William stood still, his chest rising and falling slowly as he tilted his head skyward, eyes half-lidded. A long, weary sigh escaped his lips, less from exhaustion and more from the flood of adrenaline that had begun to recede. His body, battered and bruised just moments ago, was rapidly knitting itself back together. The angry crimson slashes and brutal impact marks left by the Hulk were closing with a strange, liquid grace. Tendons rewove, skin resealed, and the final beads of blood slid from his skin like reluctant tears, falling to the scorched earth below.
"Weng."
The distant chime of energy dispersing echoed in the air as William let himself return to base form. His once-raging aura, vivid and volatile, flickered out like the last embers of a dying fire, leaving only silence and the scent of ozone behind.
He scanned the aftermath, eyes catching the slow, powerful movements of Kara in the distance. Her silhouette cut a striking figure against the cracked skyline, tall, sculpted, and radiant with barely restrained fury. With one hand, she hauled the emperor forward like an unruly child, her fingers clenched so tightly around the arm of his ornate suit that they dented the reinforced metal plating, each indentation a testament to her disdain.
William gave her a small, casual wave and a lopsided smile, but his expression darkened the moment his gaze settled on the emperor. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing.
He snapped his fingers.
A glimmer of green shimmered into existence beside him, a luminous construct in the shape of a hand, its edges humming with latent force. It moved forward deliberately, fingers flexing with phantom life as it drifted toward the emperor.
The tyrant's composure broke immediately.
"S–Stop! L–Let me go! I am the Emperor! I will have your heads, I will have your children's heads! I'll turn your women into breeding mares for my beasts, LET ME GO!"
His voice cracked, shrill and desperate, as Kara continued to drag him forward with zero regard for his protests. The green construct latched onto his chest like a vice and began gently pulling him toward William. Despite its force, the movement was precise, calculated not to rupture organs or dislocate joints.
He floated, flailing and cursing all the while, until at last, he hovered directly before William, suspended like a puppet cut from strings.
The emperor's red-rimmed eyes stared into William's, his mouth curling into another venomous threat, but then the ground trembled.
A deep, low rumble rolled through the terrain, followed by a tremor that sent pebbles and ash skittering.
The Hulk had noticed.
Still breathing heavily, his shoulders broad and rising with each thunderous breath, the green titan gently cradled the swaddled newborn in his arms. He turned toward Caiera, who stepped forward with soft eyes and arms open. The babe giggled as it was passed into her care, silk blankets rustling as Caiera drew the child close and nuzzled him with quiet joy.
Then, Hulk straightened.
The giant's nostrils flared as his eyes locked onto the emperor, whose panicked shouts were still echoing, vulgar and defiant.
Hulk leapt.
The ground shattered beneath his feet in a burst of pulverized rock and dust as he shot into the air like a missile. He landed in front of the emperor with the weight of a meteor, the earth quaking beneath him. His shadow stretched over the squirming ruler.
A massive green hand reached forward.
The emperor stopped mid-rant. His breath hitched. His pupils contracted to dots of terror.
"N… No... don't! Please... I'm sorry, I... AAAAAGGHHHHHHH!"
The cry tore through the sky like a wounded animal. The Hulk didn't scream. He didn't roar. He simply applied pressure, slow, methodical, and merciless.
William grimaced and, with a gentle motion, raised a hand and cast a transparent soundproof barrier around the area, shielding the baby from the sickening screams that followed. The others, Kara, Peter, and Caiera, watched with solemn faces. None of them flinched, but their eyes told different stories. Kara's lips were drawn into a tight line. Caiera looked only to the child in her arms. And Peter… Peter watched with quiet, grim understanding.
The emperor's body crumpled. Armor folded like paper. Bones shattered like porcelain. When it was over, what remained was barely recognizable, a crushed, twisted can of gilded gore and crumpled metal.
Hulk held the mess aloft, staring at it with unreadable intensity.
Then, he turned toward the heavens.
Far above, one of the twin suns glowed like a pale eye, ever-watching.
"RAAAAHHH!"
With a bellow that echoed into the clouds, Hulk pulled back his arm, took three stomping strides, and hurled the mangled body skyward. The makeshift missile screamed upward, a flaming trail chasing it through the atmosphere as it pierced the sky.
The silence that followed felt sacred.
Hulk stood, his breath slowing. Steam rose from his skin, his muscles gradually shrinking, his towering form retreating into something more human with every exhale.
He staggered slightly, then found his footing, and walked with deliberate steps back toward Caiera. She looked up and smiled softly, gently guiding Sakorian into his arms once more.
For a moment, Hulk stood motionless, gazing down at the child.
And then something shifted.
A raw emotion flickered in his eyes, too vast for words, too unfamiliar for a man who had spent most of his life as a weapon. Trembling hands cradled the newborn as if he were made of light. His lips parted, not for a roar or a cry, but for a quiet, reverent whisper that never came.
He had fought gods. He had shattered planets.
But now, in this moment, he had something greater.
A family.
"RUMBLE!"
The entire world groaned beneath his feet, as if the planet itself were crying out in its death throes. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ruined surface, glowing with furious, magma-red light. From these wounds in the earth, jagged spires of molten bedrock surged upward like the grasping, wrathful fingers of a fallen god, one last gesture of defiance from a world on the brink of annihilation. It reminded William of ancient tales, of Surtur, the fire giant of Muspelheim, now long dead, but whose fury seemed resurrected in the agony of this dying planet.
