency said. "The public is not in danger at this time."
Several city blocks remain under a secure perimeter as cleanup and investigation continue. Structural damage is extensive, though civilian casualty numbers have not yet been released.
When asked whether the attackers were extraterrestrial or experimental in nature, officials refused to speculate.
Even the headline made his pulse kick a little faster.
"They cleared three city blocks in under six minutes," Ben said, more to the room than to anyone in particular. "Six. That's insane. You know how long it would take just the National Guard to mobilize for something like that?"
Gwen didn't look away from the window. "Probably longer than six minutes."
"Way longer," Ben said. "And that's with warning. These things just—" He flicked his thumb, pulling up one of the grainy photos someone had snapped from a rooftop. A warped blur of limbs and light half-caught in a flash of lightning. "—dropped in out of nowhere."
Max cleared his throat quietly from the driver's seat.
"Article say what they were?"
"Nope. Just 'unidentified hostile entities,'" Ben read, squinting.
Lightning lit the trees in a sudden white flash, followed a beat later by thunder that rattled the cabinets.
Gwen's fingers curled tighter in the fabric of her hoodie. "Do they know yet if anyone else died?"
Ben shook his head. "They haven't released casualty numbers. Just says 'there was extensive structural damage.'"
She nodded faintly and went quiet again.
Ben hesitated, then added, a little more softly, "My parents said they weren't aliens. Not exactly."
That got Gwen to finally look over. Max's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
"What do you mean not exactly?" she asked.
Ben glanced at Max, then back at his phone. "They said the readings didn't match anything from space. More like… somewhere adjacent. Another dimension or something. They wouldn't give details, but Mom said it like she was trying not to sound freaked out."
Max made a noncommittal noise. "Your parents see a lot of strange things in their line of work."
"Yeah, but they don't usually tell me anything," Ben said. "Which means this one must be big."
Gwen studied him for a second, like she was deciding whether to ask more. Then she looked back out the window.
"Heroes always show up after," she said. "After people are already hurt."
Ben's smile faded just a little. "Yeah. But still… Omni-Man shows up, and it's over. That's kind of the point. He doesn't lose."
Thunder boomed again, closer this time.
They drove in silence for a few minutes after that. The rain thickened, drumming against the roof hard enough to drown out the radio. The farther they got from the highway, the narrower the road became, until the trees pressed in from both sides like they were being herded into the woods. The GPS chirped weakly on the dash, its calm little arrow entirely unbothered by the storm.
Max adjusted his grip on the wheel. "We'll cut through this stretch, then pull over if it gets any worse. No sense hydroplaning in the middle of nowhere."
"Are we still camping tonight?" Ben asked.
"If the weather lets up," Max said. "If not, we find a motel and call it a night."
Gwen nodded without comment.
Rainwater streaked sideways across the windows now. The forest swallowed the road in darkness between each flash of lightning, and each time Ben caught a glimpse of the trees, they felt a little too close for comfort. He locked his phone and stuffed it into his pocket.
"So," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "First stop tomorrow is the meteor crater, right? I still think that's gonna be awesome."
Gwen huffed faintly. "You think everything is gonna be awesome."
"That's not true," Ben said. "I thought the gas station hot dogs were a bad idea."
"And you still ate two," Max added.
"Because I commit to my bad decisions," Ben shot back.
For half a second, Gwen's mouth twitched like she might smile. Then lightning cracked overhead, close enough to make the air feel like it snapped apart, and the moment was gone.
The road dipped suddenly. Max eased off the accelerator as water pooled across the asphalt in shimmering sheets. The RV rolled through it with a hiss.
Then the sky went white.
Not lightning—something brighter. Sharper. A column of light speared down through the trees ahead and vanished behind a rise in the road.
A deep, metallic concussion thumped through the RV like a shockwave.
Max swore under his breath and slammed the brakes.
"What was that?" Gwen asked, suddenly rigid.
Ben was already scrambling to his feet, heart pounding.
"Did you see that?"
Another flash lit the woods, this time lower, and for just an instant Ben saw smoke boiling up through the trees like a dark pillar clawing for the sky.
"We're turning around—" Max started.
Another shockwave hit them hard enough to rattle the cabinets and fling Ben sideways into the table. Gwen cried out as the RV lurched, tires skidding as Max fought the wheel with a clenched jaw.
What followed was a flash of light and Ben's feet leaving the floor. The sound of glass shattering and Gwen's scream was the last thing he heard as everything went black in an instant.
Elsewhere…
Writing has been the key to everything in my life. It's been an anchor in which it's kept me grounded. When I was angry, I could write and get those emotions in a healthy, productive way. It allowed me to express my imagination in a way that didn't come out as lies, because as a five year old child talking to a teacher, coming up with a story about a tree falling on your grandfather and using your super strength to pick it up is rather frowned upon.
