"Watch me infect you!"
"Once we control you, the entire universe will belong to us!"
The Sequid lashed out in a desperate final strike, ripping itself free from astronaut Smith's body and leaping straight at Eden.
Eden just smirked.
"Pathetic." His voice was cold, sharp. "Your abilities, your form—pitiful. Laughable, really."
Before the parasite could reach him, twin beams of Heat Vision sliced out, reducing the creature to molten ash.
Not that it could've infected him anyway. Eden just didn't want the disgusting thing anywhere near his skin. Even looking at them this close made his stomach churn.
"And you."
With another burst of Heat Vision, he incinerated the remaining Sequids clinging to Smith's body. Then, without pausing, Eden's eyes flared brighter. His X-Ray Vision swept through Smith's frame.
There. In the stomach. A cluster of Sequids, hiding, waiting to crawl out once the coast was clear.
"Out."
Eden's mind calculated the exact tolerance of Smith's body in less than a second. His fist shot forward, slamming into the man's gut.
Smith gagged violently, retching up the hidden parasites in a flood of bile.
"Zzzzt!"
They never touched the ground. Eden's Heat Vision burned them to nothing before they even hit the air.
Smith slumped, pale, his chest heaving. But color slowly returned to his face, his eyes regaining clarity.
"What… what happened to me?"
The instant his mind cleared, the Sequid swarm broke. Without a host leader, the hive mind fractured, leaving only mindless, wriggling scraps with no threat left in them.
"If I leave these things alive on Mars, they'll become a ticking time bomb for Earth," Eden muttered, scanning the survivors. His jaw tightened.
"Kill them all."
His decision came in a heartbeat.
He grabbed the dazed Smith by the collar and rocketed skyward, tearing across the Martian surface toward the lander.
"Listen. Get him on board and launch. Now."
As he arrived, the other astronauts—escorted by Martian guards—were just reaching the ship. Eden dropped Smith into their arms, then blasted away in a sonic boom.
"Smith, you okay?!"
His teammates swarmed him in panic.
"I'm… I'm fine," Smith managed, giving a weak nod.
"What do we do now?" one astronaut asked the team leader.
"Exactly what Superman told us. We leave."
"But our mission isn't done!" another protested. "The samples—we lost them on the way!"
"Too late to retrieve them now," the leader snapped, face tight with frustration.
"Honored Earthlings," a voice cut in.
They turned. It was the Martian exile—the one who had disguised himself as Smith before Eden exposed him. The guards had dumped him here, abandoned by his own people.
"I've been cast out of my kingdom. If I stay here, I'll die. Please… take me with you."
"Like hell we will!" one astronaut barked. "You nearly got Smith killed!"
The leader's eyes, however, lit with something else. He studied the Martian carefully, then smiled.
"…Maybe our mission isn't a failure after all. Maybe it's a success."
"You mean—bring him to Earth? Present him as a living Martian?"
The others looked at each other, realization dawning. Their expressions shifted.
The exiled Martian laughed nervously. Something in his gut told him this was not going to end well.
Meanwhile—
Eden streaked across the surface, his eyes never dimming. Every blast of Heat Vision cut down another swarm. Every second, another horde was vaporized.
By the time the astronauts lifted off with their "trophy"—a live Martian—Eden had scoured the entire planet clean. The Sequids were gone. All of them.
Back in the Subterranean World, the Martian kingdom trembled.
"Earthlings… are they all this powerful?" one soldier whispered, watching Eden's massacre through their satellites.
Even the Emperor wiped sweat from his brow, forcing the words out. "I must admit… his strength surpasses even mine."
The court fell into silence. Every Martian wanted to scream the same thought: No shit, genius.
When Eden finally returned to the fleet, satisfaction burned in his chest. Another threat to Earth—gone.
Together with the astronauts, he boarded the mothership. Mission complete. Time to head home.
And far below, in the Martian capital, workers carved at stone with frantic speed. Rising from the red soil, towering over the city, a monument began to take shape.
A hundred meters tall. Clad in black. The chest marked with an unmistakable red "S."
Eden's likeness, immortalized before he even knew it.