Then, without warning, a beam of incandescent light tore upward from the ground and arced through the searing sky like a divine signal. It boomeranged through the thick atmosphere before it came to a sudden, thunderous halt, slamming into the waiting hand of its master.
Zarielle.
The spear, his spear, was still trembling with residual energy, a humming fusion of destruction and willpower. Its haft shimmered with veins of glowing Uru, pulsating like a beating heart. The head of the weapon was wreathed in flickering fire, its edges vibrating with Yaka energy and streaks of stardust glinting across its emerald-inlaid blade. Even through the reinforced layers of his gauntlet, William could feel the searing heat threatening to melt through, like a sun condensed into a weapon of war.
The air around the weapon warped, sizzling audibly. Then, a sudden shift.
The spear emitted a soft chime, almost melodic, and a pulse of iridescent light raced along its form. The wild heat bled away in an instant, replaced by a golden, calming shimmer that glowed like the first rays of dawn after a long, brutal night. The weapon had recognized his touch, his command.
It had recognized its master.
"You did well, Zarielle," William said, his voice low and respectful, but edged with fatigue and fury. "Rest now. You earned it."
With a flick of his wrist, space itself bent to his will, and a tear in the fabric of reality, shaped like a vertical crescent of pure silver light, yawned open beside him. From within, the faint echo of a distant, peaceful void could be heard. He slid Zarielle inside, and the rift sealed shut with a whisper of displaced wind.
Silence returned, but only for a breath.
William turned his gaze skyward. His eyes, normally warm with a human spark, had gone hard, sharp as tempered steel. All around him, the planet trembled. Chunks of the atmosphere were already beginning to collapse in slow, catastrophic arcs. The horizon twisted with chaotic gravitational waves, and beyond that, the sky itself was beginning to fracture, like a pane of glass under strain.
His gauntlets flared in response to his mounting fury, golden sigils flickering along their length, feeding off his emotions like firewood tossed onto a bonfire. He clenched his fists. They burned like miniature suns in the darkness.
Then his feet ignited, not with ordinary flame, but with an arcane fire so hot it had burned past red, past blue, and into a blinding near-violet. It danced like sentient energy, alive with purpose. The ground beneath him liquefied almost instantly, cratering under the sheer intensity of the heat. His body began to descend, not by will, but because the very planet could no longer hold him up. The crust gave way, and William sank like a meteor through the earth's innards.
Through ash and fire, past veins of collapsing stone and rivers of lava, he descended in silence, engulfed in power. Until finally—
CLANG.
His boots slammed into something unexpectedly solid.
It wasn't more molten rock.
It was the core.
And it was cold.
Confused, he knelt and pressed a palm to it. The surface was hardening, no longer spinning. There was no thrum of life, no tectonic pulse. Just silence, heavy, unnatural silence. The battle with the Hulk… their clash of titans… it had been more than just violence. It had been apocalyptic. And now, the world beneath them was dying.
His brow furrowed as he stared at the inert core. This planet's heart had stopped beating.
"Damn…" he whispered, chest rising and falling. "I might be able to do something… maybe. I'm not a hundred percent sure though… if I'm capable."
The doubt in his voice warred with the fire in his soul.
Still, he took a breath and reached forward.
The core resisted him. It was like trying to swim through tar, or syrup pulled straight from the depths of winter, thick, clinging, almost sentient. His gauntlet began to glow white-hot as he forced it forward, pressing against the dying planet's heart.
The sensation was grotesque, otherworldly. His muscles strained. The very magic woven into his blood surged against the resistance. He gritted his teeth. This wasn't just heat. This was willpower versus inertia. Life against entropy.
The core groaned in response.
The planet didn't want to die.
Not yet.
And neither did he intend to let it.
William's eyes burned with relentless focus, every fiber of his being coiled with raw, unyielding will. The core's cold, hardened surface resisted him, unyielding and lifeless, but surrender was not an option.
He clenched his fists tightly, and the gauntlets flared with intense heat, glowing like twin stars in the darkened depths of the planet. Flames flickered and danced along his arms, swirling with the ancient energy coursing through his veins. From his feet, the sabatons sparked violet fire that licked hungrily at the molten rock beneath.
Calling on the Ring of Rage, William summoned a surge of furious energy from deep within his soul. The ring pulsed sharply on his finger, channeling a torrent of rage and life force that fed the flames blazing around his limbs.
With a deep, grounding breath, he projected his will outward, molding the seething fires into towering constructs, massive blazing hands and feet that hovered before him, crafted from pure flame and burning fury. These constructs radiated intense heat, their light reflecting off the core's rough walls, turning the dark chamber into a furnace.
William raised the fiery hands, pressing them gently but firmly against the core's cold, unyielding surface. The heat from the constructs radiated inward, licking through the hardened stone like a slow, determined blaze. The core began to respond subtly, veins of molten metal inside the rock pulsed faintly, trembling as if awakening from a deep sleep.
He lowered the blazing feet constructs and pressed them against the base of the core. The fires from his sabatons spread like wildfire, forcing the cold metal to soften and glow, pushing the hardened layers to glow incandescent.
With a surge of effort, William channeled all his strength into the constructs, fueling them with his gauntlets and sabatons' heat, and the unyielding power of the Ring of Rage. Slowly, agonizingly, the core began to warm, the heavy stone starting to melt and glow with a deep, fiery pulse.
Then, with a grinding roar like the rebirth of a titan, the core began to turn.