As I got older, it became a way to flex my creativity in ways that I couldn't be bothered otherwise. It was a passion, one that I couldn't go a day without being able to write something. Above all else, it acted as an escape from reality. It's part of the many reasons why I love superheroes.
Anyone who knows me, knows that the majority of what I love in fiction has to do with superhuman or supernatural elements. This love started early. From the moment I could first remember watching television, superheroes like Spider-Man captivated my young adolescent mind.
Even now, at the age of twenty-four, nearly twenty-five… I still love them. I don't get the opportunity to watch them as much, but they are still integral to my life. That reality escape I mentioned? I find it easier to escape into a different reality than face the facts. It's hard for me to connect with my family. That's the beautiful part about superheroes. While yes, they might be able to fly, lift cars above their heads, or walk through walls — they're ultimately relatable in some shape or form.
Name your favorite superhero for me. What do you love about them? Is there something about them that speaks to you on a spiritual level? Can you see yourself in them? That's what I'm talking about.
Unfortunately, for me… it's easier to connect with fictional characters than it is my own family at times.
I do not hide the fact I'm estranged with certain parts of my family. I have an alcoholic aunt and uncle that can't go a day without drinking. They fight and argue so often that it's expected that my grandfather gets a call at about eight o'clock in the evening for a ride to the liquor store. I never got along with my cousin for reasons I'm not entirely sure. I think she was jealous about how close I was with my grandfather and grandmother.
About the only ones I can handle speaking to on a daily basis are my grandfather, my mother, and my brother. Even then, it feels like a challenge at times to connect with them. Grandpa's stuck in his ways, no surprise there. Most of what I like he views as stupid, or goofy. He won't bother to watch anything of the sort. I can't be bothered to watch car shows twenty-four hours a day.
With Mom, it just depends on the day of the week. Despite how embarrassing it is to say, she might be the closest thing I have to a best friend nowadays. I had a falling out with my best friend of eight years about two months ago. I've tried being better — learn from the mistakes I made during that fallout, and move on. I lash out at times because I'm in fifty different places at once. Because of that, I can be good with Mom one minute, and the next I don't want anything to do with her.
My brother, he's about the best thing in my life. I always wanted a brother when I was little. When he came into the world, it just felt right, you know? Most of the time I hear stories about brothers not getting along or one of them absolutely despising the younger sibling. With my brother, it was different. We clicked in a way most brothers didn't. We understood each other, and honestly at times it felt like we were conjoined at the hip.
But all good things have to come to an end eventually. My mental health wasn't the greatest in the last few months, and it has certainly had its effects as I mentioned. Between two deaths in the family, bullshit at work hitting the fan, and my own insecurities hitting like a battering ram, I was falling into a pit of despair that I couldn't really escape… and as a result, I lost a few good friends because of it.
It's been affecting the way I spend time with my family too. I don't really speak with my grandpa much anymore, even though we live together and are literally one room apart. It's either he complains too much and pisses me off, or I'm too tired to do anything and go lay down in my room. With mom, it's hit or miss. Like I said, one minute we're fine, and the next we're at each other's throats. With my brother, we're normally pretty decent. With the losses we've suffered in the family recently, he's been quiet. He either plays on his phone, his game system, or watches Youtube. So, even though we're hanging out watching the same thing, it doesn't really feel like we're bonding. It sucks. To be so close to someone and not feel that connection just sucks.
I guess that's why superheroes stuck with me all these years. It's a lot easier to believe in people who can lift mountains than to believe things at home will ever change. Fiction doesn't argue with you or walk away.
God, I wish life could be that simple. I wish that I could get up each and every day, with a genuine purpose. It's not that I hate my life, but I'd be lying if I said I was happy.
That's why when I got home from work, I didn't bother to eat anything. I'm always physically and mentally exhausted anymore. The bare minimum wears me out. Social interaction is the bane of my existence. So, I took my dogs out, got into pajamas, and went straight to bed.
As I closed my eyes, I held Atlas close to me and let myself drift off into slumber.
I wake to rain. Cold, needling, and relentless rain. It's the first thing I register — the way it soaks into everything.
My clothes cling like they're trying to pull me back into the pavement. My hair's plastered to my face, and water's dripping past my eyelashes in steady, uneven trails.
For a second, I don't even breathe. I just stare up at the sky—storm clouds blotting out anything that might've been stars—and let the weight of the downpour blur everything together. My heart's beating too fast. My ears are ringing. Everything's distant and too close at the same time.
Where the hell is Atlas? Wasn't I just holding him when I closed my eyes? Where am I?
