The streets of Chicago were alive with the hum of busy commuters and the distant blare of traffic, but it felt like a different world for William and the two women by his side. Their presence was undeniable. William's towering figure commanded attention, his two-toned hair, a stark contrast of midnight black and rich amber, flowing in the breeze. It was a color so striking, it seemed like it was pulled from the very heart of the sunset itself. People paused to glance, some out of curiosity, others for a longer stare, unsure whether he was a celebrity or something far more intimidating. Even in this bustling city, they stood out like flames in the night.
The trio moved with a rhythm that spoke of years of shared experiences, their steps in sync despite the chaos of the urban landscape. The clothes they wore reflected a strange blend of normalcy and power. William had chosen casual wear, but everything on him, every piece of fabric, seemed too sharp, too bold, to be ordinary. The stolen money they'd used from the criminals they'd bested had been spent wisely. Not only did it provide for the immediate, but it subtly marked them as something otherworldly, a force that commanded respect, even if it wasn't always earned.
Lady Sif, on his left, had a face that was almost angelic in its softness. There was a nurturing warmth in her expression, but beneath it, you could sense the battle-hardened warrior who had lived centuries longer than anyone would ever guess. Her eyes were constantly scanning the environment, alert to any potential threats, but she held William's hand gently as they walked. Her mere presence seemed to soothe the chaos around them.
On William's right, Anissa was the contrast to Sif's calm. Her gaze was cold, unflinching, as she observed the world around her. People instinctively stepped aside, some hurriedly, not knowing whether it was fear or reverence that made them look away from her intense stare. Her Viltrumite outfit hugged her figure, the dark fabric designed to allow ease of movement while retaining an air of deadly grace. It was in moments like this, when her stance was perfect, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed, that her true Viltrumite nature shone through.
William's hand settled at her waist, a gentle but possessive touch, his fingers tracing the subtle curve of her figure. It was an action so natural for him, yet it caused something in Anissa to stir. Beneath the cold exterior, a faint blush crept onto her cheeks, barely noticeable, but enough for her to turn her head slightly to the side, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
The moment, however, was shattered by the sudden pulse of energy that coursed through her Viltrumite suit. Her eyes flickered with recognition as a message came through, its sender unmistakable, Thragg, the leader of the Viltrumite Empire. Her face hardened immediately as she read the message, the weight of the words sinking deep into her chest.
"Anissa,
I expected better from you. Not loyalty, no, that is a commodity too fragile to be worth relying upon. But intelligence. I believed you were smart enough to understand the futility of defying me.
You know how this ends. There is no world, no system, no hiding place where I will not find you. And when I do, it will not be swift. You, of all my subjects, should know what happens to those who disappoint me.
But I will not kill you outright. No. That would be merciful. Instead, I will make an example of you, something that will serve as a warning to those who might share your… short-sighted ambition.
Run if you wish. Fight if you dare. But in the end, you are already mine. You always have been.
Thragg."
Her fingers tightened on the message until the edges of the screen cracked under the pressure. Anissa's eyes were narrowed, her gaze locked on the words, the anger building behind them. Her breath quickened, but it wasn't fear. It was fury. A visceral, burning rage that had been suppressed for too long.
Without hesitation, she tapped out her reply, her fingers flying over the keys, each word carefully chosen, each syllable a defiant declaration.
"Thragg,
For someone who claims to be above emotions, you sound almost… disappointed. Cute.
I know exactly what I'm doing. You've ruled through fear for so long that you forgot what happens when someone stops being afraid. I'm not running. I'm not hiding. If you want to come for me, then do it.
Let's see if the great Thragg still bleeds.
Anissa"
She sent the message before she could second-guess herself. The weight of her words hung in the air like a storm cloud, and for a moment, the city around them seemed to fade. Sif glanced at Anissa, her expression unreadable, but she didn't say a word. William, however, had seen the change in Anissa, the spark of rebellion and the burning fury in her eyes.
He leaned slightly closer, his hand still at her waist, his voice low enough that only the two of them could hear. "You're sure about this?"
Anissa's jaw clenched, her gaze unwavering. "I've never been more sure."
The silence that followed was charged, and for a fleeting moment, even the bustling city seemed to hold its breath.
In another part of Earth, deep within the secured confines of a secret government facility, Cecil Stedman stood in the dimly lit observation room, his gaze locked onto the heart-wrenching sight before him. Beyond the one-way mirror, Debbie Grayson sat hunched over Mark's broken form, silent sobs shaking her frame as she cradled his bruised, battered face. The medical team worked tirelessly, but the damage was severe. Even with Viltrumite physiology, Mark had been utterly overwhelmed.
Cecil exhaled sharply, only to notice his breath turn to mist in the chilled air. His sharp, calculating eyes flicked downward to the tablet in his hands, the bright screen displaying a video feed from Guardians HQ. The grainy footage replayed the impossible: a man with two-toned hair, unfazed, unbroken, effortlessly standing his ground against Omni-Man himself. Cecil watched as the stranger withstood a blow that should have obliterated any living being. Yet, he remained standing.
His grip on the tablet tightened. "Who are you?" Cecil muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was no one around to answer.
Or so he thought.
From the darkness behind him, the soft ember of a cigarette flared to life, briefly illuminating the worn features of a sharply dressed demon. A curl of smoke unfurled into the air as Damien Darkblood stepped forward, his glowing yellow eyes locked onto the tablet screen.
"Hmmm." The demon scratched his red, leathery chin, his brow furrowing as he studied the footage.