...
On the way back, Eden threw himself into the Simulation again.
The return trip would take a full week.
In that week, he ran the Simulation three times.
First run: fifty-five hours before he put Battle Beast down.
Second run: fifty hours.
Third run: forty.
Every single attempt shaved hours off the last. Every single attempt made him stronger.
Three Simulations plus the time he spent afterward dissecting every move, analyzing every weakness—that ate up six and a half days. Which meant only twelve hours left before he'd be back on Earth.
For once, Eden didn't dive into another round. He actually gave himself a break. Adjusted his headspace. Because once he was back, he wouldn't get the luxury of forty-hour Simulations anymore.
When I'm on Earth, I won't have that kind of time. Need a plan. Need to be ready.
He rubbed at his temples, deep in thought.
Saturday night, 9 p.m.
Engines roared as the Mars exploration craft cut through the clouds, re-entering Earth's atmosphere.
"Click! Click! Click!"
Under a storm of flashing cameras, four astronauts stepped onto the tarmac, dragging behind them their "prize"—a living Martian.
"The Mars mission is a complete success!"
"And in the spirit of interplanetary friendship, the Martian King himself has sent a representative to Earth to join us in this victory!"
The press ate it up. Headlines screamed across the world. The exile became an overnight sensation.
Only Martian Man, sitting among the Guardians of the Globe, scoffed.
"No way. The Martian King is a paranoid, selfish idiot. He'd never send an envoy to Earth. That kid's obviously another exile."
He was right. But no one cared.
While the world partied, Eden quietly slipped back into his apartment.
"Cecil. Anything happen while I was gone?"
A low hum answered him. Cecil Stedman appeared, shaking his head. "Nothing major."
"What about my parents? They notice anything?"
"Sorry—no." Cecil's tone stayed flat. "After Nolanne took care of the alien incursion, and Clark… convinced the dimension lord to back off, they went right back to Hawaii. Honeymoon phase, all over again."
Eden sighed. "And school?"
"Donald's been covering for you. Disguised, of course. No major issues."
"Wait—hold up." Eden narrowed his eyes. "You had Donald impersonate me at school? Cecil, come on. I know our classmates aren't exactly the sharpest, but you can't just treat them like NPCs in a single-player game."
"Relax. He's wearing a bionic mask. From the outside, he's you. Perfect copy."
Eden groaned. "Fine. I'll check it myself Monday. If it works, maybe letting him keep covering while I grind the Simulation isn't the worst idea."
Cecil nodded, then added, "Another thing: we've been working on the Guardians of the Globe second team. With Robot's help, we screened over fourteen hundred applicants. Narrowed it down to one-forty."
"The second team's first seven members will be chosen from them. And since we kicked out the Immortal, we also need someone to fill his slot on the first team. That replacement will also come from those one-forty."
"So," Cecil finished, "do you want to be there in person for the trials?"
"When?" Eden asked.
"Monday morning. At HQ. Some of the first team will attend."
Cecil's lips twitched into the hint of a smile. "Donald will keep covering your classes. That way, Eden's at school, while Black Suit Super sits in the judging panel. Perfect alibi."
"Sounds good." Eden smirked. Cecil really was the perfect strategist—always ten steps ahead, always making sure the pieces lined up.
Too bad this world's coming problems were way beyond Cecil's ability to control.
"That's all I've got," Cecil said after a beat.
"Not quite." Eden raised his hand. "Send me everything you have on the Order."
Cecil blinked. "The Order? You planning to move on them?"
The Order had been running the underground world for centuries. Ruthless, disciplined, untouchable. In Cecil's view, they weren't the real threat. Hell, half the time, those mobsters were more reliable than so-called heroes.
"Just send it." Eden's voice was calm. Firm. "I'll handle the rest."
Cecil exhaled through his nose, but nodded. "Fine."
Half an hour later, Eden sat flipping through a thick file. His lips curved as he read one name out loud.
"Machine Head…"
Funny. Nobody would have guessed it. But Battle Beast's first appearance on Earth—the second-strongest warrior in the universe—wasn't because of an alien invasion.
It was because of a gang war.