Just as I go to move, the pain hits. It rips through my ribs and shoulder like a live wire, sharp enough to make me jolt and suck in a breath that tastes like metal and smoke.
That's when I hear it.
Behind me. Something's burning.
It's not quiet either — whatever's back there is spitting and cracking like it's mad at the rain for trying to put it out. I can smell it before I can really look: the thick, black stink of melting rubber and oil pushing its way down my throat, sour and hot.
I roll onto my side, trying to push myself up, but my arms shake like wet noodles. My palms skid against the soaked concrete, and my breath leaves in short, uneven bursts. My body doesn't feel right. It feels… smaller. Lighter.
It feels wrong.
When I finally manage to get my elbows under me, I look down—and for a heartbeat, the storm isn't what makes me cold anymore. These aren't my arms. They're too skinny. Too short. My sleeves hang weird. My hands don't match the ones I remember having.
"What the hell…" I whisper, except it comes out as more of a croak. My throat's raw, like I've been screaming.
Lightning splits the sky, just enough to throw everything into a harsh flash of white. That's when I see it—the wreck up ahead. An RV. It's lying on its side in a ditch maybe twenty feet away, like something swatted it off the road. Glass glints from the busted windshield, scattered across the mud like a thousand little knives. Smoke billows out the front in thick, choking plumes, curling into the rain.
The side of the RV has a deep indentation. Scratch that. It doesn't look like something swatted it… it looks like something rammed into it.
The smell gets worse the longer I stare at it. The fire's spreading, clawing its way out from under the hood. I can hear it fighting the storm, spitting sparks, almost daring the water to do something about it.
My knees give out a little when I try to stand. Every nerve screams at me to stay down, but instinct won't let me. My fingers dig into the wet road for balance, slipping once, twice, almost three times before I successfully drag myself upright. The world tilts, slow and sickening, and I can feel my stomach twist like it wants to bail on this whole situation.
Another flash of lightning paints everything in harsh silver. There's something written across the side of the RV, letters smeared with soot and mud, but I can't make them out. I know I've seen that shape before though—that exact shape—but the thought just keeps skidding around the edges of my brain like it refuses to land.
A gust of wind tears across the road, pushing the rain sideways. It hits me full in the face, freezing and sharp, and for a second it feels like the world's holding its breath. The fire pops again. Louder this time. My chest tightens.
I glance down at my hands again. Flex my fingers. They're trembling. Not from the cold, not entirely. The rain pools in my palms, tracing down my wrists like the storm itself wants to remind me this is real. This isn't one of my dreams. There's no floaty, weightless feeling. No soft edges. Everything hurts too damn much to be fake.
I swallow hard. The taste of smoke clings to the back of my tongue like it's not going anywhere.
"Where the hell…?" I start to say, but the words trail off.
My legs finally move. One shaky step. Then another. My socks squelch inside shoes that suddenly feel too big. What's wrong with me?
My eyes catch on something past the wreck.
At first, it's just a dip in the ground—muddy and uneven, like the storm chewed a hole straight into the road. But the longer I look, the more it stops feeling like just a dip. There's a crater out there. Big enough that the rain's pooling along its edges and sliding down the sides in little rivers.
In the center, there's… something. A shape. Circular. Half-buried in the muck, like whatever made that hole left a piece of itself behind. I can't see what it is from here, but it's got weight to it. Not physically—just this… pull. Like it's waiting for me.
My chest tightens. There's a flicker of logic in the back of my head yelling at me to move toward the RV instead. Someone could be trapped in there. Someone could be dying. It's the right thing to do.
But I don't.
I can't.
My feet are already moving before I can tell them to stop. Every step squelches through puddles and mud that suck at my shoes. The storm claws at my face, but my eyes don't leave that crater. It's stupid. It's reckless. But the pull gets stronger the closer I get, like gravity doesn't give a damn about good decisions.
I reach the edge, and the ground gives way under me. My knees slide out, and before I can curse or grab onto anything, I'm half-skiing, half-falling down the slick mud wall. Cold water splashes up my legs. My shoulder hits something hard, pain lancing through me like someone jammed a hot needle between my ribs, but I keep going until I hit the bottom with a wet, graceless thud.
The circular shape is right in front of me now, shrouded in rain and mud. I can't tell if it's metal or stone. It's smooth in some places, cracked in others. It almost looks like it's… humming. Or maybe that's just the pounding in my head.
God, my head.
It's like someone's driving an ice pick between my temples, twisting it every few seconds just to make sure I don't forget it's there. I hiss through my teeth and press a hand to the side of my skull, and my fingers slip against something wet and warm.
When I pull my hand back, it's red.