Cecil didn't turn around. "Keep an eye on them for me, will you?" His voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension, an unease he rarely showed. The world was dangerous enough with one Viltrumite. If this new arrival could withstand Omni-Man's strength, things just became exponentially more complicated.
Damien's slitted pupils flickered with something unreadable as he watched William endure Omni-Man's devastating punch. The demon let out a slow breath, allowing wisps of mist to drift from his nostrils. "Someone like this is definitely dangerous," he admitted, voice gravelly with suspicion. His gaze flickered back to Cecil, his expression unreadable. "I'll let you know what I find."
Without another word, his body seemed to ripple, melting into the shadows. The tendrils of darkness swallowed him whole, leaving only a lingering trace of cold in the air.
Cecil let out a slow exhale, watching as his breath no longer fogged. He pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to ease the throbbing headache forming between his brows. Things were already spiraling out of control, and this new anomaly just made everything worse.
Before he could dwell on it further, the sound of approaching footsteps pulled his attention away.
Debbie Grayson entered his office. The grief on her face had hardened into something else, something colder, more resolute. She was no longer just a mourning wife; she was a mother who had seen her son nearly beaten to death. And she was done feeling helpless.
Cecil straightened as she stopped before his desk, her gaze burning into him. He knew what she wanted, answers, reassurance, something to make sense of this nightmare. But all he could offer was the hard truth.
They spoke of Mark's medical treatment first, running through every possible avenue to ensure his recovery. But eventually, the conversation shifted.
Training.
The moment the word left Cecil's lips, Debbie's eyes flashed with anger. Her hands clenched at her sides, and for a moment, he thought she might strike him. "You want to put him through more of this?" she snapped, her voice sharp with barely restrained fury. "He's barely alive, Cecil!"
He didn't flinch. "If he doesn't get stronger, this will happen again."
The words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. She turned away, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The image of Mark's bruised and bloodied body flashed behind her eyes, and her breath hitched. As much as she hated it, Cecil was right. She hated that truth more than anything.
The anger dissipated, dissolving into something colder. Turning back to Cecil, she stepped forward, her movements deliberate. Before he could react, her fingers seized the scruff of his collar, yanking him close.
Their faces were inches apart. Her sharp eyes bore into his, hollow, weary, but unyielding.
"You make sure he survives it," she whispered, her voice a quiet but undeniable command.
Cecil didn't blink. "I will."
Debbie sat frozen, her fingers gripping the USB drive Cecil had given her. The moment she pressed play, the footage of the battle at Guardians HQ unfolded before her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as the screen flickered, showing a battlefield soaked in destruction.
Then he appeared.
A man holding two women in his arms descended just in time, cutting through the chaos like a blade through silk. With an almost casual motion, he intercepted Nolan's full-powered blow, something that should have been impossible. Something no one had ever done before.
Her heart skipped a beat.
A warm flush spread across her cheeks as she unconsciously clenched the drive in her palm. Who was he? How could he stop Omni-Man?
She barely registered Cecil speaking to her, agreeing on autopilot to be teleported home.
A flash of light later, Debbie stood just outside her front door, keys in hand. But instead of opening the door, her fingers hesitated on the knob.
She exhaled sharply, trying to steady her thoughts. Home was quiet. Home was empty.
She needed a drink.
With a sudden turn, she strode back to her car, slid in, and threw it in reverse. The engine growled as she pulled away, the streets of Chicago blurring past until she reached her usual refuge, an old but well-kept bar tucked away from the city's bright lights. A place where the drinks were strong, and the company was either tolerable or numb enough to ignore.
Pushing inside, she was greeted by the familiar noise of chatter, laughter, and the occasional rowdy cheer. The scent of aged wood and liquor filled the air as she made her way to the bar, settling onto a stool. Her dress rode up just slightly, revealing a tasteful portion of her thigh, enough to draw eyes but not enough to invite trouble.
Or so she thought.
She downed a glass of whiskey, relishing the burn, and gestured for another. The bartender nodded, but before her drink even hit the counter, she sensed them.
A trio of drunks.
They weren't subtle, already leering, exchanging smirks before swaggering toward her like they had all the charm in the world.
"Hey, look at this lady here, all alone! What a shame!"
"Mind if we join you, sweetheart?"
Debbie barely spared them a glance. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, her voice smooth but firm.
"I'm just here for a quiet drink. You guys should find another table."
They didn't listen.
"Aw, come on, don't be like that. We're just trying to have a little fun."
One of them reached out, fingers just inches from her shoulder.
Bad move.
"CRACK!"
Debbie moved like lightning, her hand snapping up and twisting his wrist at a brutal angle. The sickening sound of breaking bone filled the air, followed by a wail of agony as the man collapsed to his knees.
The bar went quiet.
The other two men went from amused to furious in an instant. The first one snarled and swung at her, his fist cutting through the air. Debbie's instincts screamed at her to close her eyes, brace for impact—
But the hit never landed.
"LET. GO. BASTARD!"
A deep, commanding voice rang out. Debbie's eyes flew open.
A hand, large, strong, and unwavering, gripped the drunk's fist just inches from her face. The man who stopped the attack stood like an immovable force, his two-toned hair casting a sharp contrast under the dim bar lights.
Him.
The mystery man from the footage. The one who stopped Omni-Man.
She barely had time to process before—
"SHATTER!"
A bottle exploded against the newcomer's head, its shards bouncing harmlessly off his skin. The attacker staggered back, clutching his face as blood trickled from the embedded glass. His screams echoed across the now-silent bar.
Debbie's heart pounded as she looked up at the man before her. He turned slightly, his gaze meeting hers, piercing yet unreadable.
"W-Who are you?" she breathed.