[Ding~ Congratulations, Host, on acquiring a new hero...]
Beep! Beep! Beep!
A crimson glow burst from Diamondhead's body before fading away, revealing Lucian standing where he was. For a moment, he looked dazed.
The new hero's power was undeniable—but in the original story, this one almost never won a fight. Staring at the holographic projection on the Omnitrix, Lucian fell into thought, unsure if this was good or bad news.
"Forget it," he sighed softly. "Let's hope you can show your full potential with me…"
Before long, Tetrax Shard's battle had also come to an end.
SixSix and Kraab were completely out of ammunition, beaten into the dirt by Diamondhead. Against the seasoned Tetrax Shard, they didn't stand a chance and were quickly subdued.
Tetrax pulled out a spatial cube and sealed the two inside, intending to deliver them to an alien prison.
"The fight's finally over," Gwen exhaled, wiping sweat from her forehead.
Casting Water Dragon Soul multiple times had drained much of her mana; it would take a while to recover.
"Oh man, that was awesome! Cuz totally wrecked that knife-wielding freak!" Ben shouted, still buzzing with excitement at the sight of Diamondhead's battle.
Grandpa Max smiled. "Lucian's gotten a lot stronger lately. Handling regular aliens shouldn't be a problem for him anymore."
"No way, Grandpa. I think no alien's a match for Cuz now," Ben said confidently.
Grandpa chuckled but didn't comment.
Just then, Tetrax Shard walked up to Lucian.
"You're a warrior worthy of respect. The Omnitrix should be in your hands," he said sincerely.
"Really? Aren't you worried someone might try to steal it?" Lucian asked.
"With its new owner here, I have nothing to worry about," Tetrax replied, glancing up at the sky. "Still, don't let your guard down. The universe is full of beings who covet the Omnitrix. You must be prepared for what's to come."
Lucian smiled. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone take my little watch."
After a brief pause, Tetrax handed over the Hoverboard.
"Take this. You might need it one day."
Lucian froze for a moment before his eyes lit up with excitement. His heart raced as he held the sleek, metallic board.
Tetrax's Hoverboard!
Back when he'd watched the original show, he'd always dreamed of owning one—flying freely through the sky, fast and untouchable. What kid wouldn't want something that cool?
"Thanks," Lucian said sincerely.
Tetrax waved a hand. "Protect the Omnitrix. That's the best thanks you can give me."
A red light flared around his body, swirling faster and faster until he vanished into the air.
Looking around at the battle-scarred mine, Grandpa Max sighed with a weary smile and turned to the others.
"Alright, kids. You've had a long day. How about Grandpa takes you somewhere fun to relax?" His voice was warm, his tone gentle.
Ben's eyes lit up instantly. "Yes! Grandpa, you're the best! Where are we going?"
Gwen tilted her head in curiosity. "Yeah, where exactly?"
"That's a secret…" Grandpa Max grinned mischievously, a playful glint in his eyes.
For some reason, Lucian felt a twinge of unease. Something told him this next trip was going to be… memorable.
...
Traffic crawled along the highway, a wall of steel shimmering under the relentless sun, stretching endlessly into the distance.
It was probably the holiday rush—horns blared, curses flew, and the air was thick with impatience.
The Rustbucket was jammed in the middle of it all, moving a few meters at a time. Sweat rolled down Grandpa Max's forehead as he gripped the steering wheel, a helpless smile tugging at his lips.
"At this pace, we'll get there sometime next century," he muttered wryly.
Next to him, Ben had his face pressed flat against the window, making silly faces at a kid in the neighboring car, laughing like it was the best game in the world.
Gwen stood with her hands on her hips, watching him in disbelief. "Keep that up and your face might freeze that way. Then again, that might actually be an improvement."
"Relax, nerd. I'm not gonna end up like some people," Ben shot back, then resumed his contest.
The kid across the way wasn't backing down. He pulled out a bag of dried sweet potatoes, stuffed them into his mouth, chewed furiously, then stuck out a yellow-stained tongue at Ben—looking disgustingly grotesque.
Ben grimaced. "Ugh, that's nasty."
Meanwhile, Lucian sat quietly, earbuds in, listening to a new English track and enjoying the rare peace.
"Hm?"
Grandpa Max's expression suddenly changed. Up ahead, something was wrong—an argument had broken out.
Just a few cars ahead, seven or eight burly men had jumped out of a van. They yanked open the door of the car in front and dragged out two women, who looked terrified and frail.
A heated confrontation erupted immediately, drawing the attention of nearby drivers.
One woman, on the verge of tears, pointed to the back of her car. "You're the one who didn't keep your distance! You hit us first, and now you're trying to blame us?"
"Bullshit! You slammed your brakes and made me hit you!" snarled a greasy man, his face wobbling with rage.
"In traffic like this, everyone's crawling! Why would I even brake that hard?" the younger woman shot back, her eyes red as she tried to stand her ground.
The men exchanged sinister grins and surrounded them, cracking their knuckles.
"I'm warning you—pay for our repairs and damages, or things are gonna get ugly."
"Bitches think they can mouth off?" one sneered.
"No cash? Then maybe you can pay another way..." another added with a disgusting grin.
...
The men looked like thugs straight out of a nightmare—huge, broad, and radiating menace. The two women stood frozen, trembling, their faces pale.
One of them fumbled for her phone, but before she could dial, several of the men lunged forward and tore it from her hands.
"You still think you can call the cops?" The tattooed man narrowed his eyes, a cold smirk on his face. "We're being generous, handling this privately. Push your luck, and we'll show you what real pain feels like."
"Hey, buddy," called a nearby driver, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he leaned out his window. "That's enough. I saw what happened. You were in the wrong. Don't make this worse—let the girls go."
"Son of a bitch!" The tattooed man roared and stormed over with his crew. They grabbed the middle-aged man and yanked him from his car. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to? Keep mouthing off and I'll bury you right here!"
Years of street life had hardened the thug—he feared no one, especially not some ordinary-looking man.
"You're out of line!" the driver growled, pulling out his phone to call for help. But before he could press a button, they snatched it away.
The group surrounded him and began to beat him mercilessly. Fists and boots flew, each strike landing hard. Blood spattered the ground, but the man refused to beg, gritting his teeth and enduring every blow. He cursed himself for not calling sooner.
The two women watched in horror, shaking uncontrollably. No one dared step in. Other drivers locked their doors, watching from behind glass, pretending not to see.
A few pulled out their phones—not to help, but to record, forwarding the video to their group chats like it was entertainment.
Only a handful actually called the police. It was all they could do.
Outnumbered and overwhelmed, the middle-aged driver was beaten to the ground, kicked around like a discarded ball.
One of the thugs, his eyes red with rage, dashed back to the van and grabbed a glass bottle. He raised it high and charged, ready to smash it down on the man's skull.
Just as the bottle was about to connect, a cold hand caught his wrist mid-swing.
"B-Boss?" The greasy man turned, staring blankly at the tattooed leader.
Something was wrong. His boss's face looked... different. A strange, icy aura radiated from him, sending a chill straight through his bones.
The tattooed man's eyes glinted with a cruel, unnatural coldness. Then he smiled—slow and twisted.