It streaks across my palm in a thick smear, running between my fingers, washed thin by the rain but not disappearing. My stomach lurches, the world pitching sideways for a second. That's my blood.
A jagged laugh almost slips out of me, the kind that doesn't sound sane. Here I am, standing in a damn crater in the middle of a thunderstorm, bleeding all over myself, and I can't even explain why this thing feels more important than the burning RV twenty feet away.
But it does.
It feels wrong to look away.
The rain pounds harder as I take a step closer. The mud sucks at my shoes, thick and clingy, like it's trying to drag me down with it. My heart's still thundering in my ears, but it's not the fire or the wreck that's got it doing backflips anymore. It's this thing.
The metal—or whatever the hell this is—doesn't look hot. No steam, no hiss, no angry sizzle when the rain hits it. It's just… there. Silent. Waiting. I stretch a hand out, half-expecting it to bite, half-hoping it won't.
And then it moves.
A thin seam splits down the middle with a sound that cuts clean through the storm—a long, low hiss that crawls up the back of my neck. The sphere peels open like some kind of flower made out of a machine's nightmare, metal plates shifting and locking in place.
Something inside rises into the air.
I stumble back a half-step, blinking through the rain, trying to make sense of it. All I can see is the faint gleam of silver and black, edges too smooth and too deliberate to be anything natural. A faint, steady green glow leaks through the cracks, throwing weird shadows across my face.
That's when I hear it.
"DNA signature recognized."
The voice isn't human. It's too clean, too steady. Mechanical, but not the cheap sci-fi kind that sounds like it's coming from a busted speaker. It's sharp. Real. Like someone just whispered it right into my skull.
I don't even have time to breathe before it moves.
The object inside the orb snaps free of its cradle and launches toward me. I barely manage to flinch before it slams against my wrist with a solid clack. Metal against bone. Cold, shockingly cold.
My back hits the mud, the impact sending a sharp flare of pain through my ribs, but the thing doesn't fall off. It clamps down, hugging my wrist like it was made for it.
"OH SHIT!" I jerk my arm, twisting, yanking, clawing at it with my other hand, but the more I pull, the tighter it seems to hold. I'm back on my feet without even realizing it.
The green glow flares, bathing the rain-slick crater in sickly light. It's so bright it almost swallows the storm for a heartbeat.
The thing on my wrist pulses once. Just once.
Then the voice comes again, colder this time—flat, certain.
"Beginning DNA coupling."
The words barely register before it hits me.
Pain. Not like the ache in my ribs or the sting of a cut. This is deeper. Meaner. It starts at my wrist, right where the device is latched, and then it spreads—snapping through me like wildfire in bone-dry brush. My knees buckle, but I can't even feel myself fall. Every inch of me is screaming. Every nerve is being carved open and rewired with white-hot steel.
I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. My throat locks up, strangled by the raw, choking burn ripping its way through my veins. My body jerks against the ground, muscles seizing like a marionette with broken strings.
For a second—maybe a second, maybe a century—there's nothing else. No rain. No wreck. No storm. Just that fire in my skin, in my blood, in the spaces between every cell.
Then, as fast as it came, it's gone.
The fire gutters out, leaving behind nothing but a hollow ache and a ringing in my ears. My chest heaves, lungs clawing for air they can't seem to hold. The strength just drains out of me all at once, like someone cut a wire. My head hits the mud, cold water seeping through my hair, grounding me and dragging me under all at once.
The edges of my vision start caving in, black creeping in slow and sure. The storm above blurs into a gray smear. My own heartbeat sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else.
And then, through the mess of it, I hear a voice. High, young—somewhere above me.
"Grandpa! He's down here!"
That's the last thing I catch before the darkness wins…
Lillie Jones
Well worn.
- Joined
- Jan 31, 2020
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Dang it, That's one way to become Ben Tennyson SI especially waking up after going sleep with no ROB introduction , which whatever happened to OG Ben Tennyson falling out thst window in Grandpa Max RV. This was a way rush job then like a literally a drop in SI in the fused Ben 10/ Invincible verse and whatever is added in this particular universe.
At least Ben Tennyson got the Omnitrix and that DNA coupling for Omnitrix user hurts like bitch for new the hero .
Let's hope he doesn't explain how he body jacked Ben Tennyson with no choice in the matter from Grandpa Max and Gwen Tennyson after the accident any excuse except that one.
Continue on
Cheers!
At least Ben Tennyson got the Omnitrix and that DNA coupling for Omnitrix user hurts like bitch for new the hero .
Let's hope he doesn't explain how he body jacked Ben Tennyson with no choice in the matter from Grandpa Max and Gwen Tennyson after the accident any excuse except that one.
Continue on
Cheers!