The convoy hit at noon—trucks roaring, antidote drones buzzing, Prime Sentinels gleaming, a Trask enforcer in a towering mech barking orders. Bill faced them at the haven's edge, Clara and Lily behind, the moat flaring. Comics' stakes—Civil War, mutant extinction—merged with SCP's dread and Ben 10's defiance. His body ached, templates clashing—Four Arms' bulk stiffening his spine, SCP-096's rage pulsing in his skull—but he couldn't falter."Last chance," the enforcer sneered. "The antidote, or oblivion."Bill's determination flared—Four Arms surged, four fists smashing a truck into scrap. "Oblivion's yours," he roared, voice a Tetramand growl. Drones fired antidote mist—he swapped to Iron Man, repulsors blasting them, HUD flickering erratically from strain. Steve crafted a stone wall, but his hands shook, blocks misaligning—SCP-173's speed twitched, uncalled.Lily's fire melted a Sentinel's leg, Clara's spear stabbed its joint—Bill grabbed it with Four Arms, hurling it into drones, but his knees buckled, SCP-096's howl echoing in his throat. The mech charged, cannon blazing—Bill dodged with SCP-173, unseen, snapping its barrel, but froze mid-strike, Iron Man's HUD shorting out. Pain lanced his chest—cellular stress, the system warned."Bill!" Clara shouted, spearing a mutant—his vision blurred, templates overlapping—red skin, stone limbs, armor plates. The enforcer laughed, launching missiles—Bill's rage spiked, SCP-096 tearing through, shredding a Sentinel, but he stumbled, Four Arms' weight dragging him down.Lily ran to him, fire flaring. "Dad, stop—you're hurting!"Her voice cut through—comics' heroes broke for family, not pride. He forced focus, Four Arms lifting the mech, two arms crushing its core, two shielding Lily. Iron Man's repulsors fired, Steve's TNT blasted drones—SCP-173 snapped a mutant's neck mid-blink. The haven shook, walls cracking, but Bill pushed, templates a chaotic symphony—strength, speed, tech, rage.The enforcer retreated, Sentinels smoking, antidote mist dissipating. Bill collapsed, templates fading—human again, gasping, skin mottled, bones creaking. Clara and Lily knelt, holding him. "You did it," Clara whispered, tears falling."Barely," he rasped, SCP-096's wail fading, Four Arms' bulk a ghost. "I'm… breaking."The system chimed:
"Host emotional state: Overwhelmed. Template overload: Critical. Physical status: Severe fatigue, muscle degradation. Recommendation: Immediate rest, template recalibration."Lily hugged him, glow dim. "You're enough, Dad. No more pushing."Clara nodded, fierce. "We'll fight with you—not for you."Bill looked at them, haven battered but standing—comics' heroes endured, but he wasn't them. Templates were tools, not his soul. "Okay," he said, voice raw. "We rest, then rebuild—together."Inside, Clara bandaged him, Lily stoked the fire. The strain was real—Four Arms' power, SCP's chaos—but his family's love was stronger. Trask loomed, the antidote a specter, but Bill would heal—for them.